“Don’t mind the heart if it cries or laments – it is an idiot. Your mind
is what makes you do the right thing. Proclaim your freedom! Proclaim your
liberation!”
This is me. Bright red to scarlet , and then violet. Violent violet. These colours make me stronger.
The acrid tang in my mouth – it is new. I bathed in the darkest of fluids , and I anointed myself as my own God. My mind , my body , everything in me is owned by my God. Everything.
His sticky flesh was all over me. It carried a rancid smell , with the unmistakable emanation of the stench of semen. The nectar of life.
The poison which drives men wild.
PART I
I was a woman. Strong in all mental senses but had that timid girl still living in me. I loved God , and I loved good, and I had hatred for the evil in the world.
I lived in Delhi , but never saw or experienced the whole of it. I never came to know about the dark ‘belly’ of the city.The central part of the city is clean and it is much more like a European metropolis , with imperial British administrative buildings , and high class hotels and clubs and parks. I work in a library near the Central Secretariat. I loved the workplace and surroundings. The south is full of educational institutes and shopping complexes, and that’s my favourite hangout place, and that is where I live.
I loved the Metro. Full of people , but still , a silent loneliness accompanies me. It might sound queer , but when I am inside the train , I feel like writing. Every other emotion mixes up with philosophy. Metro transforms me into a poet. I take my tab out and scribble whatever comes to my mind. On a similar day , I was sitting and writing. It was 8 in the night, and I had to attend the Literary Seminar in C.P. I was writing on weakness. My weakness. My timidity. About my superficial strength and the vulnerable part hidden inside. About the things of which I am afraid..
A Metro notification popped up…with an eerie silence.
“The next station , is Shadipur. Doors will open-”
I was aghast. There was nobody in the Metro. Nobody. I just ran out and stepped on the platform , which was totally silent. It was dark , and the normally sweaty weather turned cold. Hastily swiping my card over the check- counter, I ran out of the station.
Metro stations used be so warm , and welcoming. Lots of people , noise and odours. Here it was no less than a graveyard. The CCTVs looked like big eyes. Eyes always scared the hell out of me, since I was a toddler. My mother’s small mirrors , which were hung on the wall of our ancestral home , looked like big eyes. Eyes have that power to intimidate a person.
It was dull outside , with the streetlights flickering. It looked like a 1980’s mafia movie scene. I scurried towards an auto.
“Bhayya , Rajiv Chowk station chod do”
“ Haan ji madam , 70 rupey”
I had no time to bargain or argue , so I just slipped into the seat and said “chalo”. The seminar was very, very important for me. I checked my mobile. Three missed calls and a message from Rishabh , a fellow writer, and my husband. “Rekha , where d hell r u? Cme here evn if it costs ur lyf!”
The very moment I took my eyes off the mobile I felt a thrust. A punch on my nose – bridge. All went red , eventually faded into black.
Rishabh’s message flashed through my eyes again.
PART II
Am I kidnapped? What is happening? Am I unconscious? It felt really miserable anyway. It looked like I was in a van. My nose felt blocked , and my head hurt like anything. I wanted to cry. I was about to open my mouth.
I was slapped in response. Lights went out again. But I still felt a weight pressing against me , and something…someone was groping me. It felt uneasy , and very irritating. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?” I asked myself.
“Who do you think you are? Katrina? I’ll show you what a real man is-“
I opened my eyes as soon as I heard this. I saw the autorikshaw driver in front of me, covered in blood , probably mine. Oh god. Him?
“Mmph! Gmph! “ was all that I could manage. He tore my top away and dug his nails deep into my flesh.
The pain was immense. I got a wind of what was happening.
He bit me, bit the nape of my neck, and pinched my breasts. I was helpless. I cried my throat out , but the sounds were muffled. I was chained. The most dreaded is happening with me. “I am scared. Help me out! Help me someone!” He saw the saline tears flowing , and gave me a grin. He started to kiss me wherever he bit. That evil grin was accompanied by a dark stare. That scared me. Like the eyes of a demon ,his eyes made me weak. My limbs went numb , and I was giving myself away to the torture.
He threw me away in the backseat and then held my nose with a cloth. All disappeared again.
“My God. This cannot happen to me. Why me? What have I done?” This was responded with haunting voices in the back of my head.
