A life between Mumbai and Delhi, simmering shoes that always wore a strut, impudence for all the vanity.
One night, of the many, saw her returning to her single apartment a little beyond twelve.
And the feeling of being a slut cringed in her. She wasn't one for real, though. But the late nights, her outrageous clothing, insolence, and many such apocalyptica prescribed by society for a woman, caught her off guard. I think she felt nauseous about herself.
Of course she didn't have the balls to confront herself with that or even pull herself and say, "I care two hoots." Neither did she want to tell anyone she felt morally screwed.
Do you want me to step down?
run far away
and hurt myself?