I love phenomenal women.

'When it’s being used as an insult, “bitch” is an epithet hurled at women who speak their minds, who have opinions and don’t shy away from expressing them, and who don’t sit by and smile uncomfortably if they’re bothered or offended. If being an outspoken woman means being a bitch, we’ll take that as a compliment.'

From Bitch Magazine

After Midnight

She sat in the corner of the bar, smoking a cigarette. She had walked in not ten minutes ago, completely alone. A woman out with no male escort with mere minutes left to midnight. Unheard of.

She wasn't waiting for anyone either. She didn't check her watch or look around whenever the door opened like the girl in red who had been waiting at the bar for her next. She just sat there, smiled politely at the less drunk members of the bar and smoked her cigarette. In time she asked the bartender for a newspaper. He frowned slightly but passed her one and she treated him to a real smile. He went back to polishing beer mugs, wondering why a young woman with her hair just so and her silver lighter would want a newspaper. They never read papers. Not till they acquired reading glasses anyway. 

It wasn't for show either, the newspaper. She skimmed the headlines, opened it to the columns page and leaned forward so the light shining from the dusky bulb above her head would catch the minute words. After about twenty minutes, she looked up and smiled at a man who had been watching her for a while.


He had dropped his girlfriend home after dinner and had come straight here. Anywhere was better then home these days. His mother was staying with him for a week.

Ten minutes later he had bought her a drink and was sitting at her table. He glanced at the column she had been reading. It was heavy stuff. Politics. Some History. Written by the esteemed R Bishop who wrote about such things.. Not a women's writer and not what women read. She saw the look and laughed.

'Yes I understand all of it, down to every last word. Don't you worry darling.' She spoke to him as if he needed to be taken care of. No woman below forty had ever spoken to him like that. It unnerved him slightly.
'I read him too. He seems to know what he's talking about alright'
She smiled. 'Yes.' she said and paused for a little while, 'He certainly does.'
'They've had some trouble with him. He's been censored many times apparently. For being too...'
'Radical. Yes I know.' She finished the sentence and nodded.
 He noticed the ring on her her finger.
'You're married?' Lose your husband after dinner did you?' He smiled to cover up his disappointment. She was lovely really, with her silver lighter and auburn hair.
'Not at all darling, I just happen to like wearing a ring on this finger.'
He raised an eyebrow, searched her face for signs of sarcasm. She smiled back.
'I don't look the least bit married do I?'
He shook his head, took out a cigarette. She lit it for him. Casually. As if women lit cigarettes for men all around New York. 


They talked for a while. She asked him about his job and how he liked New York. She didn't giggle girlishly for no reason, only laughed when he said something funny. She ordered another drink. When he tried to pay, she batted his hand away airily and told him not to be ridiculous. It was past one when she glanced at her watch.


'I'd best be leaving.'
'Why?' He was sorry she had to. He could have watched her laugh the whole night really.
'It's late and I'm simply exhausted from work'
'Alright'
She patted his hand and stood up to go. He got up too.
'It's been a pleasure. It really has.' She smiled and turned to leave.
'Wait.' The word escaped his mouth before he could stop himself. 'I never even asked you your name.'
She laughed again. 'Why, you already know it darling. It's Rachel. Rachel Bishop'


She was gone before he could say another word.

Listening to Michelle Branch gets me thinking

This is us watching chances fade.

No, not me being overly dramatic but me having listened to far too much Michelle Branch due to nostalgia.

Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here. Not here as in on this planet because I feel there are some questions that answer themselves. For those of us who can't come up with our own conclusions then they should just accept the answer is 42 and move on. 'Here' referring to what I'm doing with my life. I have a Plan B (Journalism) and a Plan C (Law) and no Plan A. Because I figure you should love Plan A so much that when you talk about it, tears should automatically start flowing. Well, the first few times anyway. But that's not it. Not articulate enough anyway. Plan A should be the something untypical.

My motto for when I'm older. If it's typical then I don't want it. Not the quintessential part time working woman (journo? lawyer?) role, not the husband, the two kids or their car pool. Not the constant bickering, the compromises, the mid life crises (because yes, there is more than one) and the realization that eventually these people will leave you and all you have is yourself but then again who-are-you? I've seen all of that. I've seen how people cling to it. To it's order and routine and predictability.

So then what do I want?

Truth is, I don't know. I could say 'freedom' and you'd laugh at me. I grew up compromising. Staying quiet at the dinner table, biting my lip and being careful of my dupatta. That sort of thing. But sometimes I say 'freedom' out loud just to test it out. To taste it really.

I see typicality everyday. Dinner guests and their forced, polite conversation. I find it funny, when we're all sitting at the table, to wonder about how much we all really hate each other. But it's not just dinner table conversation. I see it everywhere. Friend's dreams and attitudes. (What are we talking about these days? Prom dates, of course.) Snide comments and the looks we all sometimes get. Okay, so I get them a lot. Even the opinions of teachers, the behaviour of strangers. I don't know. It's not something I can define. I just know that I don't want any of it. I don't want to be typical now -and unfortunately sometimes I am and sometimes I need to be - and I certainly don't want to be typical later.

I love phenomenal women. Audrey Hepburn, Baroness Blixen, Oprah, the Rani of Jhansi, Sujata Bhatt, my mother. It's really that simple. I want to be one too. And it doesn't matter whether I go for Plan A or Plan B or C if I realize that really, they were Plan A all along.

We've been put on this planet for a reason. To be untypical, to understand what it wrong and what is right and how huge the grey areas really are, to perhaps try and right those wrongs and most importantly to do what we love. Once we understand that things like prom dates, shopping, bitchery and infatuation seem miniscule in comparison.

After all, social suicide may just be a dramatic term and nothing else