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I haven’t done anything bad to you and even in future, I won’t cause you any harm. I promise. You fail to accept my presence, let alone acknowledge my beauty.
You have never paid me enough attention. Maybe I am bad. In fact, you were not even old enough to vote when I first came into existence. You were then intrigued and amazed by my presence. Now you feel ashamed.
What have I done? I feel bad for what I do not even know I have done to you. I feel sorry for being so close to you.
You watch those porn movies. They have influenced your mind. In today’s time, I have lost all the respect. My distant relatives get shampooed, oiled, coloured and styled while I survive in shame. When you used to label human body parts in preschool, I wasn’t there for you to see in pictures and charts.
Neither do I get affected by lice nor do I become a victim to dandruff. Despite that you hate me. You think about trimming and shaving me off at the mere sight of disgrace in your lover’s eyes when you make love. I don’t hurt your interpersonal intimacy in any way but you think I bring you and your partner shame and disgust. I haven’t done anything bad to you and even in future, I won’t cause you any harm. I promise. You fail to accept my presence, let alone acknowledge my beauty.
When you came into adolescence, you felt my presence. You saw me. You touched me. And you came to know my name. When I was growing, I was tiny. Then I became long and slowly over the years, I became longer. I then began to curl and swirl and surrounded the area of your body that offers you the ultimate pleasure of orgasm.
I rarely get to experience sunshine and that has made me weak. Nobody is there to oil me and I stay dry. Weak and dry as I am, I sometimes fall off when you undress. And rather than giving me a warm shower and moisturising me after bath, you shave away me and my colleagues. People often use me in conversations as a derogatory Hindi slang.
I may not be alive, but I am a part of your body. I fear the slightest sight of that blade present in your razor which you regularly bring close to me every few days. When you switch on that trimming machine of yours, my existence feels threatened and I tremble with danger. I am natural and I don’t hurt you. Please don’t separate me from your body for I am already weak, dry and dead. Let me be there, please let me be there.
I am your pubic hair begging you to embrace me as a part of your existence. I am not bad; those unrealistic expectations from porn and cultural influences are bad. Let me be there. Let there be pubic hair.
Published here earlier.
Image source: pixabay
Women's Web is an open platform that publishes a diversity of views. Individual posts do not necessarily represent the platform's views and opinions at all times. If you have a complementary or differing point of view, you can request to be a Women's Web contributor too!
Arpit Chhikara is a freelance writer from Delhi who regularly spends his earnings on IRCTC.
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