I wasn't born with a silver spoon, I grew one in the last couple of years. What with pickup/drop at all times, travelling around in a bumpy share auto, travelling in Hyderabad has always been smooth-sail. Despite the traffic, Bangalore auto-wallahs have been kind to me by turning the meter on at all times.
In Chennai, well, let's just say having boobs and travelling in public transport isn't conducive to each other. Never mind the fact that I dress extra-conservatively, packing away my flashy stilettos and party-wear for some other time (whenever that is), there's always a scarf or a dupatta or something that covers the aforementioned boobs, but somehow there are always a scoundrel or two - and I use the term loosely - who want to have a go at them.
While I walk fast, elbows up, trying to prevent the inevitable attempts at brushing, touching or at inspired moments, groping; with my given two hands, leaving my behind entirely unprotected. Now that's my fault no. I should have had been given 4 hands at least. No one ever said Chamundi got groped, no, she had six very busy hands, killing monsters who had most likely tried to make a pass at her.
At peak times, I catch myself huddling towards the corner of Guindy, one side of the steel mesh as my guardian angel and vaguely swatting the air behind so no one sneaks up on me (as so many do, the bastards).
Its the walk of so many other women here. Strange comradeship we have.
In Chennai, well, let's just say having boobs and travelling in public transport isn't conducive to each other. Never mind the fact that I dress extra-conservatively, packing away my flashy stilettos and party-wear for some other time (whenever that is), there's always a scarf or a dupatta or something that covers the aforementioned boobs, but somehow there are always a scoundrel or two - and I use the term loosely - who want to have a go at them.
While I walk fast, elbows up, trying to prevent the inevitable attempts at brushing, touching or at inspired moments, groping; with my given two hands, leaving my behind entirely unprotected. Now that's my fault no. I should have had been given 4 hands at least. No one ever said Chamundi got groped, no, she had six very busy hands, killing monsters who had most likely tried to make a pass at her.
At peak times, I catch myself huddling towards the corner of Guindy, one side of the steel mesh as my guardian angel and vaguely swatting the air behind so no one sneaks up on me (as so many do, the bastards).
Its the walk of so many other women here. Strange comradeship we have.
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