Remembrance

She had smiled at me. And we were kindred. Nothing else bound us together, but that smile. She knew I cared at some level. And she was a comfort to me in this place of loneliness. Like a shade in the wilderness. You need to go home but you still pause by for relief. She had smiled and that’s how it all began.

I was new to the city. Silchar… It was like a culture shock to me. No… I’m a South-Indian who has been brought in Rajasthan. And that’s too much of a mixed culture and an identity crisis. And I’d never really thought that I’d ever be facing a culture shock. And here I was… Seventeen, alone, in a place where I knew nobody, where everybody went about their business… And me? I was just lost.

Maybe it was not just the vast differences in the cultures I had been brought up with; maybe it was all that busy life… College had started a month ago and I had joined after the second counseling. I was late… The course had progressed to a point where I could not make head or tail what teachers were really teaching. My batch mates were busy with the rehearsals for the Fresher’s meet. Everybody was busy, doing one thing or the other. Studying for an upcoming test, rehearsing late till late into the night, learning the senior’s names… everyone was busy. And I was just new, sticking out like a sore thumb. It did get lonely in those times.

We had been asked not to go out by ourselves. And I didn’t really know the language. It wasn’t safe. But I needed to get my apron from the tailor, if I wanted to attend class the next day. I already had a backlog of over a month. I had to step out of my comfort zone and go out. In that moment it was necessary. And I decided it was time for me get things done for myself.

It was a September evening. 3rd of September, 2011. I remember being apprehensive of being out alone in the streets. Even within the campus, even in the late hours of the evening there were too many people to my liking. And I had a sense of fear and thrill. The fear and thrill of a first time. The strange kind of a thrill that engulfs you when you know that nobody there knows you or recognizes you. The strange feeling of fear when you realize that if something goes wrong in that moment, nobody would really care or help.

No, I had never been out alone. The sheltered child that i was, I had learnt to drive a car but I had never been allowed to go to the shop across the street alone. And so, I decided not to tell my parents that I’d be going out alone to the market to get my things. That very evening they had left me alone in this new city, with lots of advice on how I should stay safe. I decided to go out get my work done and return back in a jiffy.

I have a habit of being too lost in myself. When I am with me, the world stops mattering. Time stops, people vanish. I and my thoughts are home. And that day wasn’t too different.

Forgetting all my plans of coming back to hostel as fast as possible and laying caution to the winds, I went about thinking to myself. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts of being awfully busy and alone that I did not notice. I had walked till the college gate and I was suddenly stopped by a shout. ‘Ohh Mashie!!! Chocolate do na…’  Beggars are very common in India. And to be very honest, I wasn’t very shocked to be in that situation. I decided to walk unfazed by the voice. But she called again.

This time, I just couldn’t help but turn around and look at her. Our eyes met. And she smiled. And something changed.

If you ask me today, I’ll honestly tell you that I was very happy coming to Silchar. I was very happy to be in the college. But, even in that happiness, something just made me lose touch of myself. It is like a bath in the hot waters on a chilly winter morning. You are numb for a while. You like the heat, the way it feels against the skin, but you’re still numb. Waiting for the shift to settle in. And now I think of it, maybe it was me waiting to get settled in, become comfortable.

She was hardly five. She sat on the road side with her mother. No slippers in her feet, a torn frock on her body, she sat there with her mother egging her on to ask for more. I looked at her. And I somehow could not bring myself to ignore her and go ahead. She looked at me with hopeful eyes, and yet her eyes had that glint of mischief in them. She reminded me of all that i had and she could not have. Of all that I took for granted and she thought of as a luxury. Of all that which was normal for me and what wasn’t for her. And yet she smiled. In all of that depravity, she smiled.

I remember telling her to wait for me. And for a second her face dropped. I told her that I’d bring something for her. She smiled yet again. I rushed back to finish the work I had come out to do, stopped at a shop to buy some eatable for her. Returning to the spot, I handed her the packet and the smile that now adorned her face was that knowing smile yet filled with gratitude. And as days passed it became a routine for us. Whenever I would go out, I would see her smile at me. Only that, now she did not have to ask, I knew I was supposed to bring food for her.

It has been some time since I saw her. She no longer sits there with her mother. Though her mother still sits there. I feel the urge to go ahead and ask about her, but I just cannot. At least I haven’t been able to till now. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. I’m scared of what she’ll reveal. And so I very conveniently stop myself.

When I think of her, I feel that I could have done a bit more for her. Maybe brought in books, taken her to school. I don’t even know her name. I don’t know why I did not muster the courage to do all of that. And now I think of her, I’m reminded of that smile. I go about the guilt trip, come back saying I didn’t know and that I’m not mature enough… but I remember her, with a fond smile.

