This campaign highlights the five most common forms of arguments used to trivialize sexual assault and shift blame onto the victims instead of the perpetrators.
This oil work is a study in lies.
Instead of hushing the voice of love, we have been accepting it and encouraging it all these years, through our Rose Day, enabling more with love cards, crush cards, roses and what not.
I looked everywhere for you,
Went wherever I could dredge you up
I asked people about your whereabouts
But none seemed to know.
They are a Gajon company, I was told with an air of dismissal. They do six or seven skits each night, not one long play like us. Men do their female roles.
“Bottoming is hard”, I thought to myself. I was in the bathroom getting ‘prepped’ for our date.
I do not have the right to marry my lover
I'll always marry a man for love.
Your morning is so bright
that my heart wants to speak out.
I'm sick and tired
Of logging into Grindr, Scruff, Hornet or Growlr
May be I'm addicted? May be I still hope?
But, what am I hoping for?
Forwarding the speed of sun so days and nights pass flashing by,
I sit beside my choicest window waiting for the time to die.
World is unjust and incoherent,
A place where people of faith
Credit with veracity, the state
Of Being moral and independent;
Yet they inculpate the accrues
Of different men and tribades,
Who struggle to stick to their
Proclivities of natural virtues.
“I CANNOT WRITE FICTION! I literally hate talking to people!”, yelled B.
30th June is the Pratiti application deadline for Delhi and Jaipur.
Balbir Krishan speaks to Georgina Maddox about the recent controversy over the blatant plagiarism of the Wall of Solidarity.
Manoj belonged to a middle class family. It was a family of scholars. His parents were teachers at a neighbourhood school.
She is bored.... has looked over everyone in the packed disc, mingling with people yet no one interesting or attractive.
Let me touch you one last time
Touch you while I can
While my body is still warm
While my love for you still beats in my heart
Remember our rhapsodic times of love,
When we really knew each other?
Our infantile moments of Bonheur,
The day when you held my hands
And told me with all your charm,
“Let’s fly together, my dove.”
I remember those eyes of small girl,
who looks perplexed,
when people laugh, ridicule, whisper, point and say
"Look, she is different, she is wearing boys clothes"
When I bend my head,
look at myself, I see just clothes!
Labels are something performer D’Lo cannot quite escape from.