Eight years after hearing about it for the first time, I finally watched The Vagina Monologues. Wish me a happy birthday since I’m being reborn. On second thoughts, don’t say a word. Just listen as we speak – my vagina and I.

I hated being a woman. The restrictions, the rules, the fears of my mother, it made me angry.

I hated being a woman. Being smaller built than the boys, slower than them at games, lagging behind them on my bicycle, my scrawny legs pedalling furiously to keep up. I never could.

I hated being a woman. It took me a long time to get used to my curves. I walked like my flat-chested 12-year-old self till I was 17. Till a classmate told that it wasn’t the done thing for a girl to walk with such a straight back. Till, a boy said, “You walk with your boobs thrust right out at the world.” And when I did get used to them, I took them on with a vengeance and used them as lethal weapons. Bait? Hah! Call them Venus fly-traps! I loved their power and I hated them for the compromise they were.

I hated being a woman. Bleeding every month, feeling pukey and giddy-headed and sticky and smelly.

I hated being a woman. 10 years old and being told, “Boys can do whatever they like. But a girl’s reputation is like glass.” Twelve and my tuition teacher’s voice, “What a horrible laugh, so loud and monstrous! Look at Sonya, how prettily she covers her mouth when she laughs. And she doesn’t make a sound.” Thirteen and being admonished, “Sit with your legs together. Only a slut sits with her legs apart.” Yes, I really and truly hated being a woman.

But I didn’t always. I didn’t know I was a woman for some time. And then suddenly I did. Or more accurately, I suddenly knew he was a man. As he introduced me to his manhood and asked me to pat it, hold it, feel it.

Oh stop! I wanted to scream. But I didn’t. I held myself back. And I held myself in. Realizing suddenly that if I didn’t, everything inside me would fall out of the hole.  And in that moment, I seperated my vagina from me.

Sometime later, I summoned up the courage to tell my parents. I said he had tried to kiss me once. ‘Tried to’, not did. ‘Once’, not many times. ‘Kiss me’, not…. 

My classes were stopped and we didn’t speak about it again. I gave up trust that day as well as faith in men. I even stopped hugging my father. I assumed a genderless identity. And later, sexuality was paraded as an accessory, not experienced from within.

As the years passed, I built armour upon armour. The strongest of them was the desicion that when I was uncomfortable or hurt or unsure or unwell, no one would know, least of all the person who caused me pain. I banished the fears. I suppressed the blushing and giggles. I stifled innocence and wonder. I held back pain. I shut down tears. I sent them all to the dungeon to keep my shameful prisoner company. 


I didn’t speak of it for ten years. One day a neighbor asked my mother about the guitar lessons I’d taken, since she wanted to send 8-year-old daughter for them too. When my mother told me, I asked her to tell our neighbor what had happened. She admitted that she was too embarassed to. I said, “If someone had told us the truth a decade ago…” and I left the room. There was nothing more to say.

Four years later, I was playing a silly game with my boyfriend, slapping and giggling. Then in a dramatic flourish, he pinned me down and held my wrists. That’s the last thing I remembered. The next thing I knew, he was shaking me very gently and asking, “What happened? I was only playing.” I didn’t say a word. Apparantly I’d gone all stiff and began whimpering.

My vagina was locked away into a dungeon when I was nine and went into silence after that. 


As I watched the monologues and the vaginas of women around me sing and squeal and laugh and moan, I asked myself,

If my vagina could speak, what would she say?

And I heard her stammering, painfully shy reply so clear it made me cry.

She said,


I’m sorry I disappointed you.
I’m sorry I hurt you.
I’m sorry you are in pain.
I’m sorry that I remind you of my existance.
I’m sorry I exist.
I’m so very sorry that I didn’t make you happy.
I’m really sorry that I don’t make you proud.
I’m sorry that you’re ashamed of me.
I’m so, so very sorry.

And as she spoke, her fellow prisoners stepped free from two decades of confinement. I had scratched off the worst I’d seen in my life and sent them down to my vagina, keeping the best bits for the part of me on show to the world.

My poor vagina, surrounded by my shame,
my guilt,
my pain,
my bad memories,
my nightmares,
my anguish,
my betrayal,
my agony,
my frustration,
my sorrow
…and my tears.