Many have criticized me for doing what i did. Many have told me that I’m encouraging her to go on begging. To see this as an easy means of living. But they don’t see it the way I see it. I did not do it for her as much I did it for me. And right now, I write this not for her. I’m not writing this to relieve myself of my guilt. I write this for me. To simply keep a memory of her. To remember with fond remembrance, that smile that settled me in this world which was too busy and lonely for me.
-Ahuvya

*searching for a title*

Sounds, shrieks, moans and gasps… She could hear herself screaming in agony and pleading for mercy. Like a sword twisting in her insides, flesh rammed into her. She woke up with a start. Perspiring like a wanderer in the scalding heat of the Thar, she looked up to see the hands of the clock. Time had stood still for her. Moments and memories played like a broken video record. Broken and fragmented. Yes, but clear. Like water in a crystal lake. Despite everything, she refused to cry. Like a creek gone dry, she too had run out of emotions. She had stopped feeling.

Like a kaleidoscope of colors, moments flashed in front of her eyes. Only, these were dark, gruesome colors streaked with misery, pain and agony. All of it seemed like yesterday. She had turned eighteen. Months. She had been planning that day to perfection for months and yet now, months later she could not put a finger on where everything went wrong. It was supposed to be her day of happiness and freedom.  She had planned a day with her parents, some time with her friends. But what actually happened was never on her list.
She remembered waking up to the loving wishes of her family. Her mother was mad at her for getting up late even on her birthday. Her father showered her with his love. Her brother in his own teasing way gifted her with a beautiful anklet. She even went to the temple to offer her prayers. Then how did everything go wrong? The brightest of her days was now the bleakest of the memories she had.

Like a cinemascope running without a pause, the memories continued. She was waiting for the bus to her college. She remembered being groped upon, dragged, and torn to pieces. How had everything come about? She remembered him standing with his gang of monsters, ogling at her and her friends. She had asked them to leave her be. And then somebody grabbed hold of her hand. She remembered asking for help. Screams… She could see those faces. Sympathetic and yet unmoved. Looking at her with pity and yet not lifting a finger to aid her. Now, remembering them she sees those hypocritical people laughing silently at her plight. Those silent heads, unable to do anything were the same ones that now looked at her like she was the biggest criminal of all times. Why is, all that the society does, justified? Why doesn’t anybody judge them? Why are fingers pointed only her way, not theirs?
She remembered being tossed around like a rag doll into a van. All those pleas of mercy fell on deaf ears. She didn’t realize when she lost her conscious. She remembered waking up that dark place. The ominous stench of despondency loomed large on her.  Every girl dreams of a prince charming on a white horse and destiny had instead created a monster of terror for her. The dreams of fireworks and fairytales gave way to agonizing screams as he tore her virtue apart. Not just her body, he ripped through her soul. She lost count. Like a Russian doll, with a stark hollow within she laid there, satisfying his carnal hunger for pleasure again, again and yet again.

Next, she remembered waking up in her home. The shame with which his father hung his head low, the helplessness in her brother’s eyes stung her. What hurt the most was the accusing stare of her mother. It burnt her. Her body was dead. But whatever was left of her soul was set ablaze. Had she asked for any of it? What had she done to deserve any of this? Was being a girl so big a crime?
The silence of death pervaded her home. Gone were the love, teasing and pampering. All she could feel was a burden. Like she was a burden. In that moment, she would have preferred if she had been dead. What was life like this worth anyway?

It was a week later that she stepped out of her room. Her body still ached in unmentionable places, marred by the scars that the beast had marked her with. She went to the verandah to take in some air. And the poisonous silence followed her. The neighbors looked at her like she was some dirt. Her own cousin ran away from her like she had seen a ghost. Her mother ushered her in like she was a stain to be hidden, never to be seen. No words were spoken. But she understood. She was not the same. She would never be the same. Nothing would ever be the same.

He came to her house the next day. This time a woman accompanied him and not his usual gang of hooligans. The insatiable hunger was still in his eyes as he leered at her. They inspected her like she was an item on sale. She saw her father standing with his head hung low and hands folded in shame and yet gratitude. Her mother suddenly became more accepting of her. They had decided to sell her off to him. Hadn’t he done enough? Would all the past eighteen years of love they showered upon her culminate into this? Was she just a burden for them that they needed to get rid of?

She remembered the wedding. She was being dressed up, like a lamb to slaughter. Only that he had already done that to her. The hushed tones all around her made her feel constricted. The next memory she had was of her sitting in his bed. Motionless. Like a body without life. Waiting for the monster to come in and claim her body again. Waiting for him to shred her to pieces again. Only this time she had made her decision. She could not expect anything from anybody. But she valued herself. The blade in her hand screamed for revenge. She would avenge herself.

Her marital bed was stained with red. Not the red of virginal love. It was the red of revenge and fury. The blood-curdling scream of her mother-in-law brought her out of the daze. But she chose to stay motionless. Motionless like her newly wedded husband who now lay dead in a pool of his own blood. She made no effort to move, speak or even breathe. Her body numb with the intensity of what she had done. But her heart jubilated. She felt avenged. Or did she?

She sat in her cell. Alone. Her brother had come to see her. He understood but was helpless. Her mother refused to even see her face. Her father was too heartbroken to see her. Her brother promised to bring help. He promised to try. But she continued sitting there. Like the dead. What was left for her anyway?

A woman came to meet her. She talked something about helping her out with the case. She spoke of coping with the stress and not losing hope. Nothing made sense anyway.

She came again today. She spoke something about the results of the physical examination. Wait… She had the monster’s child within her. A baby… She had a life within her. A part of him… A part of her… A part still untouched by him and the cruelty of her world. Or was it the cruelty of her circumstances? Or was it a reason for her to live? A reason to thrive?

Treat me equal

A woman is human.
She is no way better, wiser, stronger, more intelligent, more creative, or more responsible than a man.
Likewise, she is never less.
Equality is a given.
A woman is a human.

~Vera Nazarian

I had always taken fancy in recognizing myself as a feminist. I had always taken pride in my dream to carve my own niche in this male-preponderant and male-friendly world. Hearing tales of atrocities on women, having read reports of women being ill-treated and living in a society where the female child is still seen as “kandhe ka bojh” and ‘parayi amanat’, I certainly had developed radical views and a certain degree of despise for anybody who would ask me to do some things just because I was a girl. I have always hated the distribution of labor in our society, which reduced women to just child-bearing machines and reduced them from home-makers to housewives. And a man, who helps out his woman in a household chore or takes her advice on any matter of consequence, suddenly turns into a ‘joru ka gulaam’.

On the other hand is this sudden demand for reservation for women. Demands for women quota and a demand to be given special attention just because you are a female are also not very uncommon things.

Very often, I hear all the talk about women rights, the atrocities on women and on the other hand, I’ve even come across the notion people have that females often take undue advantage of their gender. Being a first-hand witness of gender bias, eve teasing even, I also agree to the other side of the story. I have seen women struggling to be heard and noticed professionally and I’ve seen females getting an upper hand professionally because of their gender as well.

Seeing both the views has, despite my continued hatred for the plight of women in India, has made me realize many faults in the way we as women approach the very topic and viewpoint of gender equality and respect for females.  

The first question that arises in my mind is as a woman, what is it that we want? We demand respect and yet we want concessions. We want to be considered equals and we want men to make the way for us. For any of my female friends who would be reading this, I’d encourage you to decide. Decide. Do you want to build your success because they conceded to your standards or do you want your success to be despite all their high standards?

Ladies first. Many men seem to have a problem with that. Don’t ask them to do that because you are a lady. Let them do that, because they are gentlemen. In queues, in counters, in public places, trains, buses, theatres, classrooms, everywhere don’t demand to be treated with respect because we are the weaker gender. Let them treat us with respect because we are equals and we are supposed to be treated as equals. 

Do away with the idea that men are supposed to respect us because we are like their sisters, mothers, daughters or because we are females. Reinforce the idea that men are supposed to respect us because we are humans and equals and in no way, less than them or anybody.

Don’t demand respect. Command it, earn it.
 
And in face of bias, speak up. Begin in your family. Speaking against bias does not mean defying all the division of labor. In the Indian setup, I’d say that it definitely does not mean that you refuse to cook in the kitchen. Learn that because it’s a basic survival skill, not because you are a girl and that is what your future is. And insist that the male members of your family also help out in the household work. There are often people in the family, relatives, neighbors or any acquaintances talk to you about your future plans and how every girl is supposed to get married and get settled with another family (I know it’s a common trend in the Indian society), tell them (or at least yourself) that marriage is an event in your future and not your ultimate future.

When any of your colleague, class mate or anybody says that you should take up only a certain role because you are female, be confident enough to tell them that your gender does not define who you are. Have it in you to tell them that you are an equal.

When you see any woman being mistreated anywhere, in your family, in the neighborhood, in any public places, don’t hesitate to extend your support. We can definitely not expect men to respect us when we don’t respect each other.

Can you remember who were, before the world told you who you should be?

Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?
As a kid I still remember my parents asking me to be a good child. Their definition of good involved obedience, sincerity and many more of the good virtues that I am thankful they helped me imbibe. Moving on to my school life, my teachers had another set of expectations from me. And yet again, growing up and having a friend circle meant another set of expectations and criteria I needed to fulfill. And yet now, when I look at me, training to become a doctor, I still am following a rulebook of ‘hows, dos and don’ts’. A rule book of how I am supposed to behave with people: a different code of conduct for friends, family and acquaintances and a totally different approach for strangers. Sometimes, this code of conduct goes to the limit of telling how one should feel about anything.

And now that I look at it all in a retrospective way, I feel this question arise in me; ‘Am I who I am?’ or Am I just what the world has made me out to be? Education and learning mold a man, from a rough stone into a gem. But the societal pressure associated with all the growing up, changes us in such a manner that very often we have a preset notion that this will make me happy, this is what is expected out of me and this is how I’m supposed to be like. Most of our aims in life, the desires we harbour, are any of them really ours? The essential elements of our existence, our hopes and dreams, are we any of them? Or are we just living out an illusion that we have been constantly trained to have been living. Who are we?