Works of Adityaa Wagh

I go out, Wind blows, rain pours. I board trains, buses, elevators, I change stations, I change floors. I was brought up as a free bird, Not a tamed pigeon. Who'd wear an apron and stay in the kitchen, Well, instead, I wear what I like, I go where I want, when I want, And ride my man's bike. My short clothes are a problem, A bad impression on our national emblem. A slut is what I'll be proclaimed. And They'll be blunt. Girls like me, Are very easy for them to hunt. My narrow jeans is a wrong thing. Their narrow mindset isn't. My short clothes is what they'll point out, They'll whistle, tease and shout. They'll think I'm ready, that I give consent. But when I wore those shorts, that's not what I meant. They think this is a game, They think I wear these because I want fame. First they'll perform an act of shame, Then they'll drag me in the court and then they'll blame. They're all double faced, On the outside they'll tell...