She cried, my vagina cried. And for the first time in years, I did too, with her.


Small wonder then that my relationships failed. Such a hellish place it had turned into that I’d only send those I wanted to banish down there. No wonder the very worst of men appealed to me and the very worst in them turned me on. And even they were petrified by what they found there.

I hated doing it in the dark.
I hated doing it on my back.
I hated doing it in bed. Or a couch. Or a car. Or in the open.
In fact I hated doing it so much that I never did.

Those who came to visit were offered a gracious cup of tea and then lulled into a battery of tests – a moat, a dragon, an army of defenses. And those that got past, walked up to the gates to find them locked. No entry into this love-lane, we’re shut, you’re unwelcome, go home. They did.


My new friend calls me a child and tells me that there’s a little girl he sees when he looks at me. Now I understand. At long last, I’m in the throes of an emotion nearly long-forgotten – TRUST. I banished it to my basement along with the other more tender emotions. If other people trust with their hearts, mine has gone made its home in the hovel downstairs. I trust from deep down there, like a slender creeper growing out of the ground. And what do you know? He’s right after all. My vagina thinks she’s only nine years old. That’s the last time she breathed free. Sweet child of mine indeed.

I used to be a sweet child. Warm, affectionate, trusting and open and always getting into scrapes. All of that went away with the confinement, right down into my vagina which is everything I am not. Sweet, pure, soft and warm. And it stayed that way for twenty years despite the confinement.


The book was wonderful. But the play brought it to life. It made me laugh (not smirk) and cry (not scowl). It gave my vagina her freedom and her voice too.

This is for Mahabanoo, Dolly Thakore, Avantika, Jayati (the moaner!) and Sonal Sachdev, the wonderful, spirited ladies who made last night come alive at Prithvi theatre. You made me whole again. You brought me back to life.


If my vagina were to dress up, what would it wear?

Well, it’s worn iron shackles for two decades. Now, if she could, she’d like something light and airy – preferably nothing at all. 😀


I read Lolita when I was eighteen. It was a revelation. One more step in what turns out to be a long journey. A journey of healing. A lot of people I’ve discussed the book with say that it is a sick book, making excuses for paedophilic behaviour. But I think, they just don’t know. Of all the people, I can hardly be an advocate for child abuse.

But reading Lolita gave me some perspective on what happened to me. I suddenly saw my abuser as a human being – a very bad and flawed human being, a sick human being but a human being nevertheless. Not a monster, but human. And human beings can be overcome, overpowered and even forgotten. Almost.


About 5 years ago I was at a doctor’s clinic when I suddenly realised that the man sitting across me was my former guitar teacher. I was shocked that it had taken me that long to recognize him. Even more shocked at what I felt – nothing at all. In my memories he was a big-built man. But in person, after all these years he just looked so tired, so small, so weak, so obscure and so old. I can’t change what happened and it would a lie to say that I’ve forgiven. This is a wound that cut me so deep, it bled me right out of the right to be angry and seek revenge. Seeing him again was like someone smoothing over the scars of the wound.


I didn’t have the courage to put this up online immediately. I had to ask a few friends about it. Two of them told me that it was deeply moving and should be shared. One cautioned me that I should remember to ignore any weird-ass reactions. Finally two others,  told me about their own personal accounts of horror. And in the end, that’s really what gave me the courage to share this.

Happy birthday to my vagina. And welcome to the world of the living again.

108 thoughts on “The Vagina Dialogues”
  1. You brave, brave lady. I’m glad you found it within you to let it out…it can only get better.

    It really is scary how many friends I have who have gone through similar abuses – and these are only the ones I know of. The worst thing about all such stories are the way it causes people to shut everyone out. But you shouldn’t have to – it was NOT your fault.

    This is not something that happened to you – it was DONE to you. And for this, you should never have to be ashamed. Angry, upset, horrified – yes, ashamed – nuh-uh.

    Warm hugs

    ??!s last blog post..Friday Fun Fact/Fiction

  2. Considering how difficult it was to read through your post, I can well imagine what it must have taken to put down those painful memories in writing…
    I admire your courage.

    Exorcising those ghosts from the past is surely half the battle won?

    Radas last blog post..The Conspiracy Theory

  3. I used to always wonder why there was a melancholy feel about your blog. Now I know that it’s no accident. I may never even begin to understand the pain. But your writing has at least taught me that there are great depths that I may never know.

