In defence of the “ugly” dress

The uglier the better.

Every wardrobe should have at least one ugly dress. The long, loose kind, that hangs on your frame reminiscent of a scarecrow wearing your grandma’s faded nightgown. You know, for those days when you feel particularly lazy to rack your brains on what shirt goes with what skirt.

The ugly dress covers flab. The ugly dress allows you to overeat. The ugly dress allows you to run on the platform when you’re just about missing your train, without fear of ripping your skintight jeans, dropping a strap and having a minor wardrobe malfunction in the face of 100 creepy train travellers.

The ugly dress makes you look “prettier” than you really are. The ugly dress is so ugly that anything compared to it looks stunning. So, even if you feel like shit, when you put on your ugly dress, instantly you will feel better – after all you can’t be “uglier” than this dress can you?

The key to buying an “ugly” dress is to buy one that’s a few notches below you on the looks scale. By which I mean – a dress that won’t steal your thunder. When people see you, your dress won’t be the first thing they see. Instead, the focus will be on your face. That’s the best thing about the ugly dress – it’s completely missable.

The ugly dress comes in ugly colours. Like yellow ochre, mud brown, rusty red, algae green; earthy hues.  Extremely flattering especially when you darken your eyes with some kohl, and enhance your natural lip colour with a lip jelly that changes colour with your lip temperature and ph. The ugly dress is great for those fuss-free days when you aren’t in the mood to dress sharp, yet want to feel beautiful.

The ugly dress can also be made pretty. With silver jewellery and pretty sandals. Then, you can take the dress out for brunch. It can also be made sporty – with a pair of white converse sneakers, in which case you’re fully equipped to race against time to catch an about-to-depart train or flight.

So, the next time you’re out shopping, don’t let your eyes gravitate towards the shimmering pinks and delicate laces. Instead look out for the rugged, sensible cotton counter, with the ultra-ugly printed dresses.

Happy shopping. 🙂




Realisations, learnings, insecurities and questions from 2017 – Self-discovery 101

Sometimes happiness simply means the freedom to be who we want to be.

What indeed is a true test of us being “happy with ourselves”?

Is it being able to be alone, cut off from everyone, with just social media for distraction?

Or is it being surrounded by friends and family who play the role of said social media, filling the gaps in our lives with friendly banter, chatter and one too many tequila shots on a blurry night out?

Or is it the ability to be on our own with no social needs at all?

Or is it having no gaps at all, no spaces in our hearts or minds that need filling from family, friends, social media or work?

But then again, isn’t it “gaps” that make us human? And separates us from machines?

We try and fill the empty spaces in our lives with Facebook and Instagram “likes” and appreciation. And the funny thing is, it actually works!

Disturbing, eh? Imagine being dependent on “likes” and “comments” for our daily dose of ego boost? But, then again, what’s the alternative?

Man is a social animal – we need contact with fellow creatures – be it a flesh and blood human or a digital social media “friend”.

Our mothers spent hours on the phone, discussing everything from outfit choices of the 200 guests at the Delhi wedding, to maids and their “attitude problem”. We do the same, but online. We “heart” wedding outfits of fellow friends on Instagram, and post statuses about our maids. After all, we just want to be heard. Listened to.  Really understood. And social media comes in, where no family or friend can – it gives us a mouthpiece to express. A one stop shop to say what we’re feeling and gauge which of our 750 friends really understands our thoughts and “reacts” to it. It’s almost like an experiment. A hotline connecting us to the universe. And if someone responds out of the digital black hole, we know, deep down, we’ve found an ally.

Sometimes I feel, true happiness comes from understanding and being understood.

Not so much in loving and being loved. Or in being solitary – independent of worldly needs.

True happiness comes when our innermost thoughts and ideas are understood by another being. Doesn’t matter if its a lover, stranger,  parent, friend or acquaintance.


We are free to love as many people – men and women as possible, yet restricted to “end up” with only one?

Are we really “free”, then?

