A nation has been raped

--Medha Chaturvedi

To see a 5-year-old girl who has been raped and her body mutilated, what do you say? When you see bite marks on her cheeks and nose and hear about a 200-ml bottle of coconut oil and three candles which have been extracted from the part of her body which she doesn’t even know about, what do you do? To find yourself standing in a hospital corridor where the endless tirade of media-persons are fighting each other to barge in, what do you think? I was blank. It wasn’t that a child was brutally raped by grown men for forty hours and left to die that tormented me. It was the helplessness of the situation that this child’s torture has again raised for about 600 million women is what anguished me. That this child wasn’t even aware of what was being done to her is what pained me and that the perpetrators conveniently absconded to their native villages guilt-free is what made me question the collective conscience of our nation.

In the 1980’s dowry deaths were a special concern for this country. The surgical precision of attacks on each of the women who were burnt, killed in ‘accidents’ or committed ‘suicides’, is what jolted our collective conscience then. The fact that they left behind bereaved families who could never stop blaming themselves for being ‘inadequate’ in providing the in-laws with more and more and protecting their daughters from an eventual death was what the society protested against. Now, despite the official records stating that 8600 plus women fall prey to registered cases of cold-blooded murder for dowry is not even discussed (Source:http://ncrb.nic.in/CD-CII2011/cii-2011/Chapter%205.pdf).

In the last six months, rape has become the new topic of conversation. The absence of a sensitive government and credible opposition - which has continuously failed in holding the government accountable for its shortcomings - has drawn people to the streets in protest, demanding this basic right of a safe environment for the women of this country. On the day when the media frenzy was its peak in this particular case, five cases of rape from Delhi alone were reported by 2 pm (Source:www.delhipolice.nic.in), but, none of those were noticed. Year on year, crime against women is increasing in India at an alarming 7+ per cent (Source: NCRB records) which goes unnoticed. Why does our anger rise on just these one or two cases? Why don’t we protest against the systemic failure of our policymakers since decades, which has left an entire generation of females vulnerable to crime? My fear is that just like we are now desensitised by dowry deaths in the country, we will soon become cold and indifferent to rape. Instead of looking at the incident, we need to see the why of that incident lest it dies at the hands of our declining sensitivity.

I was a part of the protests for the young woman who did everything right but still got raped and physically mauled by six sub-humans and eventually died in December. What made sense then and not now was that how much ever we protest or our leaders cry, the evil that resides within our people and is a consequence of deeply-rooted social conditioning of male superiority will remain. If a mid-senior level policeman can slap a woman protesting against this gruesome incident in a hospital, then who do you turn to for support? With a momentous anti-corruption movement still going on in India, when the victim’s family is offered Rs 5000 to keep mum about the incident, what do you do?

I often told my friends that this generation, our generation, will usher in the change for this country. That rose-coloured glass was shattered while speaking to a so-called modern progressive foreign-educated 29-year-old Indian man who lives in the most prosperous of areas in the Indian capital. He said that if he would see a woman walking alone on a street at night in Delhi wearing a dress and with make-up on, he would consider her ‘fair game’. On facing protests from the females in this group discussion he clarified by saying, “I wouldn’t rape her, but, knowing that only commercial sex workers or immoral women would walk on the streets in Delhi that way at night, I would try my luck with her.” As a woman, I took offense to that statement, as an Indian I was heartbroken because my hope for change being just around the corner, died.

I am not saying that protests are meaningless; my only argument is that do we know what we are protesting against? Instead of demanding justice for victim A or victim B, we need to demand good governance which will ensure safety of women and an empathetic police force. If the Recent Tehelka expose (Source:http://tehelka.com/video/tehelka-sting-expose-the-rapes-will-go-on/) on the ugly ‘she-asked-for-it’ attitude of policemen in the NCR towards rape victims is anything to go by, we are as far from an open society with Rule of Law in cases of sexual violence against women as we can be. We need to demand speedy trials and an end to the traumatic post-rape procedures that the victim has to undergo. We need to protest against the culture of violence that has been so deeply ingrained in us that we just keeping running around it in a vicious circle and we need to keep calm and firm on these demands and sustain them till they are met. I have hope for a change in this country, but that change will not come by merely protesting, it will come when we let that anger remain in us and propel us forward. It’s not the child, it’s our nation that has been raped and it is in our hands to restore its dignity.

