The Drowsy Durga

It was the last working Friday of the month. Fridays were supposed to be the only day of the week where the corporates allowed their highly paid manforce (the term “womanforce” does not exist in their big fat hypocritical dictionaries sadly) to dress up informally, something they termed as their employee friendly measures. Thus, hiding her inhibitions behind her newly bought M.A.C studio concealer, she finally managed to break through her closet of apprehensions. She took out a dress which was hiding itself in her cupboard since her last birthday as it used to ignite rays of toxic masculinity in her drab and dreary neighbourhood whenever she used to wear it. To celebrate its anniversary, she finally chose to flaunt it on that fuggy Friday in the muggy month of May. Little did she know, her male colleagues would be keenly observing her waxed soul beneath her dress through their spiritual eyes oozing with equality. With those dilated pupils glued to her bare skin until the last filthy drop of their lust, she felt suffocated more than ever.
To help her breathe in that smog of layered judgements penetrating her soul, she thought of getting high on life at the end of the day. “Errr, her **** strap is visible…”, “Look at that scantily clad girl. She looks ******…” these were the praiseworthy adjectives thrown at her from those clumsy corners in that posh pub which literally craved for few feminine footfalls. She chose to muffle those voices with her invisible shrug of indifference rather than appeasing them with words. A guy went up to her and asked, “My place or your place?” As the last sip of her fifth Long Island Iced Tea was dribbling down her oesophagus, she replied in a slurred voice, “You can’t afford me, mister misogynist…” The fragile male ego was climbing mountains around her, and it kept screaming for its share of recognition. She smirked at this, and went back home earning a warm sense of triumph over her meekness.
As soon as she entered home, her drowsiness made her miss few steps on the stairs. But her partner was manly enough to hold her in his arms and he whispered in her ears, “Whenever you will fall, I will be there for you, forever and always…” With her man breathing heavily on her neck, she shed off those decaying remains of nasty stares throughout the day from her body. After sipping lemonade made by him, they cuddled in bed and the dress hid herself back in the closet with a promise to rise again whenever she needed to conquer the world.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.