She was invited for a hen’s party. Unwillingly, she agreed to attend the same. The elite group was not her cup of tea. Senseless formalities irked her but none the less she was a selfless lady. Her attendance was a proof of the forgiveness for her husband’s son. She couldn’t compromise with the same.

The day had arrived. She donned a pretty white floral print saree with an off shoulder pink blouse. Jewellery never fascinated her. She preferred ear studs and a simple bracelet. The mirror never lied of her beauty. Her husband stood at the door, mesmerized by her beauty. An angel was residing in his abode. Had their relation being a normal one, he would have hugged her right away. But owing to the circumstances, the idea of virgin romance was enough for him.

She was his second wife. Unlike regular relations, here, she had first occupied a place in his house and now was slowly paving a way for her place in his heart. Some months ago, his ex wife was responsible for the sustaining problems amidst them. But now the tides were changing, his ex-wife was getting hitched with her lover of 6 years and it was her hen’s party.

The chance presented a unique opportunity of confession. His daughter was not around; everyone was busy in their daily chores. They were alone in their comfort space. He approached, she anticipated. The words; the magical words had to be spelled out somehow. But their cultures were a barrier I suppose. He was Punjabi, she was madrasi. The unison of two souls in marriage is never enough in India; the families need to be in tune with each other. As he started, she waited, their parents fought downstairs. Their talk was interrupted, the moment was lost. They went to convince their respective parents.

The moment was lost, but not the evening. He offered her to drop at the venue. She was pleasantly surprised at the new development as he never had done this. But she preferred to savor the moment. They finally reached the hotel. He opened the door for her; she got down and was again lost in his aura. This man had something indeed. How she wished she could ditch the party, but she couldn’t as her sisters were waiting for her. He reluctantly let her go.

She composed herself, snapped out of her thoughts and strode to her destination. She entered the place. It was unusually dark, an unfamiliar feeling engulfed her. A lady there offered to keep her clutch in the locker. She gave away that to her. Her pace slowed down as she went ahead. There were unfamiliar faces, they were not women. But wasn’t it supposed to be an all girls’ party? She could only see men there, All drunk, sloshed and completely out. The fire shot at the nearby counter startled her. She bent down to save herself only to find her getting surrounded by the demeaning public there. She was terrified now. Three faces were known to her. It was the bachelor’s party that her husband had ditched. She was at the wrong place, but the message sent to her had this venue in it. The time was not to think of how? It was just to get out of here. She cried in front of them, she begged them to leave her. She went to her acquaintances the three men, the business rivals of her husband. She asked the groom to stop all of it. But was startled to know that he was one of them. He didn’t leave chance to insult her husband. “Her husband is not a man”, is what she heard. She was treated as a lady who was desperate for physical intimacy. She became an easy target as her marriage was supposedly a compromise for the world. Her husband’s past behavior projected her vulnerability to the world.

But were the men who surrounded her really men? The eunuchs in this party had forgotten their existence. All they knew was a new model was available in front of them to devour. Is this the way that make men as men? No, a big no. but these words would definitely fall on deaf ears.

As the party was busy laughing at her state of being “damsel in distress”, she escaped and ran out. But all in vain, a drunken Romeo followed her grabbing her hand pulling her to him. All others stood at the entrance garnering sadistic pleasure. She screamed for help, not even the security came to her rescue.

She was a bone for the hungry dogs there, a source of pleasure which was available when alone. Married or not, never mattered to them. Saddening it may sound though but a bitter truth it is, the country where female gods outnumber the male gods, women being worshiped in every form, today the people are drifting away from the very essence of our culture.

Women are blamed for the wrong dressing sense. They are ridiculed for their sense of lifestyle as some find it outrageous and provoking. So where does the morality lies when a woman drapes a 6 yards or 9 yards long saree? Has this piece of clothing also become scrutinized by the society? What should a woman wear in a place where the thoughts have become outdated? Is it necessary to instruct the girls only?

I guess the guys need more counseling in this field. To call yourself a man, be a man first. Free yourself of the inhibitions. It’s the duty of the society to eradicate the evil from the roots. Crime begins, where stability ends.


  1. Darkly (if there is such a phrase) morbid – it shows that the demeaning attitude of men towards women doesn’t just lurk in the uneducated fields of a nation, but higher up in the class ranks it is ripe with hypocrisy and lust. The simple “treat women as you would like your sisters and mothers treated” doesn’t apply here. The whole bullshit (excuse my French) around men showing love on “Rakshah Bandan” (if I spelt this right) or praying to a female God for whatever they want, simply a joke.
    It’s a simple truth here, with clear and concise investigations, if your “male organ” controls your mind and how you behave, and should you be tried of such atrocious acts such as rape against a female, then you simply “lose” that body part and it becomes an example hung on a tree to tell others of their fate. Old School ways of punishment are often the most effective…..
    Apologies for dark overtones, but how woman are treated really annoys the me to another level.


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