  4. Till the last line, I was hoping this was all part of the script of the play and not ur personal story. I dont want to belittle ur post by just admiring ur guts to write this – this was something more than all that and can’t be enough praised. Just a sick feeling deep inside that a lot of guys are like this, many many more who are varying shades of this which can be anywhere from comment passing to staring. They are everywhere – when educated people are like this, uneducated loafers don’t need a reason to be civilized. Admire the guts of a lot of modern women hidden in remote corners of the country who have withheld so much crap inside them at various stages of their adolescent life. If only there was a solution…

    Rajivs last blog post..Remembering the fun posts from my IT Services days!

  5. Dropped in thinking that it’s a light and funny rant.
    Couldn’t bear to read it completely.

    If I had believed in God, I would’ve prayed for you.
    Wish you/noone has to go through painful memories, experiences are hard enough.

    Been there, can understand.

  6. Giggles, smiles and coy laughter,
    A tear shed behind them all,
    It’s time to light the darkness now,
    It’s time to let the shadows fall.

    (Nicely written. Intense. Bebe, I didn’t know! Wow. Hmmm.)

  7. “Even more shocked at what I felt – nothing at all.”

    I wish I could say that.. And what I went through probably wasn’t as horrific.

    I wish more people would talk about this, and not hide it away.

    And hail the Vagina Monologues! 🙂

    RukmaniRams last blog post..I have some trouble shooting

  8. It sounds quite awful. I can only imagine what you would have gone through. I also feel rage building up when I realize that predator has gotten away all these years with no consequences whatsoever.

    I hope writing about it leads to some closure and healing..

    Lekhnis last blog post..The many forms of tourism

  9. I want to wait and watch. To know the reactions that people have to this. To see if what started our conversation holds true among other women too,
    “Almost every woman has been either abused or raped.”

    I want to pray and hope that that line is wrong, but I know that the statistics will give the rest of us some peace. Either way.

    Pragnis last blog post..Please tell me I’m not the only one..

  10. dont know what to say. your post is an incredible act of courage.

    As a father of two daughters who are growing up, I am scared silly every day until they come home – and keep asking them how has their day been… Not knowing where to draw the line between being too intrusive in their lives and between seeming uncaring.

  11. I bow down to your honesty and courage to write this. As a man I may not understand what the bigger picture behind this post must have been, but I am moved certainly.

  12. First of all I admire your courage to come up with such a post, I can’t even imagine what it would have felt like going down the memory lane again and writing it out. Cheers to you lady!!
    I always keep ranting on my mobile that girls don’t come out in open and talk about things like sex and all but today reading your blog and then jumping on to a few links from your blog, I am pretty glad to know that there are girls who can talk about such things, just that I havent met them in person.
    Stumbled upon your blog for the first time today but think am gonna be following it now 🙂

  13. Wow!

    brave and courageous – wonderful and a poignant way to put the whole issue in perspective! methinks, you should have just got up in the clinic and slapped him with one of those sakshi’s slippers – wud have been good riddance 😈

    Kirans last blog post..Back after a loonngg hiatus!

  14. For once I am glad I am a boy. Actually these thoughts had never crossed my mind when I was younger…call me self-obsessed, ignorant, whatever… It was only after I entered into a serious relationship did I first realize how many hardships a girl has to face in her normal day to day life. God makes a woman bleed every month, and for no fault of hers! The society makes so many demands from a girl that in the years of growing up all she does is put up an act and in the process loses some of her true essence. But the good thing is that today more and more women are being educated…we see more and more women joining the corporate world every passing day. These are the women of today, the mothers of tomorrow. And when they have daughters one day they would certainly not let them go through the hardships they had to face when they were young. I will like to thank you for such a wonderful post 🙂

    Animesh Rajs last blog post..When things went haywire

  15. That was so poignant and brave. You have crossed your first hurdle by coming out in the open with this.
    I am sure you’ll have many more brave discoveries of your wonderful self and will grow.
    All the best 🙂

    pratss last blog post..Was that all???

  16. I am dumbstruck after reading this post. Stunned! I don’t know, what to express here, but have a simple hope, that this pouring of yours, will relieve you. Relieve you for an eternity.