I spent a lot of time trying to explain myself, To try and make myself understood. And when I failed, when I began to spend my energy explaining why I was explaining, I realised that the relationship was over.

A little bit of sexual energy is good. Even if it’s in the head. It translates beautifully into creative energy that enhances the quality of our work.

Sometimes our families serve as reminders of all that we are not.

There always seems to be an additional something we need to do to make them happy. An exam we need to pass, a person we need to call, a chore we need to do or money we need to make. And the worst is, these expectations come disguised in a set of words we probably have no comeback to –  “for your own good”.

Sometimes a cup of tea can awaken ideas inside me like nothing else can. There’s an energy that bubbles up after a cup-and-a-half, and then there’s no other way but to ignore all duty and start typing.

My relationships often heighten my sense of inadequacy. I start out whole. But at some point, along the way, I look at myself and wonder what happened?

Each conversation I’ve had with myself over the past two years has revealed some fascinating truths about me. About things I like and don’t like. About what makes me happy and what brings me down. For instance, I took two solo trips this year – both of which were distinctly different from one another. While the first was economical and involved zero sightseeing, the second was luxe, insta-worthy, and beautifully documented on social media. And both these experiences taught me a lot about who I really am; I realised I preferred the first vacation simply because I got to meet a lot of new people – and simply be.

So, does that mean I am not really anti-social like I thought myself to be?

Or does that mean, I simply enjoy the freedom that comes with socializing with new people? The lack of expectation to do a certain thing?

I’ve realized that some of the most fun I’ve had is when I’m with people.  But being on my own helps renew my soul. And when I go out into the world with a refreshed soul, I end up letting myself enjoy each moment in a deeper, more meaningful manner.

I need  solitariness and socializing in equal measures – the alternation between the two extremes keeps me sane. One can’t exist without the other.

2017 taught me a lot about who I really am. It brought the process of self-discovery that began in 2015 to a close. The turmoil in my head reached a head and poof – it was gone. Of course, this is not to mean there are no more lessons to be learnt. But until then, let’s keep it happy and shiny.

XOXO 2017

13 letters to body parts written by surprisingly sporting men.

The reason I say “surprisingly sporting” is probably based on a little ignorance on my part. I had assumed that men won’t be as sporting as women when it came to writing about their bodies. That they’d laugh at me for even asking. So, for weeks, I contemplated if I should indeed do a “Letters to Body Parts – Men” like I’d done this one with women.

But, at some point, I decided it was worth a try. I thought to myself – if I got men to open up about their feelings with regards to their bodies, I’d have helped kickstart an important conversation.

And I was in for a pleasant surprise – most men I spoke to didn’t need much convincing (those that did – well, their letters haven’t made it here – they didn’t write). 

Men were more than happy to share their stories of love, hate, exasperation and gratefulness towards their bodies. While some have written longer, beautifully-articulated letters, others have penned fun poems and sweet, little thank you notes.

And mind you – not all men featured here are writers and poets. There are copywriters (obviously), but there are also sales-people, IIT-IIM geniuses, brand strategists, PHD scholars, designers, and directors. There are letters by 26-year-olds and those by 40-year-olds. And if there’s one thing all these lovely people have in common, it is the incredible self-confidence and a deep sense of self-awareness to be able to put themselves out there with their words.

Do take the time out to read each beautifully-crafted letter. It will make you smile.

Dear Calves | Letters to Body Parts | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Left Brain | Letters from Men to their body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Wiggly, Jiggly, Juicy Bum | Letters from Men to their body parts | Dear Bum | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Voice | Hi Voice | Letters from Men to their body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Hands | Letters from Men to their body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Brain | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Tummy | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Shoulders | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Overthinking Mind | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Butt | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Hair | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Brain | Hey | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

Dear Nails | I hate you | Hey | Letters from Men to their organs and body parts | Notes to the self | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan

If you made it till here, thank you. Also, if this post inspired you to think about your most prized body part or the most frustrating one – do pen down your thoughts, turn them into letters and mail it to me at I will do another post soon.

