Am so comfortable being left, right, center that I develop enemies everywhere simply by celebrating my status of existence. This is ridiculous. A woman has a right to celebrate her existence. It simply is her privilege to be comfortable. Just comfortable. Is that too much to ask?

Seems so.

The wicked grin I see in eyes as I pass them in my happy-go-lucky stride is of jackals waiting for bony left-overs of a tiger’s hunt. Okay, here’s the thing. Me no Lady Diana, compassion not my second nature, my rage is real and its consequence is effectively executed by nature. Natural vengeance is my style. Some people call it ‘karma’. I call it poetic justice delivered by courier. Sleep well. Goodnite. Sweet dreams are over and out. It is time for black-out after lights, camera, action.


Bollywood goes bust.


Claim: This horror story has no resemblance to any person living or dead except for those living it up surreal.


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