One of Those Women

I am a woman. Just like the other ones.
The women you see every day. Nothing glamorous, nothing extraordinary, neither a model or superstar. One of those women who walk on the street with their umbrellas open, with a tinge of lipstick on their lips or dark kajal lined eyes. Sometimes, I even forget those. On days of a hurry. I am one of those women. 

I am one of those women who reluctantly put down a meal to avoid being late, the ones who work through their days, gliding their ways. I am one of those women who trade the way through streets. You can see me everywhere: Hastings, Behala, Kolkata High Court, behind an educational institute as a receptionist. You will find me. I am not easy to remember. Because I ain't remarkable. I ain't the one who stands out. I am just an ordinary woman. 

"I am that ordinary woman who works from 9 to 5 or let's say, 8 and come back home to my Father or Husband. "

I am that ordinary woman whose touch you long for when you are sick. 

I am that ordinary woman who holds up the household, the woman who tends to her ailing son, or read to my own pleasure while you are with another woman. Here I stand as that ordinary woman who feeds her son before she leaves for work or makes a tie for her husband. I am that ordinary woman. 

I am also that ordinary woman who has had her own share of sex, men, and love. I have had my own body satisfied in my own ways, in spite of my hidden yet soaring desire which would be a taboo for your male ego.

Maybe, for these, I am the (extra)-ordinary.