Lives Interrupted.

“Don’t teach me what to wear,

Teach your sons not to rape.”

I often write, at the slightest of emotional stirs. If I think that my little words can only ‘move someone’, and I am not talking of ‘making a difference’, I choose to write. However over the years, so much has been written about crimes against women, gender violence and discrimination etc., that whatever has been in my mind has been covered aptly and broadly, over and again. Maybe, that’s why I never chose to write on it anymore. The aftermath of Nirbhaya’s unspeakable torture and death has left the nation deeply hurt. A million articles in various newspapers, magazines, journals, periodicals, etc have reported how the ‘India’s daughter’ heroically fought for life and emerged as a ‘Brave heart’ in front of us all and of the brutality of the rapists. No less has been said about the Guwahati molestation case, Dhaulakuan rape case, or hundred other misfortunate mishaps of crimes against women leading to public outcry. Take your pick!

So why I am anxious to write now, you may ask? Because I haven’t come across anything yet, which has put to words exactly the way I feel. For men, raping has become a part of Sunday joyride. The Delhi rape case has caused surges of bitter indignation to flow in every citizen’s veins. The nation is coming fiercely out on the streets, demanding gruesome penalties for the rapists. While some are suggesting castration, others say that even death penalty seems lenient. Protests, silent rallies, candle marches, hunger strikes, public gatherings have all been resorted to, in order to demand justice for the victim. A lot of resentment, annoyance anger? Certainly! However, what no one has brought up until now is how vulnerable, scared and defenseless this makes me feel.  That as I type this, I’m not battling for life on the ventilator is just a matter a pure chance and no ones intelligence.

I’m extremely terrified, and so are all my peers. Maybe, this is because I was also on the streets, going home that night, when the incident took place. One of my friends was on her way to the airport in a cab. My elder sister who works in Gurgaon was leaving her office around the same time. A few other friends of mine were returning from a dinner night. Or any of the girls I know. On usual days, a lot of us have dealt with shady men, right outside our college, passing lewd comments and nasty remarks at us. The realization that the ‘victim’ could be anyone of us chills me to the bone, and just right now the thought is making me feel unnerved! Fate played sweetly and I got lucky on the streets that day, just like everyone else. We might not get so lucky tomorrow, or the day after and forever. Who guarantees?

As I read the newspapers, screaming about the ongoing macabre mishaps on women, I feel that I may be wrong. Maybe, when I was a freshman, the mandate of wearing salwaar suits with chunni tucked properly as imposed by the seniors who I thought were ‘ragging’ and encroaching upon my freedom,  was in fact to make me learn that roaming around in those damned shorts can get me in trouble. Maybe, the early hostel in-time which I again consider a violation of my freedom is actually for my safety and that, I shouldn’t be out too late, or hang out with my male friends.  But this is only a minor part of me.

A major part of me is not ready to submit to the Stockholm syndrome. I refuse to be taken hostage by the wandering eyes of men, who can’t restrain it in their zips. I refuse to jeopardize my social life or my male friends. Yes, my fashion statement is unconventional; as my girlfriends call it ‘chic and sassy’ and I refuse to part with it. I refuse to turn down dinner invitations at least (if not midnight bashes). I am certainly not aspiring to be a bohemian rhapsodic or lead a life of radicalism. But I refuse to relinquish all this because it defines who I am and I can’t let nameless, faceless, characterless, colorless, soulless and insipid personalities imprison my life and hold my identity hostage. Call me a ‘nonconformist’ or the ‘other woman’ but how should that make me an ‘easy’ prey is beyond my comprehension.

When I have gone out, my mother calls me thrice a day, and if I accidentally miss her calls (phone being on silent mode/I am crossing the road/too much traffic and I can’t hear the phone ringing/the phone is on vibration mode and inside my bag etc) all hell breaks loose. Before I step out, she makes a point to take down the numbers of every person I’m going out with, just in case. I tell her, “Why do you worry so much? I keep myself in company of a good number and stay safe, maa!” But deep inside, I don’t know what is safe anymore!

Will the pepper spray I carry keep enough for my security or I should switch to a pistol? I stay out only when it is lit, because as I have been told, rapists are demons really, who come out at night. But rapes have happened in the godly hour of 6 am. I stay covered and do not expose skin, because I’ve heard that skin attracts men, but I have also heard of women being raped in salwaar suits and sarees. Should I avoid childhood or adulthood, as some men get ‘turned on’ by little girls, while others ‘prefer’ older women? Maybe both! I always keep myself in a company of enough number of female friends, but it turns out that some men get encouraged by numbers. I go out with male friends sometime, but like a lot of people will tell you, it’s the acquaintances you have to be most wary of! If I think, staying home is the safest option, then newspapers have told me enough that intruders and relatives are both capable of raping. It is not even bizarre to find that household helpers see their master’s daughter as a potential prey. Our offices are not free of sexual harassment either, as male colleagues enjoy ‘hitting on’ their female counterparts. Girls in schools have been molested by their teachers and peons and curious boys turn to their female classmates. Should I just get married? Ah! Rape is legal within marriage! So what I am supposed to do? Curl up into invisibility? Well, I hear that ‘timidity’ and ‘nervousness’ arouses potential rapists. Then I should be dauntless and valiant. Don’t be so fearless, I am told.