Have a happy weekend. 🙂







My love affair with locals – one year and counting

Pretty long for an affair, don’t you think?

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

My relationship with the Mumbai local trains started last September when I took up a job on the other side of town. At first, I assumed it would be a temporary arrangement, moving closer to work being the general idea. But laziness and fear-of-seeing-ugly-houses kept me committed to my tiring routine.

Home -> Auto -> Train -> Cab -> Work = 1 hour 40 minutes

Work -> Walk -> Train -> Auto -> Home = 1 hour 55 minutes

Day in and day out for more than a year.

A couple of my colleagues have looked at me pointedly and said – “Wow, you must really love this job.”

But like most relationships, my affair with the local train and therefore my job, is not based on “love” alone.

Like any affair, my tryst with the locals came with its own set of stages.

First came the adrenalin – I can do this. Travel 4 hours a day and survive, I mean.

Then came the tiffs – little hiccups in the journey (like missing my train), that made me reconsider my decision to live so far from work.

Then came hatred – with the Mumbai rains – that made me want to quit. The job, the city, the world, everything.

Then I got used to it. It became routine. A habit. I began to love the little quirks, stories and happenings in the ladies compartment – so much so, that I realised, I may miss it if I quit.

It’s funny when you think about it. How can you hate something one moment, and absolutely love it the next? How can you bitch about it for hours, and then defend it vehemently when another suggests you cab it instead?

A love-hate relationship, that in addition to making me feel really proud of myself – when I realised I had completed a year of this gruelling schedule and survived, it also opened my mind to the world in a whole, new, different way. There were days I teared up with joy on seeing acts of kindness between fellow passengers – the world can be a happy place sometimes. And there were days when I came home bursting with stories of large insects creeping up under salwars and burkhas, driving entire compartments into mayhem.

The local trains can brighten up your day in more ways than one. If you let it.

Also, I lost a shit ton of weight. 😉 One does NOT simply give up on something that helps you stay fit without actively trying. On second thoughts, maybe it’s fear of getting out of shape that’s keeping me addicted to the locals, but that’s a thought for another day. 😛

Over the past year, I have written about these little instances and observations on my Facebook page. And plenty of my friends who’ve read it have asked me to write a book, create a vlog, or simply come up with a comic series on the same. However, I think, for now, let’s keep it on this blog.

Have a look, and hope it keeps you entertained.


Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Mumbai Local train stories | Chai High is a blog by Shivani Krishan

Even if you’ve never been on the local, these updates will vicariously let you live the local life. 🙂











If only someone could understand my angst at finding fungus growing on my Theobroma Rye bread – An essay on the importance of Understanding

And the extreme pain I felt while throwing the nearly-perfect loaf into the trash can.

Last night, I got home to find a thin layer of fungus growing on my neatly-stored Rye bread. That loaf was particularly tasty, and my almost-2-hour commute back home had been spent imagining eating the rye bread for dinner with all sorts of toppings – a warmed-up slice with a generous slathering of peanut butter, or a sandwich with hummus, cottage cheese, bell peppers and a boiled egg thrown in.

So, while my brain was merely disappointed at finding my Rs. 85-a-loaf bread spoiling, my taste-buds were devastated. They had to settle for oats with milk. And that in itself was punishment – one does not simply swap hummus and rye with oats.

Now the thing with this problem was, if I’d shared it with anyone else, chances are they’d tell me to calm down and just order something. Which, let me explain, IS NOT THE SOLUTION.

I don’t want to order something else. I want my rye bread back, un-fungused. And ready to be heated and layered with peanut butter. But, one can’t reverse fungus-growth, just like one can’t reverse time.

So, let me say it again.

If only somebody could understand my angst at finding fungus growing on my Theobroma Rye bread. 

I don’t want a new rye bread. And I most certainly don’t want to be taken out to dinner as consolation. I just want somebody to understand what I mean when I say I am devastated that my bread has fungus growing on it.

Which brings me to the point of this story.

