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Free me shirt collar, please

Holding me almost by my shirt collar, mother of a FB friend, made me to sit opposite to her in a cloth shop where we met and she said in desperation :

‘We have suffered your highhandedness for ages. Enough is enough. No more’

‘Me, madam? I never came anywhere near you. Aren’t you holding the collar of a wrong person?’

‘No, I’m not. Aren’t you the one who wrote that senseless message in the FB about pairs getting separated ?’

‘Yes, madam. Did that hurt you? I’m sorry for your husband if you are separated from him. You are so charming even at this age’

‘Even at this age? What do you mean? I’m half your age’

‘Then, I’m not sorry for your husband madam. I’m Sorry for you. You are too young to live alone’

‘Living alone? Why should I ? Anyway, I’m not the concerned. It is my daughter’

‘She is more charming and half your age, madam’

‘Listen. Stop this brawl. Men of your generation and earlier ones mistreated women and the womenfolk silently suffered for two reasons:

1. Economic dependency and
2. Fearing social stigma.
The present generation women are free from both. And you can’t hope to subjugate us anymore’

‘No, I don’t . But what about the torture from the other end?’

‘We torture you?’

‘Not me; other husbands’

‘Look, no woman can torture her husband as long as she wears sari and blouse’

‘Who prevents you from wearing jeans and T shirts?

‘You, husbands, Leela’s husband’

‘That was why she got separated?’

‘Don’t say, ‘she’. They got separated’

‘Oh!’

‘What ‘oh?’ your agony is not over yet?’

‘No. Free my shirt collar, please’

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