“Come on , I won’t be surprised if one fine day you disappear – your clothes are the reason”
“Carry on! Hang out with more men , then maybe fuck each one of them!? Rekha , you and your ‘liberal’ behaviour will drag you into Hell – God will never have a place for sluts like you”
Oh. So I am the culprit.
“Am I the wrong one to embrace freedom? What is wrong with my attire? I know about myself ; I know how to look. I know about social norms. Then tell me what is wrong? You talk as if I am an advertisement for molestation and rape. Why do you say “don’t get raped” when you must preach “don’t rape” to the entire masculine section in the society? Am I still at fault? I am not.
I am a victim to injustice , and the crime cannot be justified. Step in my shoes , and you’ll say the same. I need to get out of here. But I am helpless, helpless. The walls are closing in. All hope is go-“
I felt a spasm in my womanhood.
“NO. No , no , no.”
He tried to violate me.
Scenes from the past, the happy past , flowed like a river. Those times when Rishabh gently kissed me all over, and his naughty bites sent shivers down my spine . All those times in his arms , kissing his bare chest. This wasn’t the same.
The sabotage on my body should stop. “Nobody can touch me except whom I want to. I am not supposed to be a slave. The rope let loose. In a sudden fit of anger and energy , I punched him in the face. I got up as fast as I can, and took up the toolbox , which had knives instead of screwdrivers. Good for me. I was blinded with rage. He leapt upon me , and I responded with a stab.
Another stab. And then another . I stabbed his heart , and it bled open, and I stabbed his abdomen. “Never again will you touch me, I’ll send you impotent to Hell!” I continued the onslaught.
My fit of rage came to an end. I was somewhere with a completely torn , dead corpse. I was covered in his blood. The eerie silence came up again. One of his eyes rolled up. But it didn’t scare me now. I became my God. I took my revenge. I fell unconscious again.
I just killed a pig. All those stabs weren’t for me , I realised. They were for the women. For those who asked for justice against such a heinous sin. And for their families. Forgive me God , I have no right to take someone’s life, but no one can scar me for life either.
I am going to die in the next few minutes. The ropes which bonded my hands will now strangle me. I am a sinner , but every sinner has her, or his own story. And the bars of prison cannot enslave it.
This is me. Bright red to scarlet , and then violet. Violent violet. These colours make me stronger.
The acrid tang in my mouth – it is new. I bathed in the darkest of fluids , and I anointed myself as my own God. My mind , my body , everything in me is owned by my God. Everything.
His sticky flesh was all over me. It carried a rancid smell , with the unmistakable emanation of the stench of semen. The nectar of life.
The poison which drives men wild.
PART I
I was a woman. Strong in all mental senses but had that timid girl still living in me. I loved God , and I loved good, and I had hatred for the evil in the world.
I lived in Delhi , but never saw or experienced the whole of it. I never came to know about the dark ‘belly’ of the city.The central part of the city is clean and it is much more like a European metropolis , with imperial British administrative buildings , and high class hotels and clubs and parks. I work in a library near the Central Secretariat. I loved the workplace and surroundings. The south is full of educational institutes and shopping complexes, and that’s my favourite hangout place, and that is where I live.
I loved the Metro. Full of people , but still , a silent loneliness accompanies me. It might sound queer , but when I am inside the train , I feel like writing. Every other emotion mixes up with philosophy. Metro transforms me into a poet. I take my tab out and scribble whatever comes to my mind. On a similar day , I was sitting and writing. It was 8 in the night, and I had to attend the Literary Seminar in C.P. I was writing on weakness. My weakness. My timidity. About my superficial strength and the vulnerable part hidden inside. About the things of which I am afraid..
A Metro notification popped up…with an eerie silence.
“The next station , is Shadipur. Doors will open-”
I was aghast. There was nobody in the Metro. Nobody. I just ran out and stepped on the platform , which was totally silent. It was dark , and the normally sweaty weather turned cold. Hastily swiping my card over the check- counter, I ran out of the station.
Metro stations used be so warm , and welcoming. Lots of people , noise and odours. Here it was no less than a graveyard. The CCTVs looked like big eyes. Eyes always scared the hell out of me, since I was a toddler. My mother’s small mirrors , which were hung on the wall of our ancestral home , looked like big eyes. Eyes have that power to intimidate a person.
