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I am an IT professional, lost in the monotonous world of Excel. So, I seek refuge in Word, pun intended. I write for various literary platforms and have quite a few anthologies to my credit. I am a proud cat momma to Uttam, my crazy imp.
Laila picked up the ring and slipped it around her finger with ease. Did the Sultan have slender hands? Or did the ring adjust to its owner’s size?
My #MentorStories is about my team leader who taught me how to upskill and be patient with learning new things!
Dear men, if you flaunt your ignorance with pride and claim that you do not even know how to light up a gas stove, the joke is on you. Grow up!
A beautiful and free-spirited girl must be shameless and uninhibited. To them, she is nothing less than a prostitute, and self-crowned moral custodians of our culture continue to rub their hands in glee as they conjure up non-existent affairs.
Talking of sex and sexuality is still taboo in our country; why talk shows like OK Tested dealing openly with this (along with many other things) are essential.
There was no doubt that my cat, Uttam, would travel with us. The question was — how? It was a learning experience for us, and I’m sharing this with other readers.
“Look! The baraat has arrived,” a girl squeals. You peep out of the window. He looks dapper in his sherwani. The sehra covers his face, but you know his eyes search for you.
There were no secrets between my mother and me. After coming home from school, an hour was reserved for the two of us. It was our time.
“I tell you, nothing can beat the aroma of Gobindobhog rice. The so-called famous basmati rice brands can’t even hold a candle to it.” With that, he scooped out the kheer, and polished it off in one go.
“Love" elicits a myriad of responses in us. But what happens when two married people are in love, but not with their spouses?
She hadn’t anticipated the fiasco. There had been murmurs of 'improper dressing', but this time the situation had escalated to a boiling point.
By giving him a grammar book, I could have helped him in rectifying his mistakes. But what about the transphobia and homophobia that raised its ugly head that evening?
It had been six months since a freak accident had claimed Walid, leaving Yasmin to grapple with the loneliness and the heartbreak. How would she reclaim her life?
The book ‘Valmiki's Women’ By Anand Neelakantan, tells the tales of five women characters – Bhoomija, Shanta, Manthara, Tataka & Meenakshi.
Temsula Ao's Laburnum For My Head deals with eight utterly delightful, yet thought-provoking tales from Nagaland. I highly recommend this!
But one just needed to scratch the surface, and voila! It revealed a truth bitter than medicines. People behaved like dogs in heat, panting after anybody in a skirt or a saree.
Blame it on the wives! Did your husband bowl a wide? Did he drop a sitter? Did he get run out? It's your fault!
I tried to move my feet, but I couldn’t. I shivered, as the wind picked up its pace. The pain down there lingered, like a dull nagging ache.
By that time, a few other ladies had gathered around. Rumours fly faster than a supersonic plane in Indian societies. Chants of ‘new friend’ reverberated in front of the Goddess.
Her voice remained stifled inside the mould of clay, as the men revered Her as Maa, yet abused and molested the likes of Tumpa. But, on that Ashtami morning, the Goddess would witness something familiar – the defeat of Mahishasur.
"It was an accident. Of that I’m sure. But some people are hell bent on creating mischief. And Deepika hands it to them on a platter.”
I had been raised by feminist parents, and more so, a father, who had been 'bashed' by the 'well-wishers' for giving much 'freedom' to his daughter. He bears the brunt of it even now.
What if you find a letter addressed to you, folded within the pages of a treasured novel? From one of the protagonists, too! How would that make you feel?
“And then, you glided into my life. You know? I had always admired your guts, and wondered why I couldn’t muster up the courage to take initiatives.” The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women. Narayani Manapadam is one of the winners for the […]
I cupped Abir’s face in my hands and kissed him. He didn’t respond. I recoiled in shame. His look would haunt me forever. If there was a word for sympathy mixed with scorn, that was it! I felt my world crashing down that day.
But he loved and respected me. He made me feel intelligent. Mohan had even refused to discuss what was wrong with him. These were apparently matters beyond the comprehension of a woman, he had felt.
Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's Rani Jindan, the Last Queen of Punjab, is a flawed, real woman, who does not hesitate to do what she must.
Parents who toil away to ensure that the wedding goes off without a glitch, are shamed indirectly for bringing a girl into this world – who cares for their state of minds?
Not to be outdone, the journalist continued. “You have mentioned it’s an erotic genre. And then an ex-lover. Don’t you think your female protagonist is behaving like a whore?”
My parents and I have received a lot of 'friendly advice' from interfering family members under the guise of being my 'well wishers'. Just. Keep. Away.
Though I have always been a fan of mythology, I often wondered if the plight of women has changed since then. And I ask, what about her?
The four characters belong to the same locality. Each having their own issues. Each thinking the other is having a fun-filled life. Until they decide to cross the boundaries set by the society.
A few thrusts and grunts later, he rolled off her and drifted off to sleep. Laila adjusted her negligee and started counting imaginary stars in her ceiling.
There is an inexplicable void inside me. I feel like a pawn of the universe. But I guess I am. My entire life has been an indication of that.
Despite having five husbands, a sense of emptiness overwhelms me. And out of sheer fury, frustration and helplessness, I speak.
She is a harbinger of ill luck, they scorned, as Anadi Babu’s dead body was brought in from the police station. A hit-and-run case.
My dear Anjali… you are better off marrying Aman. That is, if you love him. Else just live your life, lady. Slip into those pants. Tie that bandana around your unruly hair. But please, say a resounding no to Rahul.
I supress the anger rising inside me. An outburst of my fury would mean I am culpable. And I refuse to take the blame on my shoulders.
I take his hand in mine and rub the back of his palm with my thumb, a gesture he has always enjoyed. Not today. Because he recoils.
It’s not your duty to please everyone. You don't have to be the perfect woman. What would you tell your 20-year old self?
She knew her deeds would come home to roost. But she was a mere mortal. And when tragedy struck a blow deadlier than a lightning, a numbness had engulfed her.
Though always smiling and jolly, princess Uttara was unaware of her own will power. All it needed a tragedy of a monstrous magnitude to unravel it.
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