We all seek someone who understands us without us having to explain ourselves.

There is this powerful quote from Murakami’s 1Q84 – If you can’t understand it without an explanation, you can’t understand it with an explanation.”

Let me repeat.

“If you can’t understand it without an explanation, you can’t understand it with an explanation.”

Of course there are some things that need explaining. GST for instance. Or the Aadhar card. But that’s not the point of this essay.

So, what do we mean by understanding? Does it mean agreeing, accepting, unconditionally believing?

Not quite.

Understanding is more in the realm of empathy. It’s when you may completely disagree with another’s point of view, but you have the imagination to put yourself in their place, and view the world like them. For a brief moment you’re able to switch places with the person in front of you, becoming them, thinking like them, inheriting their likes, dislikes, and quirks, and therefore being able to emphasize with their feelings – however silly they may be.

Like getting upset about fungus, in my case.

As I meet more and more people, it becomes glaringly clear, that most people are not empathetic. We’re a judgemental class, however much we’d like to claim otherwise. We try and look for flaws in people. And if we can’t find any, we pinpoint the least appealing of the person’s personality (or physical) traits and make it seem worse than it is. Especially when the subject is a smart and beautiful man or woman. Is it jealousy? Is it self-preservation? Is it a manner of boosting our own egos by putting down a seemingly better person?

I don’t know.

But, this lack of empathy is turning us into an unhappy class of people. When you begin to judge people from the place they shop from, the texture of their hair, or the tone of their voice, you’re unknowingly exposing your own insecurities.

You’ll rarely hear a secure and happy person discussing another person’s “disastrous” fashion choices.

Of course, I don’t mean to say, we need to become serial do-gooders, forcing ourselves to feel something alien. Because, that would be dishonest. Sometimes, like in school, or in a disciplinarian workplace, it’s almost cathartic to bond with one’s peers over a particularly tough teacher or boss. Or, with your friends over a particularly horrid ex.

When I say we need to be more empathetic, it simply means putting yourself in anothers’ shoes, understanding their life-experiences, motivations, fears and hopes, and then seeing if you still feel as harshly towards them. Their choice of shoes, style of talking, whatever.

Our opinions of others are subconsciously influenced by our opinions of ourselves.

When we are insecure about certain aspects of ourselves, we unknowingly project these insecurities on the people around us. We disguise our insecurities as their flaws, to make ourselves feel better.

When you begin to empathise with others, you’ll begin to empathise with yourself. And then your own flaws won’t seem so bad either. After all, nobody is perfect.

Understanding helps create stronger bonds.

Ever feel you’re surrounded by friends but can’t seem to discuss your innermost feelings with any of them?

When we empathize and understand the people around us, it helps them break down the walls they’ve built around them. And when they open the floodgates to their honest emotions, that in turn breaks down your own walls. And voila, true friendship is born.

It’s as simple as that.

Today, we are guarded. We are reluctant to share our feelings. We are worried about what others will think, primarily because we, in our heads, have already judged others for those very same feelings we are experiencing. If we don’t judge others, we don’t judge ourselves. And that paves the way for years of self-love and happiness.

So, let us (me included) start understanding others and through them, understanding ourselves.

Enough preaching. Now go have a happy (and judgment-free) Sunday.




Dear #SomeMen, here’s why #MeToo is not just a fad

In a few weeks, cynics – men and women, will look back and say “What good did any of that do?” or “See, I told you, it was just a trend”.

I can’t say that speaking up about this on social media is going to stop rape or sexual harassment. Because it probably won’t. It might not even reduce it. But, I’d still go so far as to say, that this online discourse is good. The seeming overload of “feminist ads” is good. The “rants” are good. The “crass”ness in stand-up comedy, Aditi Mittal, AIB, and other “women oriented” chatter that offends the perpetually-offended is good.

It’s not enough.

But it’s good.

It may sometimes feel “too much” even to a “feminist” woman. It may sound like noise to #SomeMen. A “fashionable” movement. A “trend”. Something that women find “cool”. A way to grab attention. The next “in” thing. “Wannabe”. Whatever.