It was dull outside , with the streetlights flickering. It looked like a 1980’s mafia movie scene. I scurried towards an auto.
“Bhayya , Rajiv Chowk station chod do”
“ Haan ji madam , 70 rupey”
I had no time to bargain or argue , so I just slipped into the seat and said “chalo”. The seminar was very, very important for me. I checked my mobile. Three missed calls and a message from Rishabh , a fellow writer, and my husband. “Rekha , where d hell r u? Cme here evn if it costs ur lyf!”
The very moment I took my eyes off the mobile I felt a thrust. A punch on my nose – bridge. All went red , eventually faded into black.
Rishabh’s message flashed through my eyes again.
PART II
Am I kidnapped? What is happening? Am I unconscious? It felt really miserable anyway. It looked like I was in a van. My nose felt blocked , and my head hurt like anything. I wanted to cry. I was about to open my mouth.
I was slapped in response. Lights went out again. But I still felt a weight pressing against me , and something…someone was groping me. It felt uneasy , and very irritating. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?” I asked myself.
“Who do you think you are? Katrina? I’ll show you what a real man is-“
I opened my eyes as soon as I heard this. I saw the autorikshaw driver in front of me, covered in blood , probably mine. Oh god. Him?
“Mmph! Gmph! “ was all that I could manage. He tore my top away and dug his nails deep into my flesh.
The pain was immense. I got a wind of what was happening.
He bit me, bit the nape of my neck, and pinched my breasts. I was helpless. I cried my throat out , but the sounds were muffled. I was chained. The most dreaded is happening with me. “I am scared. Help me out! Help me someone!” He saw the saline tears flowing , and gave me a grin. He started to kiss me wherever he bit. That evil grin was accompanied by a dark stare. That scared me. Like the eyes of a demon ,his eyes made me weak. My limbs went numb , and I was giving myself away to the torture.
He threw me away in the backseat and then held my nose with a cloth. All disappeared again.
“My God. This cannot happen to me. Why me? What have I done?” This was responded with haunting voices in the back of my head.
“Come on , I won’t be surprised if one fine day you disappear – your clothes are the reason”
“Carry on! Hang out with more men , then maybe fuck each one of them!? Rekha , you and your ‘liberal’ behaviour will drag you into Hell – God will never have a place for sluts like you”
Oh. So I am the culprit.
“Am I the wrong one to embrace freedom? What is wrong with my attire? I know about myself ; I know how to look. I know about social norms. Then tell me what is wrong? You talk as if I am an advertisement for molestation and rape. Why do you say “don’t get raped” when you must preach “don’t rape” to the entire masculine section in the society? Am I still at fault? I am not.
I am a victim to injustice , and the crime cannot be justified. Step in my shoes , and you’ll say the same. I need to get out of here. But I am helpless, helpless. The walls are closing in. All hope is go-“
I felt a spasm in my womanhood.
“NO. No , no , no.”
He tried to violate me.
Scenes from the past, the happy past , flowed like a river. Those times when Rishabh gently kissed me all over, and his naughty bites sent shivers down my spine . All those times in his arms , kissing his bare chest. This wasn’t the same.
The sabotage on my body should stop. “Nobody can touch me except whom I want to. I am not supposed to be a slave. The rope let loose. In a sudden fit of anger and energy , I punched him in the face. I got up as fast as I can, and took up the toolbox , which had knives instead of screwdrivers. Good for me. I was blinded with rage. He leapt upon me , and I responded with a stab.
Another stab. And then another . I stabbed his heart , and it bled open, and I stabbed his abdomen. “Never again will you touch me, I’ll send you impotent to Hell!” I continued the onslaught.
My fit of rage came to an end. I was somewhere with a completely torn , dead corpse. I was covered in his blood. The eerie silence came up again. One of his eyes rolled up. But it didn’t scare me now. I became my God. I took my revenge. I fell unconscious again.
I just killed a pig. All those stabs weren’t for me , I realised. They were for the women. For those who asked for justice against such a heinous sin. And for their families. Forgive me God , I have no right to take someone’s life, but no one can scar me for life either.
I am going to die in the next few minutes. The ropes which bonded my hands will now strangle me. I am a sinner , but every sinner has her, or his own story. And the bars of prison cannot enslave it.
