Being Women



Who Suffers More – The Child or The Abuser?

Victims don’t complain and predators walk on the streets freely. If victims manage to gather some courage to complain, then they are silenced by the family members and the society, in order to maintain the family decorum and societal image.

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Saree lovers

6 Must-Have Summer Sarees In Your Wardrobe

Thankfully, there are some feather-light, natural fibre options that allow your skin to breathe and feel comfortable, even in this heat and humidity. And which you can wear both to your workplace, and jazz up for that evening do.

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The Monster Mother

A few days ago, the sensational Bharti Bhagat case had hogged the headlines and grabbed public attention because of the sheer bizarreness of the incident. Crime reporters, criminologists, and psychologists had a field day, analysing and dissecting the human mind and its baser instincts.

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A Guilty Mother

My heart broke into pieces. I stood there for a while, silently, guilt-tripping. I wished I could go back to that moment and stop this from happening. I wished I could protect my little one from being in so much pain. I wished I could be more available for him.

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Chris Rock

A Slap For A Slapstick ?

We have become too comfortable with the jokes cracked on us or our families, we have adjusted too well to the momentary humiliations by grinning big. We have learnt hard to ignore many times. Did we pave the path for bullies by our prolonged resilience or silence? But for how long?

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grey hair

Grey Matters

Her embarrassed mother-in-law, who still had more black than grey hair, often tried to attribute her premature greying to hormonal imbalance caused by the pregnancy. But friends, neighbours, and even complete strangers were not so understanding.

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Return Of The Past

As Titi stretched her hand to reach the stacked tea trays the shawl slipped from her shoulder exposing her back and arms – bare, save the straps of her nightdress, the one Sohini had assured her would not look daring in the confines of the bedroom.

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The Spring Bloom 

Their first meeting had been at a bloggers’ meet. He was fresh, and vivacious, and happy. Now, they would occasionally sit in a cafe that smells heavily of coffee beans and cheesy garlic bread, and buy one another coffee, looking into one another’s eyes. He was never tired of her, of listening to her pain, her unfulfilled desires, her midnight tears. Even amidst a crowd, he would find her. He could never miss her. His eyes would wade through even the most dingiest of places, thickly crowded, to her.

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