The time must have been around 5 pm, some 30 years ago, on the road in front of our house in Kanpur. I was walking down the road to the house of the lady who used to stitch our clothes. I was about 17 or 18 years old. It was an empty road though not a desolate one. It has been 30 years or so and I still remember what I was wearing. A high neck full sleeves kurta and salwar. As I walked on I saw a man coming on his bicycle from the opposite side. I continued walking on the side of the road and then without warning, he crossed the road, came towards my side. As he crossed me, he groped my breast with all his might and sped off. I screamed in pain and shock and when I looked back at what had happened, I saw him looking back too with a smirk on his face. He was a man in his late 30s or 40s.
That was my 1st ever encounter of sexual harassment in a public place. I remember coming home and going straight to my room and crying and crying. My sisters were too young then, to confide in. And I never told my mother, for the fear that she will henceforth stop me from going out.
When I reached home (the farm stay), my friend was sitting on the porch at his usual place and he wished me loudly “Good Morning, how was your walk?”, I smiled and went inside. I didn’t tell him. 30 years later, the narratives didn’t change. I was angry, ashamed and I wondered, what will he think, will he make fun of me. 5 minutes later I came out of my room and I narrated the incident to him. Red in the face, tears streaming down my face. He was in shock, all he could say was “this is so sad and shocking. Sawantwadi is a safe city, and I have seen women walking, riding even late in the night”. There was no way to track the boy. I didn’t note his vehicle number and I didn’t see him again.
Between the 1st and the last such encounter, there have been many. In DTC
buses, in Indian Rail compartments, at the Trade Fair organized each year at
Pragati Maidan, in office space, and even in the safe heavens of my home. Endless encounters.
Each time something happened, I wondered what I was wearing, what I did to invite the action, what were my reactions like? The narratives never changed. I never questioned what kind of a man was he? What kind of pleasure did he derive? What kind of parents brought up these men etc? I only questioned myself. I only looked at my shame, clothes, time of the incident, place of the incident, anger and angst. I found it so difficult to share the incident with family and friends. Some incidents I never narrated at all. Now when I am 47 years old, hair grey and white, having seen the world, a lot wiser, able to comprehend so many more nuances of the society, of people behaviour etc, I wasn’t able to change this narrative. I wasn’t able to come to my friend and tell him what happened without a feeling of doubt on myself or being sure of his reaction. Any sane man/woman will condemn this kind of incident yet I felt what if and held back. If an informed and aware woman like me felt like this, I shudder to think what millions of other girls and woman must go through in their head each time something like this happens to them.
The days following the incident when I went for a walk, I was
looking more behind me than in front of me. My heartbeat was high not on
account of the walk but the fear and most of all I looked at all men with
suspicion. Which of these will come over and attack?
When I was 17, a man in his 40s attacked me. I was vulnerable and he saw that.
Now when I am in my 40s, a boy about 17/18, did the same. He thought I was
vulnerable and though I didn’t feel like that when I head out, maybe I was.
And 30 years later, the narrative in my head never changed… Sad but not shocking anymore...
© Shubhra
#15 December 7, 2020
#MyThursdayThing will be published every other Thursday, on my
blog https://shubhrathoughts.blogspot.com/ and shared on my social media handles.
