Friday, 31 May 2013

Tables have turned...

Disclaimer: I love men! I really do; to an extent that I actually married one… and gave birth to one. So now you know how much I love them. Especially if they look great… muscular… Salman Khan... Abhishek Bachchan… Parambrata… Sigh!

Anyway, this story is purely a work of fiction and it better not hurt your sentiments; else you are going to face an Ookleeboo attack tonight.


War is chaos and men practice it on a daily basis. The pandemonium that was left behind post the eight years of the world war III was maddening. It seemed like a million tornados had decided to race through on the face of the planet and the mayhem created thus appeared irretrievable.

Men had died, many men had died and hence women had to take things in their hands.

Women after all for centuries and generations had managed relationships, economic matters, family politics, menstruations and many other catastrophic situations with diplomacy and without war.

Women were best for managing the land. Men had better take a backseat and focus on things they were good at – cooking, cleaning, gossiping, scratching at formidable parts of their body etc.

Important stuff was happening around the world. Important meetings were being held. Important treaties were being signed. Important decisions were being taken.

And amongst all the important verdicts taken, the new leaders of every nation – who were all women – had come to a mutual decision to ban the male species from all the important matters of the land.

Men after all were spineless nincompoops and it was simply too dangerous to allow them to be in control of the governments any longer. Men were banned from government and military service and, after a few years, banned from voting, having an education or having a job outside the home.

The rules of the land had now changed.


Amidst all these important happenings, far away in a tiny village by the Bay of Bengal, Golai stood on the shore gazing deep into the sea.

All these years; all these dreams, everything seemed to be a farce now. He was shattered.

He used to look up to his father with enormous pride every time he wore the spotless white uniform. Ever since he remembered, he had heard stories about military vessels and sea-borne combat operations from his father and grand father. He had grown up with these and the dreams to be a part of this amphibious warfare someday.

Golai’s father had died in this war. He had lost his mother when he was only a child. And his only dream of joining the navy had also been trampled by the new laws of the land. Life seemed worthless.

He cried his lungs out as he threw stones into the sea; the cry of desperation; the cry of depression; the cry of sorrow. He shouted abuses towards the ocean and towards his faith.

He ran towards the sea with the intent of ending his life. He ran and he ran fast and then he stopped. No, he can’t do this. Life is precious, his father used to say to him. He can’t be weak. He had to try. He would not let go of his dreams. No, nothing would stop him. Nothing.


Everything was ready. He had been to the city couple of month ago and shopped for all that was required to look like a woman – clothes, padded bras, sponges to stuff into the bra, earrings, corsets, accessories, make-up.

He had got his ears pierced and grown his hair. He had given it a cut to make it look womanly. He had worked to make his waist look small and avoided building muscles. Golai had worked on his voice to disguise it to sound like a hoarse girl. He had waxed his legs and hands. He learnt to wax himself, painful as it was.

He practised being comfortable in the skirt that was supposed to be the uniform; breathe normally with the tight corset. He had observed and adapted womanly mannerism. And finally he was confident to pose as a woman.

It was a big day. Selections for the post of a naval officer were on in the city. He had woken early that morning. Dressed to perfection he had left for the village. He felt confident.

It had been easier than Golai had feared. Since it was a fresh lot of women being selected, the process hadn’t been too stringent. No one had seen through his disguise and by the end of the day he had gone back to his village with an offer letter in his hand and a spring in his walk.


Golai had been at the sea for over six month now, and had managed to mask his disguise well. No one had guessed or even had the slightest of inclinations that he was not a woman. He had been perfect in carrying off the get up. He had become one of them. All the preparations that he had been through had been rewarding.

In fact he had become quite popular on the ship with his good humour and ability to befriend all. He was a charmer. Life too was grand. Good food; great wine; loads of music and partying; excellent money. And the sea, the sea he loved so much.

It was all peaceful, rather, a bit too peaceful, which is not a good sign for a man with war on his mind.

With time Golai began to realise that the women rulers were right. These women could actually manage situations without coming to blows, forget wars. The news channels only harped about world harmony. Everything was undisturbed. No news of crime; murders; rapes. Nothing. Leave aside a battle, possibility of a naval tussle also looked bleak.

As time passed, it started getting on to his nerves. The entire thrill of combat; warfare; struggle was missing. The aggressiveness of a military deed was lost. Where was the bombing; the bloodshed; the assault; the havoc? There was nothing. Nothing that Golai had heard of from his father was here. Nothing that he had envisioned was happening.

Among other things, constant talks of PMS, mother-in-laws, clothing, jewellery were making him irate.

The women had their way of seeking men when they landed at a base. On the ship they had their ways of …er… entertainment as they called it. And he, being amidst all these women but having none for his own, was making Golai even more frustrated.

He started withdrawing from the rest of them. He stopped enjoying the life. The sea was now making him feel ill. One fine day, he declared himself sick and shut him self up from the rest of them. He asked his food to be left at the door and would take it when no one was around on the corridor.

Three days. Three days he did not shave; he did not wear his bra, make-up and lip-gloss; he felt awesome and free without the corset. He wore his shorts and scratched him self wild; he lived in his room like the man that he was. For once he started feeling good about himself. He spent the time brooding, thinking and introspecting. This really was not how he wanted to live his life.

He had to make the decision. He decided to reveal himself. The consequences can’t be too bad, he thought, he might even get lucky if he could play his part well.


Next day morning when the breakfast room was bustling with the women, Golai stormed in to the mess wearing his trousers and shirt. He had untidily chopped his hair off and the four day old stubble gave him a rugged look. He stood in the middle of the room, confident, legs slightly spread apart; hands behind his back.

One by one as the woman realised his presence the cacophony moved to whispers and then to silence. Silence enough to make the waves splashing against the vessel sound bombastic.

“What’s happening here? Who are you?” inquired the captain with a menacing voice. She was a tall, attractive and well endowed woman with an air of authority around her.

Golai started speaking as all of them heard him with bated breath. He spoke everything about his family, his dream, his attempt at killing himself and then the brainwave to pose as a woman. He also told them about his existing despair.

Finally he said, “I know that I have done wrong, I have disobeyed the rules. But whatever I did I did out of hopelessness.”

“I seek forgiveness”, Golai mumbled. “I will do anything you ask of me”, he said with his head hung low.

He then looked up straight into the eyes the captain and with a twinkle in his eyes he repeated slowly, “Anything!”

The captain smiled as some of the other crew members sniggered.

She slowly walked up to him; very close to him. She softly placed her hand on his cheek as her breasts crushed against his chest. She placed her leg between his and slowly moved it up towards his crotch. He stiffened. She brought her lips close to his ear and said firmly, slowly and softly, but loud enough for the others to hear…

…“You might as well start with clearing up the breakfast tables.”


This was the topic based on which I had to write the story: After World War III, the female survivors decide that, as men caused the war and did most of the fighting, it is simply too dangerous to allow them to be in control of the governments any longer. Men are banned from government and military service and, after a few years, banned from voting, having an education or having a job outside the home. A young boy, depressed by his limited prospects at home, decides to pose as a girl so he can join the navy.

Written By : Diptee Raut
Originally Posted at : Dip-Tea Blogs Here

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