Cup Of Coffee

It’s not just about getting raped. It’s not about me getting killed brutally. It’s not about what I wear. It’s not about what I do. The questions are much beyond that.   Why am I killed in the foetus? Why do I never get a new dress on my birthday? Why can’t I even celebrate it like my brother? Why do I even need a promise from my brother to protect me? Why don’t I have a right for education? Why my father is been asked money to get me married? Why am I forced to prostitution, seen as a sexual object & least, cursed for being a prostitute? Why am I killed brutally for just been born a girl? Why am I not given a right to party? Why am I not allowed to go out freely? Why does my parents accompany me while going out anywhere & my brother is never questioned where he was last night? I am not just Damini or  NIRBHAYA. I am not just Ayushi. Nor am I Jessica. I aint a Delhiite or Mumbaikar.  I am INDIAN GIRL seeking answers to all these questions. ...

My Yamaha RX100 roared as I headed to the Expressway. What better could I do to kill the Saturday boredom? Seriously? Does anyone go for a ride at these odd hours?  Its’ just 5 & even the sun is hidden somewhere beneath the grey sky. Anyways I had decided to go for a long ride on my old buddy, my RX100 & I am in no mood to take a rain check. It’s a cool Saturday morning; the sky is a mixture of grey & blue, blur. The road is quite, with little sound of bird’s chirping. The cold breeze is fresh & pleasant. The roads are deserted & street lights are dimly lit.  Dew was still plainly visible on all the blades of grass nearby. At a distance I could hear dogs barking. There are few people jogging in their running shoes, other just walking. What are these people doing? Where are they going? And then I remember they belong to the health-conscious species. Crazy people! When was the last I woke up that early? When was the last I saw the sun rising? I tried h...