Cool girl.
She’s the one pop culture can’t get enough of. Composed. Effortlessly in control. Never cries at the wrong time, never texts first. Love Aaj Kal’s Meera during her move was basically the blueprint. She feels things, sure. But only in carefully curated doses. Never enough to make things messy.
But what about the girls who don’t hold it all together? The ones who feel deeply, speak impulsively, sometimes spiral on a random Tuesday afternoon? Jo ro deti hain, react kar jaati hain, ya bas kisi din bed se uthne ka mann nahi hota? Unka kya?
We’re told they’re “too much.” But to feel something fully, and still keep showing up? That’s not drama, it’s resilience. To cry, rage, process, and keep going? Honestly, that’s the stuff main characters are made of.
Agar media ladkon ko cold aur silent hone ka right deta hai, then girls who feel loudly deserve to be seen as something more than just emotional.
So this is an ode.
To the characters who feel deeply and show it.
Jinke emotions sirf weakness nahi, process hain. Growth ka raasta hain.
Because every feeling deserves space.
You can face a storm while being one.
Being cool is fine.
But being real?
That’s lasting.
1. Sunita Kapoor (Kapoor & Sons)
In a house full of charming, complicated men and beautiful distractions, Sunita Kapoor played by Ratna Pathak Shah almost disappears into the background.
And maybe that’s exactly the point.
Unka hona, unki thakaan, unka bas chalte jaana, it blends into the walls like she’s part of the furniture. Just there. Always there.
Even to her husband Harsh. Even to her sons Arjun and Rahul.
Her simplicity doesn’t announce itself, and her grief doesn’t look poetic. She doesn’t say the right things, and she’s not always soft. But oh, she’s trying. To be understood. To be heard. To matter.
She wants freedom like her sister, but Harsh calls it too much. She wants closeness with her sons, but they call her overbearing. She runs the house, holds the centre but there’s no one asking how she’s doing.
Sunita Kapoor isn’t perfect. She panics when Rahul comes out. She steals Arjun’s hardwork. She’s bitter, she’s hurt, she lashes out but she doesn’t give up. She apologizes. She learns. She stays in the mess instead of walking out of it.
And that scene? When she finds out Harsh’s mistress is at the same party she’s hosting?
She also breaks. Not quietly. Not “gracefully.” And thank god she does.
Because we needed that. She needed that. Sunita Kapoor isn’t the cool wife. She’s the woman who’s swallowed so much she forgot how to ask for space until one day, she just… takes it.
That’s not weakness. That’s a woman finally becoming her own witness.
2. Tara (Tamasha)
Tara might seem like the sorted one.
She’s on vacation alone, soaking in Corsica like she was born to roam free. Hair perfectly wild, smile unbothered. For a moment, she looks like that “cool girl” who is independent, detached, already healed.
But when she goes looking for Ved in a bookstore he mentioned just once…
When she waits, when she remembers…That’s when she becomes real. Painfully, achingly real.
Tara doesn’t pause her life. She doesn’t lose her ambition. But she follows the voice inside her chest, the one that says go back. Not because it’s rational, but because it’s true. And in doing that, she opens herself to heartbreak.
She’s called too much when she doesn’t accept Ved’s mask. When she calls out his emptiness, refuses his perfect job-and-suit version. People glorify “acceptance” but sometimes? Rejection is the more honest act. She loves him, craves him and still says no. That contradiction? That’s courage.
Tara holds strength and longing in the same breath. Tears bhi hain, pitch deck bhi.
She doesn’t stop living just because she’s hurting. She’s not the tragic heroine, she’s Heer, badi sad, but still standing.
And when she walks away?
It’s not drama. It’s not ego. It’s her saying:
“Mujhe waapis milna hai but only when you show up as yourself.”
Tara bends, but never breaks. She walks away, but leaves the door slightly open. She is a woman who stays soft even after being gutted and somehow, that’s more rebellious than anything else.
3. Babli (Bunty aur Babli)
Babli doesn’t enter the frame, she bursts into it.
From the first scene, she’s too loud, too chatty, too excited. Too much.
And I loved her.
As a kid glued to Bunty aur Babli reruns, Babli felt like someone who had her heart strapped to her sleeve and a dream playing on full volume in her chest.
In a world where women are told to be composed, calm, likable, she is decidedly not.
She lies to her parents, packs her bags, and runs. She doesn’t wait for permission to live fully, she simply does it.
And then there’s that train ride and where she meets Bunty, equally restless, equally delusional. And somehow, their chaos clicks. She’s bold enough to disappear with a stranger and keep the upper hand while doing it. She says no easily. She doesn’t pretend to be sweet. She owns her sharpness.
She’s not naive, she’s hopeful.
Yes, she gets conned. But she doesn’t dissolve. She takes her heartbreak and rebuilds it in technicolour. She turns her stumble into a sprint. Her resilience doesn’t come with quiet piano music, it comes with neon glasses, a loud laugh, and a con plan.
And that’s why Babli’s realness often gets missed. Because she’s funny. Because she’s loud. Because she’s having too much fun to be tragic.
But there’s a different kind of strength in Babli’s madness, the kind that tells young girls they don’t have to shrink their dreams or their volume to be taken seriously.
Sunita speaks to the woman I’m becoming. Tara speaks to the lover in me. But Babli?
Babli speaks to the little girl who dressed up, danced in front of the TV, and wanted to take on the world without lowering her voice.
4. Bindu (Meri Pyaari Bindu)
Of all the women on this list, Bindu was the hardest for me to like.
