They speak of RD
With a cigarette in a hand
And tea in the other

With conceited smiles and
Suggestive gestures

A whorehouse masquerading as a university
Overflowing with news
And guesses
Of which one would cost how much.

The hostel gates
Not tall and strong enough to trap all
Before nightfall.

Every broken girl here
Is met with a cheery one
In the college canteen:
The tomb of redemption.

Some with sindoor,
Some with cuts on their wrist.

Everyone has a story, a struggle,
Of love,
Of loss.

Riding on the front seat of autos,
We are the be all and end all,
Pulling up patialas to giggle about unwaxed legs.

With undone hair and
A confident gait
We strut around.

If life is a drama
We pause it here.

Raw, real, wild,
Call it whatever.

For us,
RD is Themyscira,
And everyone in here: wonder woman.

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