They look. Sometimes they talk, else they balk. If I look OK, it suddenly dawns on them that they can regurgitate their thoughts about Indian politics or poverty with me when we happen to sit next to each other on a long rail journey. When I walk on the road, they see – not me, but mine.
(Almost) all men are same. They lech. There is just one driving force behind all of their actions – Sex.
Why should I not feel great about my decision to wear burqa – two sizes too big? This is the most liberating I have felt in ages.