  17. This was absolutely poignant and expressed ever so beautifully.
    Not sure if there is something like the ‘right thing to say’- but I congratulate you on your newly found liberation (mind and soul) and cheers to the new you 🙂
    Rock on!

  18. Hi!

    I can really imagine the state of mind of a woman because I have an elder sister and I am the sensitive younger sibling who is really loved by all in the family.

    I can really understand the pain that a woman would take to live peacefully without any regrets. However, I would like to say that because you’re a woman, saying you’re a weak being is no excuse but just a stupid reason to live a woman’s life with sorrow.

    I think a woman is strong and not weak. Nor any human being is weak. Weakness can be measured only in comparison but we have strength which is undiscovered and underutilized.

    After all, a mother gives birth to a male child and not otherwise.

    We have power within our mind, body and soul.

    We can learn to defend our selves and can even control our lives.

    We aren’t powerless human beings.

    We choose to be winners and losers in our lives.

    It’s always our choice. Life gives us plenty of choices.

    You may say, a woman’s life is tough but I had say she’s unconsciously chosen such a life.

    To end the whole note, I had say “A man can just be bold but a woman can become both, bold and beautiful”.

    Your posts was dreadful and I can’t believe it to be soo REAL.. it really hit my head and I can’t believe it was so real.. beautiful posts and REAL too.

  19. This post of yours reminds me of a quote by Charles DuBois, ‘ ……To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become’
    Happy Birthday ?!

  20. I had goose bumps while reading this all the way through. I too, as a few above, wanted to rather presume this was a script that you were writing until I reached the end.

    I’ve been staring at this comment box, desperately searching for words to write, for over 10 minutes now – and I still don’t really know what to say.

    I venerate your fortitude on deciding and being able to pen this down.

  21. Reading it shook me up.. Wat amazes me is dat most of my gal frnds hv an abuse story 2 tell.. Stuff like these kp happenin all d time,bt not many hv d courage 2 talk abt it.. Thanks gal!

  22. Congratulations! Not only for the courage and lucidity of this post, but for your new found freedom. 🙂 It is difficult to express what I feel, and so will say no more.

    Manasis last blog post..Not just X, Y

  23. Very Brave and Bold Post…must say wonderfully written which have come across after a longtime… take care


  24. Thank you idea smith

    There are so many of us with painful stories of how we ceased to be while very young.

    So many who just let hurt lie in a corner, hoping it will die with time, only to realize later on that not only is this hurt alive, but warping our lives.

    This is a reminder and a challenge



  25. I am not sure if I should be writing this here..but some of the facts on my blog has been disturbing lately.may be I should have sent this in an email to you.. I am curious how many people landed on this post by the search engine..I wouldn’t be surprised if there were humongous amounts of visitors because of the post title.. has blogworld gone so bad and perv?

    ramblers last blog post..Shades of a curious mind

  26. This past week I have been wondering (after some heartful comments left on my blog and in the posts of others, admissions really), I wonder if all of us are wounded in some way. Your story was particularly compelling … and I’m not sure if my continuing shock is a result of your incredible honesty … or the fact that you do NOT see this man as a monster after all he stole from you. I mean, I wasn’t there and I’d like to lash out at him! I’d like to know why some people have a need to hurt others. I’d like to know what it is that allows the hurt to survive, often surviving to become the most compassionate of people. Mostly, however, I’d like to know what it would take to end the cycles of physical and emotion violence that we inflict on each other. Certainly, cumulatively, we’re smart enought to find a way!

  27. I can’t believe this is true..

    it’s so real..

    btw the comment rambler has written makes so much sense.. but he forgot to realize that the posts has resemblance with the play “the vagina monologues” and thus this made it quite intriguing.. don;t count everyone in that group of people..

    people expected the posts to be something comedy, something to laugh about ..

    But it came different surprisingly..

  28. Of everything in this post, THIS is what left me a mix of so many feelings that I wish there were a single word for it:

    “But reading Lolita gave me some perspective on what happened to me. I suddenly saw my abuser as a human being – a very bad and flawed human being, a sick human being but a human being nevertheless. Not a monster, but human.”

    This feeling is beyond numbness, it’s beyond admiration, compassion, pity (for the human monster), disgust (at the monstrous human), pride (at being one of the one-half of the world population, mostly the only ones capable of such an evolved sentiment), and yet it’s a mix of all those. But most of all, I think it gives me a chance to have faith…

    Faith that as long as there exist those who take the choice of looking at even their abusers as humans – flawed humans – but humans, all is not lost in the hope of a better world…

    Thanks for sharing this.

    Monsoons last blog post..Unpredictable Weather

  29. Hi, this is my first time your blog. I got your link through Meetu.

    I have heard a lot about Vagina Monologues. Have you written this from play or are these your own story? If latter, I am touched. I want you to know I am there and I wish you well in life. And I think you are a courageous woman to speak uninhibitedly about it.

    Poonams last blog post..Movie Review: Thoda Pyaar, Thoda Magic

  30. A long time ago, I’d vowed to write only things that’d make people laugh – but you post has made me think that over.

    I’m not as brave as you, though. Not just yet.

  31. You hated being woman, and you’d any day hate to have been man instead.
    And I’d hate if you were any other than the person you are. The tallest of boys wouldn’t have matched your depths, and the strongest of women could at best have achieved as much strength as you’ve possessed.
    You’re an extraordinary woman, and all you should do is celebrate that 12 days from now 🙂 Cheer up.

  32. Hi …

    Ur post does evoke more respect for women and does make me proud to be born with the essence of a woman . Ur thoughts and experience have been penned very sensitvely . I saw the play too this time at Prithvi and I was very touched , I m glad u were inspired, and released urself to write about it . U certainly did justice to all the Vaginas:) All the best !

  33. hats of to u dear Ideasmithy!
    Kudos to your daring bare it all post…It takes courage for a femme in our country to cum out so boldly against d orthodox mindset n crappy individuals of my gender.
    Here’s wishing that the Braveness reaches still unfathomable highs…Keep up d good work,lady!

  34. girl! i was really moved reading what u have gone through. i am assuming it must have been a real pain, an even bigger pain must have been seeing ur old Guitar Teacher! the frail and old person that he had aged into.
    i am sure u must be a relieved and a new person after watching the play! Dolly Thakore is a wonderful actress! she has been around for ages now! 🙂 i hope that this new you would continue to live always now, i am sure the old you is dead for good. 🙂
    Ciao and take care! 🙂

    Niravs last blog post..Early Morning Chores!!!

  35. Dear Ideasmithy…

    I thought A Thousand Splendid Suns taught me a lot about what being a woman was all about… before I read your post…

    And to have met that man and to have felt nothing at all.. is courageous of you.. but to imagine how many lives he would have ruined anyway… it becomes really hard not to feel anything about him.. he is far from forgiven..

    Here’s wishing that nobody else goes through similar pain.. and those who have gone through this, discover courage and a chance to spit out the pain, like you did…


  36. I had always wondered what a woman’s reaction to the play/book would be… Liberation? Trust? Frustration that comes with realization?… Being a male, I went through a lot of emotions as I watched the play..

    and you are right.. it takes a lot of courage to come out in the open and share your deepest darkest and often the most hurting thoughts.. but then, as long as it makes you feel free, I think its worth it! Great post.. and cheers!! to a new life!!

    Amits last blog post..The Power of (Right) Training

  37. I know of a person (very very dear to me) who had a similar experience. And somehow I was more unforgiving and hurt about it than the person who had the disgusting experience. It took me ten years to come to terms with it. I’m truly sorry about what you’ve been through and proud of the strength you’ve demonstrated.

  38. Your experience reminds me of a girl in my school, whom we envied then for getting too much attention from our school’s music teacher. The music teacher with a beautiful wife and a daughter 2 years younger than us and I remember all their names. The student, a pretty South Indian girl, who wore a red bindi and flowers in her hair. She was not a good singer but a quiet girl. She was also an average student so she was not very confident. She was a bit more physically developed than we all were, a fact that I only understood later, in context.

    Years later, I realised it was no blessing for her to be a favoured student; it was something that may have blighted her sense of confidence for years later. Who knows?

    Now reading your post, I wonder how she felt then. I still remember her face, the place where she boarded the school vehicle, the music teacher coming to school on his bicycle with his daughter on the front bar and a lunch box packed by his wife in the basket in front, the red eyes the girl had sometimes in the school vehicle back.

    I wish more women would speak for others and for themselves. I wish more men were truly as concerned as some of the men who have commented here.

    Good on you for having courage, Ideasmithy.

    Shefalys last blog post..More random thoughts

  39. Ronak I do know about the people..and may be none of us would have come hear searching for that word..but I was just talking about the anonymous visitors who find a way to your blog by searching for some really disturbing things.

    ramblers last blog post..blink

  40. I can understand the seething pain and havocking emotions you must have gone through. All, I can say is that I too faced something like this at an early age and sadly the wrong doer was someone who was a close family member.

    He is no more now. Died at an early age of say 20 or so. I don’t know if I should be glad that he’s dead or not…but I am. Realizing that I never have to face him again.
    Whatever happened has been locked inside me for years. For the first time in my life I have shared this and it has to be through this platform.

    But, I have moved on…burying everything as deep and as far as possible. And I am proud of myself.

    Withering Willows last blog post..Funny Toilet Signs

  41. I’ve been wondering what to comment on something so intense. Its not possible for anyone except the one suffering to really fathom what the pain, the anguish can be like. Its been said many times already, but you deserve to hear it more… you have been amazingly brave.
    Letting your demons out is like completing a circle… it will always be there, but there wont be sharp edges constantly hurting you anymore….
    Regards to your courage and best wishes.

    ‘nonnymouss last blog post..This Shitty City

  42. Hi! I was in your site for the first time. I started skimming through this post…then stopped…then started reading it in detail…I could sense the pain you must felt. It must have taken great guts to overcome it and write about it. I wish such things didn’t happen…but then that’s such a long list of things. Take care

    Kalyans last blog post..Mr Chow’s – Chinese food delivered home

  43. Thank you for that. Have read the book, and watched it performed as well. Been abused too, though I don’t think it was as traumatic for me as it seems to have been in your case. Maybe boys get over it better since the shame and guilt aren’t piled on quite as much.
    I hope writing about it helped.


  44. No words…you’re very strong…I feel like I know you infintely more now after reading this post than I did in all the years I’ve known you…hugs

  45. You know my thoughts on this…all I can say is…Happy Birthday and enjoy the feeling!

    The university here celebrates Women’s Day every year with a performance of the Vagina Monologues. Each year they have a different cast – women students, faculty and staff. As part of the selection process you have to fill out a form – and you may choose to share an experience/thought which has motivated you to sign up for the play.

    Once you are selected, everyone gets to read out loud different excerpts and then choose which one you want to be. Before the rehearsals begin, there is a bonding exercise – and women are encouraged to share what they feel on reading it. And NOT surprisingly, there is an outpouring of emotions, experiences, stories – some sad, some brave, some ugly, some hopeful. Each of which would have created a new revised edition of Vagina Monologue. The beauty is- it is now a DIALOGUE, instead of a monologue, getting past the trauma and the shame and having a conversation that frees you up immensely from the burdens you have been carrying for so long.

    I had signed up for it in 2005. I had shared with women of all colors, shapes , sizes, occupations, ages MY STORY. My fiance expressed his DISGUST and DISPLEASURE. I didnt make it to the play. He is no longer my fiance (for many reasons along with this one). And I think it is time to audition for it once more. Something tells me he was SCARED. And I would like to find out exactly why. 🙂

  46. Your writing makes me feel like I know you — You are an amazing person. By far the dominating emotion evoked in me as I realized what your post was about was anger — I can’t see how such acts can be forgotten and forgiven. I have lived a life very shielded from such harsh realities of life until very recently — Is is my naivete, that I badly want to see that guy (and others like him) punished?

  47. just landed up on ur blog a few minutes back….love ur posts and ur articulation / expression of feelings… as for this post… i hv no words.. it was very moving…

  48. I just want to say thank you, every one of you for reading my post and commenting. Some of you have shared your own experiences, some of you have offered comfort. I’m so touched, so very touched. I wrote this post as a rant – to throw something off my mind. I never expected to get something back. I’ve been moved by everything that all of you have said. It seems just too superficial to say you’ve changed my life by speaking up. All I will say and hope that you understand is – Thank you. Deeply.

  49. When I read or come to know about these, my respect for girls and women goes up a notch higher. I am not sure if it is true if I say “I understand”, but yes I get it.
    Cheers for the ladies’ courage to trust again, to love again, to smile through the memories of haunted past.

