Essay 37
Essay 37
Essay 37
Essay 37
Free
Free
Free
Free
14 Aug 2024
14 Aug 2024
14 Aug 2024
14 Aug 2024
3 min
3 min
3 min
3 min
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(Content warning: This essay contains experiences and stories about harassment as a woman in India. It may be difficult for some readers.)
The first aspiration I had as a teenage girl was to be rich enough to never take a public bus again.
I was 16. I was standing in a line to get into a bus when a group of men suddenly started pushing against me and I felt a hand trying to grope me. I started screaming and hitting the hand to get it off me. The crowd continued climbing the bus around me. When I looked up, I saw a bus full of men staring at me like I was crazy. I sat down at the bus stop and started crying. I waited for an empty bus and climbed in. On the ride home, I wondered if I should tell my mother. Would it upset her? Was it my fault? I didn’t tell her and never wore the green T-shirt from that day again.
I grew up in Mumbai, a safe city. I took a bus 3 times a day - to college, to my internship and then home. That day was the start of a battle I felt unprepared for. I would be stared at, groped, rubbed against, yelled at, and if I was really unlucky, followed. I was aware of being perceived, of every gesture being interpreted, of every choice being important. Where to stand on the bus stop, which bus to take, where to stand inside the bus, which road to take home, when to fight with a man, when to ask a woman for help.
(Content warning: This essay contains experiences and stories about harassment as a woman in India. It may be difficult for some readers.)
The first aspiration I had as a teenage girl was to be rich enough to never take a public bus again.
I was 16. I was standing in a line to get into a bus when a group of men suddenly started pushing against me and I felt a hand trying to grope me. I started screaming and hitting the hand to get it off me. The crowd continued climbing the bus around me. When I looked up, I saw a bus full of men staring at me like I was crazy. I sat down at the bus stop and started crying. I waited for an empty bus and climbed in. On the ride home, I wondered if I should tell my mother. Would it upset her? Was it my fault? I didn’t tell her and never wore the green T-shirt from that day again.
I grew up in Mumbai, a safe city. I took a bus 3 times a day - to college, to my internship and then home. That day was the start of a battle I felt unprepared for. I would be stared at, groped, rubbed against, yelled at, and if I was really unlucky, followed. I was aware of being perceived, of every gesture being interpreted, of every choice being important. Where to stand on the bus stop, which bus to take, where to stand inside the bus, which road to take home, when to fight with a man, when to ask a woman for help.
(Content warning: This essay contains experiences and stories about harassment as a woman in India. It may be difficult for some readers.)
The first aspiration I had as a teenage girl was to be rich enough to never take a public bus again.
I was 16. I was standing in a line to get into a bus when a group of men suddenly started pushing against me and I felt a hand trying to grope me. I started screaming and hitting the hand to get it off me. The crowd continued climbing the bus around me. When I looked up, I saw a bus full of men staring at me like I was crazy. I sat down at the bus stop and started crying. I waited for an empty bus and climbed in. On the ride home, I wondered if I should tell my mother. Would it upset her? Was it my fault? I didn’t tell her and never wore the green T-shirt from that day again.
I grew up in Mumbai, a safe city. I took a bus 3 times a day - to college, to my internship and then home. That day was the start of a battle I felt unprepared for. I would be stared at, groped, rubbed against, yelled at, and if I was really unlucky, followed. I was aware of being perceived, of every gesture being interpreted, of every choice being important. Where to stand on the bus stop, which bus to take, where to stand inside the bus, which road to take home, when to fight with a man, when to ask a woman for help.
I have struggled with what to call these acts of encroachment. Assault feels like a big word, to be used for real violence which happens to Indian women. We all have stories that could have ended worse though. We talk of college friends who called us sluts in whatsapp groups, of bosses who harassed us but insisted it was our fault, of men on streets that grope us, follow us, stalk us. If they are acquaintances or family, we don’t name them. Even in private, we somehow can’t bear to.