Single and Scared: I live in Delhi

I am a single woman in Delhi and I am scared. I am very, very scared, for my life, for my dignity, for my reputation, for my sanity and most of all, for my safety. I am what the gossipy aunties of the city contemptuously refer to as “modern-types”. I live with flatmates and go out with friends. I have friends who are boys and I wear pants and dresses. I come home late after a late-night movie show sometimes and go out for dinners. I have nobody to hold brief on my account and so, it is very plausible that the fruits of this “modernity” could turn out to be very bitter for me.

Delhi can be very cruel to single women. One gets used to the constant staring and comments. One gets used to that occasional incident of groping and molestation. One gets used to every man, woman, child, animal, piece of furniture, tree, vehicle and grass giving you advice on what to wear, how to talk, when to go out and when to stay in, who to interact with, how to avoid eye-contact with everyone all to ensure that you are safe from being raped. I constantly hear unsolicited advice from unconnected neighbours and colleagues who tell me that if I don’t dress or carry myself a certain specific way, I am inviting and provoking an attack on myself. Yes, when I wear a skirt in summers, I don’t think about the excruciating heat outside, I think about inviting potential rapists to defile me because that’s just how I like to roll. Nobody preaches to the boys about maintaining that basic standard of control which separates us from animals, but I should be careful about making eye-contact. Who knows where it may end. If I am a single girl who goes to parties at pubs and clubs, enjoys that occasional drink, well, then I am a lost cause. Nobody can save me from getting raped one day then and I should just accept it.

Recently, I had an experience with a certain landlady whose husband, claiming to be a Supreme Court lawyer, constantly threatened me with dire consequences if I asked for my deposit back when I wanted to move out of their house. “You are a girl, you better be careful,” he would say menacingly. I wondered if it meant that had I been a man, I could’ve afforded to be not “careful.” Then when I fought to reclaim what was rightfully mine, my parents were informed that I have boys coming over to my house which obviously means that I am running a “racket” in their house. The impunity with which the said “lawyer” decided to caste aspersions on my character, despite having a daughter at home, was a bit unnerving. It reminded me of a grave mental set that people in Delhi suffer from: Single Girl = Bad! Therefore, if I were to be molested or raped tomorrow, some people will say, “she asked for it” and that is what scares me the most.

A rape should not be taken as a sexual crime; it is a psychological crime which gives the perpetrator, more than anything else, a power high to be able to dominate over another human being. The resistance to the use of force is perhaps what keeps him going. Inserting foreign objects and assault of the woman thereafter is just adding insult to injury, marking their territory, being a man. What scares me more is that fact that in that bus where that hapless medical student was gang-raped and tortured for 45 minutes by six “men”, there was not even one of them who thought that this is wrong. Is that how sub-human our society has become?

When Delhi’s chief minister Mrs Shiela Dikshit in all her wisdom suggests setting up fast track courts to ensure speedy justice in rape cases and calls the recent gang rape and assault a “shockingly extraordinary case”, I shudder. The medical student gang rape is not extraordinary, if anything, it is beyond ordinary in the rape capital of the country. With 582 registered rape cases thus far, we are way ahead of most other metros, cities, towns and villages. We have had many rapes in moving vehicles, many women who didn’t survive the ordeal and many who did physically, but mentally, something died inside them. As a former journalist, I myself had the privilege of covering many such cases. My experiences taught me that girls and women should stay away from known people because most of the rapists are known to the victim. I also learned that we should not talk to strangers because that could provoke them to rape. We should not travel in isolated areas, but this rape happened in a densely populated area. We should use public transport and avoid taking autos at night, but this was a bus. We should always travel with a male friend or relative at night, only to get them assaulted too. So, in short, women should avoid known and unknown people, avoid travelling in isolated or crowded areas, not take private or public transport and must travel with a male friend, although, it doesn’t matter. Simple!

