It was about 11 last night. I was making my way through the Dadar railway bridge. Clutching on to two bags, inconveniently climbing up the uneven stairs. It was dark. The station was poorly lit as always. I took out my phone. Managed to speed dial 5 and talk to JP. Was about say a final good night.
And then, a lanky man stretched his hand out from the crowd on the opposite side and grabbed me by my left upper thigh, trying to make his way up to my genitals. Before I realised what was happening, he was done. He began walking hurriedly to wherever the hell he was headed.
A second later, I yelled out, 'Abey chutiye, haraami. Ruk. Ruk na saale.' He moved faster. He began running. He was too fast for me to grab him by his collar, pull him back, slap the fuck out of him, crack my knuckles against his nose, kick his balls and let him writhe in pain while I had some sadistic relief.
He fled. Fled like a rat scurrying for cover from pest control. I shouted again. I seemed to have raised an alarm amongst the late-night vendors selling their 'foren maal' on the foot-over bridge. They began yelling, chor, chor. One of them came up to me and asked, kya chori hua madam?
I said, chori kuch nahi hua, haath laga ke bhaag raha hai.
The vendor then told me, Accha, accha.
And he stood there.
And I stood there, still abusing the coward, who now seemed to have made his way to the foot of the bridge and onto the roads. I hoped he got caught and lynched by a mob till he bled.
I felt helpless. Like a damsel in distress, needing someone else to act on my behalf. I had this horrendous, creepy feeling. I could still feel the man's hand where he had felt me. Like a nasty after taste. And it stays for a long time. Stays so that you can't experience or think about anything else but what's happened. And then there is the feeling of haplessness that returns at regular intervals.
Horrible. Just horribly creepy.
Saturday 7 February 2009
Horribly creepy
Posted by
Mynie
at
19:22
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6 comments:
I can understand what you are feeling now - the rue over not mashing him to pulp then and there, and the thought might eat you whenever you think of it. Imagine how satisfying it would have been to see him bleed...make him bleed. Grab his balls and squeeze them, mercilessly, like it was a fucking orange, squeeze them till they were crushed, pulverize them till your felt your fingers on your palm; every scream of his would be as melodious to your ears as a music note. That would certainly take him and his ilk out of the gene pool. In a city like Bombay, this won't be the last time you will have encountered something like this. The next time something similar happens to you, or to somebody around you and you witness it, rip his organ off; at the very least, throw a good punch in and smash his nose. You will then have made up for this missed opportunity.
@ace
I really appreciate your support. Gives me courage to fight on... :-)
I remember, when I was about seven, I and my mom were traveling to Vile Parle by bus, and the guy seated in front of us kept looking lasciviously at her, and she went ballistic like I had never seen her:'Aage dekh! Waapas peeche dekha toh chappal muh pe maaroongi!' And then the conductor and other ladies in the bus took the guy to task. One lady remarked that he had been eying her the same way for a while, and my mom asked her why she hadn't objected then. The lady had no answer. I guess she had just felt helpless. When you choose to keep mum, you inadvertently encourage such filth. Eighteen years later, things don't seem to have changed much. But it is a relief to know girls like you are striving to make things change. In the US, the guy would not have gone unpunished. We need to have anti-molestation notices with phone numbers of outreach centers for women in ALL public places, like they have here. Sexual harassment need not even be physical. These bastards must be taught a lesson.
@ace
Seriously. What makes me feel horrible is that I felt helpless that night. This is not the first time I am facing street sexual harassment. I generally catch hold of the man and take him to the nearest police chowky or at least gather a good crowd around that will give him a good beating. I agree the second option is resorting to lawlessness, but sometimes you just act out of anger and rationale fails. I agree there have to be helpline numbers.
That's terrible. You know, whenever my parents grumble about how late I get home, I say it's okay, Bombay's safe. But incidents like this make me feel so weak and helpless.
And what's worse, is the way with just a look and a touch, they can have us feeling dirty and used.
*Hug*
@gentle whispers
*returns hug*
Thanks yaa...
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