I feel the most broken when I hear my friends talk about abuse in their own homes. About feeling unsafe around family as children, as young girls. My mother’s paranoia even around family now makes sense. She never let me travel with anyone but her, she never left me alone with a male relative and she never let any uncle touch or hold me. Now I know, it was all merely protocol - the price of being a girl’s mother in India.
Indian men like to think that men who assault women belong to the ‘other’. Someone who is not like them, someone they don't usually hang out with, go to school with, someone they don’t know, someone not in their income bracket. But women know from each other's stories that it doesn't add up. We know to look for exits in every room.
I have struggled with what to call these acts of encroachment. Assault feels like a big word, to be used for real violence which happens to Indian women. We all have stories that could have ended worse though. We talk of college friends who called us sluts in whatsapp groups, of bosses who harassed us but insisted it was our fault, of men on streets that grope us, follow us, stalk us. If they are acquaintances or family, we don’t name them. Even in private, we somehow can’t bear to.
I feel the most broken when I hear my friends talk about abuse in their own homes. About feeling unsafe around family as children, as young girls. My mother’s paranoia even around family now makes sense. She never let me travel with anyone but her, she never left me alone with a male relative and she never let any uncle touch or hold me. Now I know, it was all merely protocol - the price of being a girl’s mother in India.
Indian men like to think that men who assault women belong to the ‘other’. Someone who is not like them, someone they don't usually hang out with, go to school with, someone they don’t know, someone not in their income bracket. But women know from each other's stories that it doesn't add up. We know to look for exits in every room.
I have struggled with what to call these acts of encroachment. Assault feels like a big word, to be used for real violence which happens to Indian women. We all have stories that could have ended worse though. We talk of college friends who called us sluts in whatsapp groups, of bosses who harassed us but insisted it was our fault, of men on streets that grope us, follow us, stalk us. If they are acquaintances or family, we don’t name them. Even in private, we somehow can’t bear to.
I feel the most broken when I hear my friends talk about abuse in their own homes. About feeling unsafe around family as children, as young girls. My mother’s paranoia even around family now makes sense. She never let me travel with anyone but her, she never left me alone with a male relative and she never let any uncle touch or hold me. Now I know, it was all merely protocol - the price of being a girl’s mother in India.
Indian men like to think that men who assault women belong to the ‘other’. Someone who is not like them, someone they don't usually hang out with, go to school with, someone they don’t know, someone not in their income bracket. But women know from each other's stories that it doesn't add up. We know to look for exits in every room.
I have struggled with what to call these acts of encroachment. Assault feels like a big word, to be used for real violence which happens to Indian women. We all have stories that could have ended worse though. We talk of college friends who called us sluts in whatsapp groups, of bosses who harassed us but insisted it was our fault, of men on streets that grope us, follow us, stalk us. If they are acquaintances or family, we don’t name them. Even in private, we somehow can’t bear to.
I feel the most broken when I hear my friends talk about abuse in their own homes. About feeling unsafe around family as children, as young girls. My mother’s paranoia even around family now makes sense. She never let me travel with anyone but her, she never left me alone with a male relative and she never let any uncle touch or hold me. Now I know, it was all merely protocol - the price of being a girl’s mother in India.
Indian men like to think that men who assault women belong to the ‘other’. Someone who is not like them, someone they don't usually hang out with, go to school with, someone they don’t know, someone not in their income bracket. But women know from each other's stories that it doesn't add up. We know to look for exits in every room.
I have this memory of being in an airbnb in Prague trying to sleep. I could hear women on the street at 3 am in the morning, walking home, talking loudly. I looked out to check just in case they were in trouble. But they looked happy, carefree, light. They weren’t pacing to reach home as fast as they could, they were not talking quietly so that they would not attract attention. They looked up and waved at me. I waved back and fell into my bed with strange despair. I would never truly know freedom like they did. In my own mind, in my own country.
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It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth