Sometimes, one little act from someone close to you can make you question your entire existence. That little act can say so many things about you, your family, and the society you live in. This little act can feel so big and make you feel so small. Especially when it comes from a parent.
Freedom And Fear
Two or three years ago, I was travelling to my hometown from Delhi during my holidays. I took a night train from New Delhi station, like millions of others do, heading to a small town in Uttar Pradesh.
I have been comfortable travelling alone, because my parents always encouraged me to be independent (intentionally or unintentionally, I don’t know). Even as a child, I was sent alone to get stationary and small groceries from the market, whereas other girls my age were not allowed to do that. Before I hit puberty, everything was fine. But as soon as my breasts started developing, things changed, and suddenly.
The freedom of going out to buy things started turning into fear. Every time I would step out of the house, some man or the other would grab or claw my breasts or my behind. This would happen almost every time, and the days it didn’t happen I would thank all the gods. I asked my friends about it and discovered all the girls were going through the same thing. It became normal.
The freedom to go out is so precious to women and girls. If I had told my mother about these men, she would have restricted me inside the four walls of my home. And if sexual harassment was the price I had pay for my freedom, then so be it. At least, that’s how I was conditioned to think.
One Fateful Night
The day I took the night train, I got an upper berth, settled in, and ordered some food. The guy who came to give the order asked me if there is someone else with me. I didn’t reply. I had learned over time that it was best not to engage with strange men.
It must have been around 9:15 pm when I went to sleep. After about 15-20 minutes, my sleep was broken by an extremely loud noise. Everything was shaking wildly, and I fell onto the floor of the train. People were shouting and luggage was falling all over the place. I realized that the train had been derailed and it was lying on its side. The next few minutes were a blur. I only remember that some people helped get me out of the train.
I was standing outside, literally shaking with fear; the kind of scared I had never been. I called my brother and told him what happened. I could hear the same fear in his voice. He was saying something but I couldn’t understand. While still on call, I noticed that there are some men circling me. Among them was the same man who had brought me my food. Help wasn’t coming any time soon, with respect to the train, but another reality struck me and I forgot about the accident: I had started worrying about someone raping me, which, in that moment, seemed a bigger cause for concern than death.
There was a big field in front of us, and a highway beyond it. A few people were crossing the field. Among them, I saw a woman seemed familiar. I followed my instincts and joined her.
Meanwhile, I received different phone calls from my mother, my uncle, and my brother. While they were shouting and arguing on the phone about whether they should come to pick me up, we had reached the highway. I still wonder what was going through my family’s minds just then. They were aware that even though I was not physically hurt, I was not safe.
But there was something else. Maybe my mother was thinking to herself: “Is it really worth the effort to drive all the way there, so that my daughter can be safe? After all, she is just a woman.”
Am I Not A Priority?
I still wonder what value I have for her. I know that she loves me, but I know that I am not really a priority for her.
The woman who had seemed so familiar to me turned out to be my school teacher. We decided to catch a bus till Lucknow from the highway. Multiple buses came and went without going from that route but no one was stopping. And when we finally got one, it was completely full and I could smell alcohol in the air. We didn’t have a choice.
Once the bus set off, I called my brother. He had said he wanted to pick me up. It could have easily been done thanks to my phone’s GPS and location tracker. But I could hear my mother screaming in the background, refusing to go anywhere or let anyone else go either.
Suddenly, I felt a hand pressing against my breasts: a drunk man. And no matter how I struggle against him, he didn’t stop. When I went to complain to the conductor, he simply scolded the drink, but it had no lasting effect. I had even changed seats, but the same thing happened again. I complained to the conductor once more, but this time he didn’t intervene. The harassment continued through the night, forcing me from one place to another. Crying, I realized that by then half the bus must have felt me up. We reach Lucknow in the morning and I saw my brother waiting for me at the bus stop. My mother didn’t come.
I Don’t Know What Was Worse
When I finally saw her at home, she hugged me and kissed my forehead; I looked at her in confusion and asked why she didn’t let anyone come to help me. She said that she was scared for my brother’s life. You see, in my family, some time ago, a female relative had passed away. One male relative was going to the funeral at night in hurry. He got into an accident and passed away. And this was the reason my mother refused to let my brother come and get me.
I felt deeply hurt and confused. I didn’t understand what should have bothered me the most: train accident, 12 hours of continuous sexual harassment, or my mother’s decision not to choose my well-being during a crisis. I felt like a worthless piece of flesh. I felt so small and exhausted. And I didn’t have it in me to say anything to my mother or anyone at the time.