She’s playful, magnetic, full of chaos but also strangely detached from her own world. And I usually don’t judge women for being flawed. But Bindu? She pushed me a little. Her carelessness made me ache.
From Abhi’s eyes, she’s perfect. And that’s part of the problem.
She’s also unpredictable, emotionally unavailable, messy in a way that hurts him. And yet? She never lies. Not to him, not to anyone. She doesn’t sell the idea of forever. She’s not pretending to be ready when she isn’t. She explores. She leaves. She tries to come back. She stays honest through all of it.
Yes, she dances and jokes and escapes but that’s not all she is. Because Bindu does try. She calls Abhi. She shows up again and again, not to reopen wounds, but to offer relief. She wants to pick up the pieces, even if she doesn’t know how.
Her grief isn’t loud. It lives quietly in her mother’s death, in her broken dreams, in the way she never lets herself really fall apart. She’s messy, yes. But not cruel. She just hasn’t found a way to live that feels whole.
Bindu is unlike anyone else on this list. Tara’s grief is clear. Sunita’s anger is present. Babli’s chaos is confident. But Bindu’s pain hides behind her music. Behind half-laughs. Behind movement.
She doesn’t wait for the right time, she moves until it finds her. And her power? It’s in not letting her sorrow become her story. It’s in dancing anyway.
5. June Osborne (The Handmaid’s Tale)
There’s nothing clean or graceful about June’s power.
It’s not something she was born with, it’s something she earned, clawed out of the ground while the world tried to bury her.
At first, she plays along. She lowers her gaze, she says the right words. You think she’s surviving by silence. But then the cracks start to show. A glance held too long. A name whispered under her breath.
Hannah.
Her daughter is taken from her. Her husband is ripped away. Her freedom is erased. But June remembers who she was before the red robes and the forced obedience.
And instead of numbing out, she does the more dangerous thing, she stays awake.
There are scenes you can’t unsee.
June curled in a corner, shaking. June screaming into nothing when she thinks she’s lost everything. June alone in that icy house, eyes hollow, body aching. And still, she chooses to live.
She doesn’t get softer. She gets louder.
Everyone around her learns to survive by forgetting. By adapting. But June never lets herself forget, not her name, not her daughter’s face, not the world she was stolen from.
That’s what makes her “too much” in Gilead. Not just that she’s angry but that she remembers why.
And yes, she makes mistakes.
She risks too much.
She meets Hannah even when it’s dangerous, and we scream at the screen because it feels selfish. But it’s not.
It’s love, messy, flawed, human love, reaching through impossible choices.
Because under all the fire, June is still a mother. A woman. Someone who just wanted to read books, laugh with her friends, love her child.
And yet, when the system told her to break, she chose to burn instead.
Her power doesn’t come from martyrdom. It comes from refusing to disappear.
June isn’t easy to watch. She’s angry, impulsive, and sometimes unbearably hard.
But maybe that’s what makes her so unforgettable.
Because in a world that glorifies silence,
June reminds us that rage, too, is a form of love.
6. Devi Vishwakumar (Never Have I Ever)
Devi doesn’t enter the story quietly, she storms into it like she’s got something to prove. She wants it all: the best grades, the hottest guy, the coolest friends, the happy family, the therapist’s approval, the college rec letter, the perfect romantic montage, and closure from the universe.
And why not? She’s 15. She’s grieving. She’s never learned how to feel without being overwhelmed by it. So she shouts. She spirals. She wants loudly.
She doesn’t know how to regulate her emotions, but she feels every single one of them with a kind of ferocity adults spend years trying to recover. She wants to kiss Ben and date Paxton. She wants to punch lockers and get an A. She wants to stop missing her dad but also never forget the way he looked at her.
Watching her is exhausting.
But also? It’s kind of freeing.
Because she’s not trying to be chill, sorted, or wise beyond her years.
She’s just… real.
Devi is “too much” every damn episode. She wants more than she’s allowed. She reacts before she thinks. She talks before she listens. She self-sabotages like it’s a skill. But even when she hurts people, she never hides. She keeps showing up. She owns her mess. She grows.
And that’s what makes her magic.
Because Devi is the girl who refuses to mute herself to be liked. She’s ambition and heartbreak and hormones and hope spilling out of her like a diary with no lock. And instead of pretending to be fine, she figures it out as she goes.
She doesn’t hold it all in only to burst as an adult. She bursts now. And then tries again.
Devi belongs here because she reminds us: You don’t have to be healed to be honest. You don’t have to be quiet to be respected. And you don’t have to be put-together to deserve everything you want.
Hamesha sikhaya gaya hai ki thoda shaant raho, samhal ke bolo, samajhdaari dikhao. But what about the girls who feel before they think? Who spiral, overshare, cry on the way to work, and still dare to want a big, beautiful life?
These women did exactly that. Kabhi chill nahi kiya, aur kabhi perfect nahi dikhe. And still, they stayed soft. Still, they survived.
This post isn’t a list. It’s a letter. To every girl who’s been told she’s “too much.” You are not too much. You are mid-becoming.
Power doesn’t always come in silence or speeches. Sometimes it’s mascara-streaked, voice shaky, texting your friend back after a fight. Sometimes it’s choosing to stay open after being misunderstood. Sometimes, it’s just getting out of bed and still showing up with your whole heart.
And if you ever need to remember who you are, play that one song. “You’re on your own, kid…but you always have been.” And still, you made it. And you made it magical.
The Devil is in the Dee-tails :) 
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