gotspinach-blog

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(JP Dutta on UMRAO JAAN) “Like Shakespeare is to English, Ruswa is to Urdu and I’ve done this film because of my father and this book. The flesh trade is the oldest profession. We still look at a female as if she is just for amusement and sexual desire. We don’t give her dignity and it is very sad. Even today when a girl is born, many families are not happy and that is very disturbing.

Men forget that it is only women who can give birth to a child. They have the womb. If women decide not to reproduce, this world will not exist. It is like lyricist Sahir Ludhanvi said, Aurat ne janam diya mardon ko, mardo ne use bazaar diya (Woman gave birth to man, man took her to market).”

[gotspinach-blog]

[gotspinach-blog]

Infinite List of Bollywood Songs:

Barso Re (Guru)

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I’m Elena, and my measurements are 38-28-42. I have been self conscious for a really long time and I recently discovered I love my curves. I adore this blog, it makes me appreciate my body, and I no longer care about what others think. I love my body even if you don’t. 

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I am afraid that we may be raising a generation of young people who will grow up afraid to love, afraid to give themselves completely to another person, because they will have seen how much it hurts to take the risk of loving and have it not work out. I am afraid that they will grow up looking for intimacy without risk, for pleasure without significant emotional investment. They will be so fearful of the pain of disappointment that they will forgo the possibilities of love and joy.

When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough by Harold Kushner (via thechocolatebrigade)

I’m just going to leave this here.

(via lajoiedevivre)

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she isn’t a smoker, i watched a documentary about the photographer, this is her daughter and she always would take photos of her children and she thought of how out of place yet powerful the cigarette would look in her hands so she took this photo 

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A well dressed man is more attractive to me than a shirtless man with a six pack.

Concured

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my mother always warned me never to fall in love with a boy who smoked. “it’s like kissing an ashtray,” she promised.

(but i did, anyways.

how could i resist the warm glow, the sparks, the burn?

even the ashes were beautiful. “a bit like pixie dust for grown ups,” he would laugh and i would roll my eyes.

he bought me every pack i ever smoked my way through. scribbled on the front was always, “these’ll kill you, you know.” and i’d flip it around and write on the back, “i’m counting on it.”)

what she never told me was that falling in love with a boy who smoked was like handing a loaded gun to someone with trembling fingers.

it starts with loving a boy with smoke curled around his neck and settled into his clothes

and it ends with loving your executioner.

[gotspinach-blog]

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when it crumbles we will stand tall face it all together at skyfall. 

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