Sorry men

Every day I wake up with a groan, proceed to unconsciously tap the 'snooze' button on my phone 3 times at 5-minute intervals and then drag myself out of bed and get dressed with my eyes half open and my mind half shut into the tiniest of tiny shirts and the biggest of big shalwars.

Every day before I reach the breakfast table, I am greeted by a disapproving look from my mother that clearly says, 'tumhari kameezain bohot choti hoti jaa rahi hain larki' before she utters the dreaded words from her mouth.

Every day I argue that every girl wears what I wear and nobody thinks it's weird but mother dearest.

Every day I walk through the huge main gate of the building my office is in... (along with more than 500 others).

Every day I am greeted by a welcoming party of about thirty men (married, single, bi, homo, metro, selfo sexual) eyeing every inch of me as if they had been praying for a woman to 'finally' enter that place and I had been the miracle God sent down to bless their eyes with (even though one just did about 10 seconds ago... but they've forgotten her already haven't they? Or maybe moved her to some remote corner of their brains from where they will extract her later on for further scrutiny and unimaginably-disturbing fantasizing).

Every day it takes me about a minute and thirty seconds to get through the door and through the scanner-thingee that checks to see if I have explosives on me and every day I heave a sigh of relief as I enter.

Every day I am struck by the realization that I sighed too soon, as I am further sub-greeted by a flock of random men of all professions (guards, gunmen, clerks, receptionists, waiters, yes.. even plant-waterers) turning to look my way as if they had been deprived of feminine beauty (?) for too long to have borne it any longer.

Every day I make a dash for the third floor, not even wanting to imagine the third category of men that may be awaiting my arrival at the elevators.

Every day I enter my office, wondering if my mother could have been right.

Today I woke up with a groan, proceeded to unconcsciously tap the 'snooze' button on my phone 3 times at 5-minute intervals, dragged myself out of bed and got dressed with my eyes half open and my mind half shut into the longest of long shirts and (as usual) the biggest of big shalwars.

Before I reached the breakfast table, I caught an approving look on my mother's face saying 'shukar hai, thori akal ayee'... before her mouth has time to utter it.

The rest was the same. Blah.

Men.