I Didn’t Ask to Be a Goddess. I Wanted to Be Heard.
If you’re looking for a neat heroine’s arc, stop reading now.
I wasn’t designed for your hashtags or motivational reels.
I’m not here to be “reclaimed.”
I wanted fairness.
Instead, I got eternal symbolism.
Your Feminism Looks Like My Funeral
You call it empowerment. I see another boardroom where a woman’s voice echoes and gets ignored.
You post me on Women’s Day.
But if I walked into your house with a law degree, a nose ring, and anger in my eyes — you’d shut the door.
“She’s too much,” you’d say.
That’s exactly what they said about me.
I Had Five Husbands. Still Walked Alone.
Don’t envy me.
Five kings. No protection.
A palace full of warriors — and I was the one who had to ask the gods for a lifeline.
You think your boyfriend ghosting you is abandonment?
Try being auctioned off in a court.
The Mahabharat Never Ended. It Just Got a Makeover.
The dice game became corporate politics.
The silencing became “constructive feedback.”
The disrobing?
It’s digital now — every troll stripping your dignity one comment at a time.
Same battlefield. New font.
You Want to Celebrate Me? Stop Surviving Me.
Stop writing my story and then living the opposite.
You raise girls to be bold, then punish them when they disagree.
You post “She believed she could” — but pull the rug when she does.
“Be like Draupadi,” you say.
But only the poetic version. Not the angry, inconvenient, real one.
My Fire Was Not Meant for Worship. It Was Meant to Burn What Couldn’t Handle Me.
I’m not here to comfort you.
I’m here to confront you.
If you still tell girls to stay quiet to “keep the peace,”
if you still say “adjust” more than “aspire,”
if your feminism still fits inside a WhatsApp forward —
then you are the modern Kaurava Sabha.
I’m Not Asking You to Be Like Me.
I’m Asking You to Do What No One Did for Me:
Stand Up. Loudly. Now.