But it’s working.

It’s not stopping a man from committing a crime but it’s empowering a woman to speak up about it.

10 years ago, we’d think 10 times before sharing an instance of abuse. We’d hide it, repress it, ignore it, blame ourselves for it, forget it, and “move on” from it.

10 years ago, we were ashamed. Especially when an instance of abuse involved a family member. So we stayed quiet. And “sucked it up”.

10 years ago, familial rape happened and was forgotten about, never to be brought up again, save for a counselling session years later, when the incident reared its ugly head disguised as relationship trouble or depression.

But today, with #MeToo, we are refusing to stay quiet. And this refusal to keep mum is a step forward. Let me repeat – it may not deter the perpetrator just yet, but it will help us speak up, share our stories, and therefore heal.

When a stand-up comedian brazenly talks about the roadside creep, when ads talk about “sharing the load”, when “consent” is the subject matter of a feature film, we know we’re moving forward. If not in the minds of men, at least in the hearts of women. “I am not alone”, being the starting point.

Healing starts from knowing that we are not alone. 

Plenty of times, we are hurting because we blame ourselves for what was done to us. We call ourselves naive. We assume that if we were smarter and more prudent, we wouldn’t have to go through what we did. We think we “lead them on”. That we must have done something wrong to deserve this. In other words, we beat ourselves up about it. And this embarassment, this feeling of “What if it was my fault?” prevents us from sharing our stories of abuse, stops us from loving and accepting ourselves, and ultimately keeps us from healing.

With #MeToo, with the voices of everyone from celebrities to our own mothers speaking up on social media, the part of us that blamed ourselves has finally gotten the courage to speak up. To pull ourselves together, get on social media, and talk about our stories. Without shame. Without fear. Without guilt.

This coming together of women from all parts of the world for #MeToo may be presumed to be just another short-lived online cry, superficial, rootless and removed from reality. But to a teenage girl, the knowledge that she is not alone, that she isn’t wrong, and that there are others like her who are fearlessly speaking up, can come as a welcome relief. A message that one day, she will be OK. That there’s hope.

And sometimes, hope is all you need.

So is #MeToo a symbol of hope?

#MeToo means different things to different people. For some it’s a form of release, of letting off steam and pent-up anger. For others, it’s an acknowledgment of the crime followed by self-acceptance – “it was not my fault”.  And then of course, it serves as encouragement for those of us who have been too quiet for too long, to finally stand up to our perpetrators – if not in person, at least in spirit.

I don’t know what #MeToo means to men in general. The one or two friends I spoke to said they were surprised that so many women were speaking up and posting. They said they were shocked that almost everybody on their lists had put up a status #MeToo. That they hadn’t realise how messed up the situation really was.

Well, it is bad.

And anything, even a tiny hashtag goes a long way. Think of it this way – any activity that helps at least one person heal, is good.


If you feel you have an opinion you’d like to share please do comment. 🙂





12 beautifully honest letters written by women to their body parts

I don’t remember what inspired this idea. What I do remember, however, is that it was a regular afternoon at work. And that I was jumping with excitement when the thought struck me.

I remember texting all my friends. I wasn’t sure if they’d be up for it. I remember being delighted when many responded positively – they seemed excited. “Sounds fun” were the words many used.

This was a month ago.

My solo trip followed, and then I got busy with work. I received 3 letters.

Last weekend, I decided to step this up. I sent frantic reminders to my friends – and they (enthusiastically) replied with their letters.

Today, I have 12 beautifully written letters – all of which will make you smile.

As women, we share an important relationship with our bodies. There are parts we love, and parts we grow into loving.

This post is an attempt to help us all make peace with our unique body-types, one body part at a time.

I am sure you will relate to these letters, and if not, at least they will make you laugh out loud.

Happy reading.

