God was Murdered

I'm at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International airport (Bombay) waiting for my flight to Melbourne. Let's rewind a bit.  Past week has been strange. Ever since I dropped the “I’m never getting married” bomb on my family, conversations get choked at my sight, expressions fade at lightning pace & gloom envelopes our home. Mom has gone cold turkey on me. Dad has become so formal it makes me nauseated. They truly regret not making another child. They feel betrayed by the one they did.    Over the last week I’ve stayed out of their sight as much as I could. So self-proud.   There’s a slight change in plan. One of my bosom buddies is getting married, suddenly. Impromptu shit. Talk about invitation, I got a Whatsapp: “hey bitch I’m getting married to a white boy. Be there or I’ll miss the chance to rub it in your face. P.S. he looks like Jahan Gill. And bitch I ain’t sharing. All bets are off”. Samaira & I went to boarding school {darjeeling} together. We st

Remember me. I’m Aashima Talwar, 23, the bitch who is arguably a floozy, promiscuous as hell. If you know me by my previous adventures/letters then you may think you know who I’m but fuck no, you don’t. Let’s fill the gaping holes. Let’s give it a shot. I’ve blonde hair (L’Oréal), fair skin (courtesy mummy), 5’7 tall (not bad), perfect rack (yummy) & I’m a true-blue cunt (ouch!). Yet I’ve never slept with anyone’s BF/Husband. I swear on my dead cat. C’mon who would lie on someone dead (unless they’re fictitious?) I love all girls who aren’t bra-burning feminists, rich-boy-chasing whores & shop ‘sirf & sirf’ branded shit. Boys, oh boys. I love boys from a commodity perspective. As much as my mother will frown upon this I love sex. And unmarried sex is so much better than married sex. Aditya Chopra & married sex: who the hell knows if they’re even real? Now I’m not sure if this is a recent phenomenon or that’s just how it has always been with desi lads. They’v