Billo Rani turned back to the mirror and flinched as she stared at her love handles. She found it strange how such disgusting things can be called such a seductive name. The only people who liked her love handles were kids, who mistook them for monkey climbing and hung on to them when they missed parks. As she marched across the street, her eyes sat on Chammak challo who tossed her hair while whispering into her Nokia x6 and occasionally flashing her artisan crafted 32. Billo noticed her body, the way the purple dress looked on her and her as-smooth-as-veet-promises kinda hair. Billo's heart sank.
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Chammak challo zara dheere chalo is what the gully boys often sang to her on her way to office every morning. Chammak nervously tried to walk faster pretending not to hear but she sure knew it was not a few days affair(unlike her previous one). She considered asking her father to buy a chartered plane to drop her college, possibly anything to avoid the song which sounded tailor made by Altaf Raja in support of the noble cause of eve teasing. She was disgusted (by the song and the boys' pimples) and often confided and sometimes broke down to her Parryware basin but she was happy facing the pseudo-transgenders who took away all her cash with just one clap rather than the gully boys practising for Indian Idol auditions every morning.
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Moral: Shit happens to everyone.