Dear Miss Chubby Arms, Why you gotta be so stubborn? Can't you like chill a bit like the other parts of me? The others all listen and react to my workouts, but you just stay there the way you are. Maybe I'm stuck with you forever? Maybe you love me so much you don't want to leave? Oh well.  

Dear Curlies,    I hated you as a kid, well my bad! I hadn't realised then, that standing out is way better than fitting in.    As kids, you can be silly you know. I love you more and more each day. Stay as crazy and badass as ever!    PS: Boobies, I love you equally, but em curls deserved a special mention.    With Love, Maith~

Dear Mr. Long Legs and Mrs. Wigglebutt, Just want you to know that...  Baby if you strip, you can get a tip 'Cause I like you just the way you are I'm about to strip and I'm well equipped Can you handle me the way I are? I don't need the G's or the doubleDs Boys I like you just the way you are Let me see you strip, you can get a tip 'Cause I like, I like, I like.   Stay classy!


Dear Right Hand...I love you! Yes I do... and that is because you are the means I get to create beautiful things. You help me make art, you help me feel and understand, and you are who I hold a fork with to eat. My god, will you look at me? I am using you to send you love! That’s how much I need you! I know I know, I sound like a desperate lover but well, you are my favorite ( don’t go telling Ms. Lefthand that!!). All the love and kissis... Mama!Dear TUMMY, I know I feed you daily (most times I am told I am pampering you way too much), I do take care of you but I get this feeling that you don't love me much. Why do you stop me from looking at Mr. Feet? And why do you love gravity so much? Because of you, I spend more time in the trial room and less in the actual store. Hope you reduce your overstuffed ego and help me! Love (yeah, sure!) Your mama!

To my dear eyes,  Hey baby how you doing, you are the best thing happened to me, with you I can explore anything and everything, you both are my apple of my"eyes".muahhh

Dear girlfriends,   I remember when you used to be big, bold & beautiful. Now you'll are delicate and dainty.  But here's what I want to tell you, I loved you then and I love you now.   You make me feel like a woman and I carry you with pride.   With love to my boobies

Dear belly....  How are you, how's life on your side, I am sure you are having a great life ahead. You look like wobbly jelly, I just don't understand what to do with you, you have taken an oath of not reducing a bit. But you know what though I don't like you so much, I am still proud of you. 

Lately, the thing that has been bothering me the most is my arms. It makes countless outfits look entirely awkward.    On the upside, I love my breasts!! They are full, tight and the perfect size! (Not too big and not too small) Well, what more do I want ;)

Dear fat, It's about time we had a conversation about my supposed hatred towards you. Let me clear the air, I don't hate you even though you overstay your welcome often. I don’t want to get rid of you, I want to let you go respectfully as your true self: power; power that helps me stay warm, power that helps me build my muscles, power that helps me get things done when I have not eaten all day! I apologise for all the times I have cursed you in front of my friends and family for you are family first. It took me a while to understand that... Lots of Love

“Dear Saggy-Bottoms While other bottoms are full and round, Why do you two lean towards the ground? When I see models and actresses on the screen, Showing off a behind so clean, I wonder if you’d look so flawless, If I posed on a boat with all my prowess. Well, what do I say, you have left me no choice, For you are all I have to show to the boys, Who’d be caught staring at you without noise, Thus, I guess I should rejoice. After all you are not all that bad, You do have reasons to be kept clad, Even if it means a trip to Victoria’s Secret PINK, I’d do it gladly, without a blink. Xoxo E”

And lastly, the showstopper to this entire piece – do take the time out to read this – it will surely make you laugh.


Dear Lower Tummy | Letters from women to their body parts | Chai High is an Indian Blog started by Shivani Krishan | This post attempts to help women make peace with their bodies by starting a conversation with the parts that bother them most

There were many others who were supposed to write in, but got busy. Maybe, I’ll do a round 2.

Till then, let’s work towards beginning a conversation with the body-parts that exasperate us and those that delight us – just like these 12 incredibly strong and self-aware women have done. And let’s not forget to tell our bodies that we love them.