The Rub Girl

This is a true story (with some lighter inputs by the writer). Ruby was a shy girl from a small town in Upper Assam, whose modesty and bonhomie used to be the talk of the town. She brought accolades to her school when she passed her +2 exam with flying colours. Everyone in her family thought that “ab to bitiya sayani ho gayi hain” and therefore, should be sent to the national capital (saddi Dilli yaar!) for higher studies. It was a decision that was supposed to change her life for the better. One fine day, Ruby left her parental home, on a journey to find a fortune in Delhi.



Within two years of coming to the capital, Ruby’s life witnessed a sea change. She had landed in Delhi with 5 decent pairs of salwar-suit; at the end of the second year, she had 10 different pairs of minis and micro-minis. Five more pairs of low-cut jeans added an extra shine to her wardrobe. The shy girl was often dubbed as Behenji (for her salwars) by her college mates initially. But no one dared to call her by that name after two years. The buxom Ruby soon came to be known as The Rub Girl, for every guy in the campus wanted to rub his hands on her half-exposed, bootylicious body. The once promising girl became a promised entertainer in almost every bachelor party. The Rub Girl became famous! And she also made some big bucks. After all that there was absolutely no need for her to bang her head on her books (she was already having a “banging” experience with her work). Ruby left the boring world of books and entered the “mind-blowing” realm of the call-centre. Apart from attending calls, Ruby’s favourite job was “blowing” guys…err…off their feet with her stunning looks. It really worked for her. She blew her way up the ladder, to reach a decent position (with her boss and in her job) one day. Our Ruby was a career girl now!

The other day, I met Ruby at the metro. She was with an admirer (he was too stupid to be her boyfriend, for his hand simply refused to go underneath her skirt), who kept on fondling her half-exposed thighs while talking to her. The guy was also fingering a red spot on her neck. Apparently, that was a hicky (love-bite) that she won as a result of her Greco-Roman wrestling with her boyfriend at the back of his car, the previous night. It was a medal for her, glorifying her exploits. It was then that I realised that the girl sitting in front of me was not Ruby, but The Rub Girl.

The guy de-boarded at Kashmere Gate station, and our Rub Girl was left alone. We still had two more stations in between our destination—Vishwavidyalaya. Now, The Rub Girl cast her enchanting glances on me. “Hey there, big boy! I am lonely and horny. How about you?”—her eyes spoke to me. “Yeah, me too! But baby, you are too hot to handle!”—I guess my eyes could successfully convey the message across. At Vishwavidyalaya, our eyes met for one last time, before a god-damned DTC bus took me far away from her.

That day, I realised how a Behenji can easily transform into a Behen Ki L**** (No bad words here, we are all decent people). It only requires a little bit of negative peer pressure, a knack for getting along with the wrong kind of people, and a tendency to be misguided. When parents send their wards to big towns for higher education, they see a lot of dreams for their children. What they don’t realise is that it doesn’t always work out that way. Their kids are more vulnerable—going by the circumstances they put up with—than they were at that age. Before sending their child, they should try to know the strengths and weaknesses of him/her. The child must feel that he/she is really cared for at home, and that there are a lot of expectations from him/her. If a child is made to understand his/her responsibilities from an early age, he/she will not go The Rub Girl way.

May God bless all Rub Girls/Boys with some sanity, and give them a healthy, normal lifestyle. I hope by writing this, I have not “rubbed” some people on the wrong places!