This post was dying a silent death in my drafts for almost three months. I deliberately delayed completing it and publishing it thinking; ‘Maybe this post may attract undue attention’ ; ‘Maybe i will be judged for been too explicit and forward’. Ever since i started this blog, my motive has been to write about issues that no one talks about, but the fear of been judged too quickly and been labelled self-sympathetic held me back (for this post particularly). Never until this time did i spoke of this to anyone, consoling myself, ‘Its A Thing Of Past, What’s The Point Of Digging The Grave’;
#SexualHarassment #SexualAssault Can Never Be A Thing Of Past,
And It Is In No Way A Women’s Destiny To Go Through This S**t
First time it happened, I was a teenage girl happily accompanying my old man to a crowded flower market, when i felt a pair of hand move on my chest. Instinctively i fought back with those pair of hand, unable to recognize the faceless perpetrator who camouflaged in sea of people. That was the first time when the modesty of girl was outraged who had no clue about sexual assault.
Second time it happened, i was in my last leg of university education. Had to make a trip to university in a Rickshaw (a common mode of public transport), where a man sitting next to me sat folding his hand so carefully that his finger was seamlessly rested under my left breast. I am sure that man was a repeat offender as i couldn’t sense any discomfort until the time i alighted from the Rickshaw. Disgust, anger ran over me and i wanted to kill him. But all i could do was hit him lightly with my elbow. That day i came home and cried and vowed never to let this happen to me again.
Third time it happened when i started my career as a working women. Being a Mumbaikar, local trains is what i swear by to reach my workplace. Crowded railway platforms and bridges serves as a modus operandi of those who lurk in crowded places to fulfill their pervert ambitions. I felt a hand at my behind while ascending a crowded staircase. That was it. Having vowed to myself to never let a pervert go Scott free again, i let the man pass before me in the line and kicked him hard with my pointed sandals. He helplessly glared back at me, but then i ran for my life scared that he would kill me with a knife. But nothing of that sort happened and i felt so so happy doing that.
Its a daily fight for every women when she has to decide about her outfit, so that no man lecherously and lustfully objectifies her weather at work or otherwise; when she has to think about when to laugh out loud and when to dawn a stony expression, so that she doesn’t gives out a wrong signal. Violation of modesty of any living being is never an excuse no matter what.
“If as a sexual predator you can’t keep your D**k in your pants, its my personal suggestion to check yourself in a rehab”
Sharing my story was not to tell how young girls/women need to be careful of the modus-operandi of serial sexual offenders (which is as important) but to tell the world that this is the story of every girl/women at some point of their lives. To tell the world, of how far-fledged and menacing this sexual harassment and assault effects life of every women every second in some part of the world. Feeling victimized is never an option. Learn to be vocal and make the perpetrator feel shameful. Choose to be #AHunterThenBeingHunted . This hashtag is way more and beyond just a hashtag for me. If something positive can come of this trending #MeToo that can have a global impact, then i want to be a part of it.