    Cheers, and more strength to you.

  50. I was checking out Indian blogs as part of my work when I stumbled upon your post. As I read it, it’s like time stood still and none of the daily office grind mattered anymore. Thanks for sharing such compelling thoughts and reminding of the things in life I take for granted!

  51. That was haunting… I’ve written a similar one.. long ago, buried somewhere in my archives… now i want to see the play too, after hearing so much about it.

  52. Hi….I held my breath until the very end and I didn’t know what to feel. As many others it touched me deeply and I am so amazed that you were able to put that up there.

    There’s a quote I saw on a friend’s blog which I have always found to ring true…

    The emotional, sexual, and psychological stereotyping of females begins when the doctor says, “Its a girl.” – Shirly Chisholm

    You’re very brave 🙂

  53. Amazing post. It may be looked upon as a courageous post w.r.t the prevalent social conditions. but it is a courageous attempt more so because, i see what i read as the outcome of a war between ur outer self which reminds you of The Bad Thing every time and ur inner self which wants to rediscover life.

    Sus last blog post..(Let) Live Happily

  54. I am deeply touched by the honesty and courageousness of this incredible post. I am so sorry for what you endured and I sincerely moved by your path to healing. Your post is a testament to the power of literature and theater and how the arts can indeed be transformative.

    Congratulations on receiving the Avant Garde Blogger Award, you absolutely deserve this award. I so hope that the winning of this award brings more people to this post who might find healing and understanding through your beautiful piece. You are a strong woman and an inspiration.

  55. Its very sad that most girl childs have faced abuse.. You had the guts to write it out, few of us (including me) are still searching for words to write those horrors… In my case, may be I might forget the horrors if I get to share them on paper.. but then, sigh.. they just cannot be shared!

    Ms Taggarts last idea: What do you do?

  56. @Biju: No, I have met many men who are the exact opposite of what you said. Its like there are two species within men too.. one who lusts behind anything in a skirt and one who knows whom he should lust behind.

    Ms Taggarts last idea: Amnesia!

  57. Dear Ms Taggarts,

    Linking both the images of the pedophiles and the other sex perverts it seems certain that they are unfit for marriage and raising their own kids. How can they hold them and love them with dirt in their minds? Behind the skirt or a simple hole in the wall, these men will never outgrow their feelings once they develop them. TC

    Biju Mathewss last idea: The "Traditional" Shiv Ram Sena Theory

  58. I couldn’t hold back the tears while reading this. I may be a man, but one would have to be a corpse to not empathize with your experience. For every woman who speaks out, many remain silent, and many more are silenced. It especially bad in the more conservative patriarchal cultures, where people are more concerned about reputation than justice. Thanks to this veil of silence, we never know how much our own mothers, sisters, wives and daughters are suffering, having been culturally brainwashed or “counseled” to hold their tongues and preserve the “peace” of the family and “honor” of the men. May you find *personal* peace and thereby once again honor *yourself* … and your vagina.

  59. Wow!!! I have no words for your courage. To deal with the demons of the past and to come out of it takes a lot. I’m glad I read your post. You are an inspiration to many people out there. Kudos!!!

    1. @Milana: Thank you very much. I was very lucky and I had a lot of support from my family and friends. I’m sorry I have nothing more to say than that but it’s the truth.

  60. When a string is broken,if you try to tie it back,the knot still remains..till you realize at least it held your packet together till you reached home… .similarly in life when you experience a difficult situation,those memories never go away, you just choose to look at it differently ..and it shapes your persona,gives it a new meaning..a new voice…

  61. Balls on Honesty. Enough said. You faced what you faced and lived to tell the tale. That’s a bigger deal than most know. Much love and respect.

  62. very rarely have blog posts moved me emotionally.And this one just did.I appricate your honesty.Respect.
    I don’t want to say more,than that it was beautifully written.

  63. i just want you to know that you are not alone in this world. i draw solace from the fact that I will not be as conservative as my mom was when i bear a child. and if it is a girl child, the least i will do is to ensure that she knows how to differentiate a wrong touch from the right and speak up irrespective of the consequences.

    Growing up in the NCR region, I have lived these horrors every day of my life.

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