This leaves me in a Catch-22 situation! Where do I go from here? Bet on my luck or quit while I’m still ahead, and not dead? I think, in order to be quite sure that I’m protected from being raped, there is but just one way out: to not exist. So if there is any process by which I can evaporate into thin air or become colorless, this is the right time to tell me, because I really want to know. What I make of the situation is this: Being responsible has nothing to do with being raped. Women don’t get raped because they were drinking too much, took drugs, wore skimpy outfits, or weren’t careful enough. Women get raped because someone raped them. Period.

Males who would read this will earnestly nod their heads in agreement, like they understand what this all means. I don’t want to sound cynical here but let me tell you blatantly, you don’t! Not because I mean to wedge you out, or you don’t want to, but you’re biologically programmed to not! Because when you were 14, you were not chased down an open street by a gang of guys on bikes, passing vile and shameless remarks on you, deriving cheap thrills and being their object of fun. On the other hand, you must have never felt vulnerable enough to have ‘what if I had not run fast enough?’ nightmares for months! You did not get pinched and winked at a Pujo Pandal, no less by a man who has his 5 year old daughter clutching his other hand. You don’t skip a heartbeat, when a vehicle slows down next to you, as you are walking down the footpath. God forbid if it has tinted windows! You don’t activate the ‘Safety App’ on your cell phone when you are in a public place. You don’t switch on a tracker every time you take a cab, auto or a public transport. You don’t brace yourself and curl up, every time you enter the general bogie on a metro, ready to elbow people who are pressing up against you in the groin. You don’t walk in a crowded metro or the bus, clutching your bag against your chest, like it holds treasure, only to save your front from being brushed a hundred times. You don’t glance over your shoulder and fasten up your pace if you see a shadow behind you on an empty street. You don’t have you think twice before plugging in your earphones because you don’t want to be caught off guard. You don’t choose to not text message or play games on the cell phone while walking on the road or traveling in the bus because you don’t want to unvigilant. You don’t carry your drinks everywhere at a party because you don’t want to be roofied. While going out, you don’t carry a pepper spray and a Swiss knife as essentials, along with your wallet and cell phone. You probably don’t have the police’s number 100 and women protection cell helpline numbers on speed dial. You haven’t been where I have, so you probably don’t understand where I am coming from. And no! This is not only about Delhi. Being an Army Officers daughter, I have lived in over 10 different cities, and although the extent of harassment might be different, it does exist everywhere and happens in pretty much the same way.

I am not putting up a gender-segmented accusation. There has to be a change and it certainly needs to start with men. Hence I consider men a crucial part of this fight for women’s safety. What I dislike is the lip-service and the tongue in cheek talk. You must be sympathizing with me, and cutting a sorry figure but I ask you-what have you done for my safety? Have you ever stopped a friend from passing comments on a girl? How many times have you checked out a girl’s profile and thought, ‘This one looks easy’? Or wolf whistled at a girl’s cleavage? Look inside yourself and tell me if you have checked out a girl’s legs before looking into her eyes when she’s trying to strike a meaningful conversation? You derived pleasure when BJP/RSS publicly humiliated couples? When you looked at a newspaper headline speaking of rape/women molestation, you skipped it considering it as a piece of ‘mundane and stereotypical news’? Judged a girl by the length of her skirt? Cracked a ‘get me a sandwich’ joke? If you have done any of these, and like acts, then pardon me for not taking you seriously. What does your token of sympathy stand for, other than hollowness? Why do you send me petitions to sign when you don’t believe in them yourself? Changing your profile picture to ‘the black dot’ does not change your ideas and beliefs! Give it two more days, and it will change back.  You will forget about it and forget about this gang-rape case, like a million others! But my life will go on, and so will the lives of so many other girls, who, like are thanking God each day before going to bed, to have saved us from nameless-faceless sexual predators, yet, being very unsure about tomorrow. While you can forget all about it, and not care one bit, my fight for equality is synonymous with life.

Stop telling to change the way we dress, instead change your thinking. Don’t blame it on the government every time, because it is only a reflection of you. If you think it is made of sexist douche bags, look again. It is not as much a law and order problem, as much as it is with us. We can implement death penalty for rape to deter the criminal, but ripening our mindset will nip the evil in the bud.