Delhi Police is patting its back on solving the medical student gang rape and assault case within 24-hours. Congratulations! The bus, in which this heinous crime took place, crossed some 20 police barricades, at least three police stations and was plying on the high security airport road. The victim and her friend were thrown off the bus to die barely 20 meters away from a police control room van and the incident happened at 9:30 pm on a Sunday night in a high security densely populated area in a moving bus which was not even supposed to be moving around at that time, the victim may not survive, but you solved the case in 24-hours. We are all very proud!  

May be it is time that a leading underwear brand launched its anti-rape underwear which were launched across Europe and the US, in Delhi too. However, for Delhi’s beastly boys, may be a tagline, “No means no” or “Ask first” would not suffice. Perhaps the brand should consider making iron-clad, bullet-proof chastity belts for us single ladies in Delhi and if even that doesn’t work, then may be we should all willingly get infected by AIDS to scare away potential rapists.  

Having house-hunting for months now, I finally found a house which fulfilled my “unrealistic expectations”: A gated community which is secure and in my budget. While almost moving to a house last month, I asked the realtor how safe it was. He said, “It is a very safe area, there have been only one or two incidents and that too on the approach road, nothing inside the colony.” Mr. Realtor, one incident is all it takes. I didn’t move there, upped my budget further and started my search again. This well-meaning realtor suggested that I should take self-defence classes and Delhi government should arm women to safeguard themselves. I smiled at his naivety. Women don’t want to be armed, we just want to be safe.

All this while, I used to resent when my parents would tell me to not go out till late, that Delhi is unforgiving and I should be careful. But, today, I understand their concern because I am a single woman in Delhi and I should be angry, but, I am only scared. 

memories and answers

Crimson skies take over my mind
Upon those mountains of sinful times
Like never a day without a night
What use is vision without sight
As wishes in a wishing well
Without a tide, never swell
If a stray tear drops in there
Would the well give it any care

Eyes as black as charcoal
God was generous in your dole
But did he give that any thought
Or was he like a seven-year drought
When your face was patchy with salty lines
Did he sing you comforting rhymes
When your eyes looked up for prayers
Did he demand his fair share

Was he like a tree, sturdy and strong
Or did he wait on you for long
When you cried near the wishing well
Over the secrets he didn’t tell
Who held you back from letting go
and made sure that you didn’t wallow
Memories can be exchanged for new
But only with this life in lieu

Crimson flames fire up in my brain
Eating up the wishful rain
Burning through my very soul
Redefining my existing role
With memories gone and life past
Like an ocean, deep and vast
Would you still remember him
Or dismiss him like a passing whim
Your charcoal eyes now don’t look the same
For memories can die but what about the pain

Musing...

While running through life, one busy day after another, I just stopped for one moment and realised that childhood is not just for children and it is never to late to ungrow and all the 86,400 moments in a days, all through the years, cannot hold me back from going back to being a child every once in a while...

My Bucket List

Borrowed the concept from the movie…thought can work for me too

Morbid, I hear you say? Need for achievement, standards, is what I see, so here goes, in no particular order:

(will keep adding J)

• Speak at least 12 languages to a reasonable proficiency
• Sky-diving
• Scuba-diving
• Dance like a dream
• Go to space
• Drive a Ferrari/Lamborghini/both
• Live in all seven continents for at least a month each
• See the seven wonders (past, present, future)
• Gift my parents a house
• Gift my sister a car
• Master psychology and another subject to the extent of being an encyclopedia on it
• Do something good and unconditional for a complete stranger to change his/her life
• Kill one person who really deserves to die
• Kiss Rafa
• Go swimming in a (clean) sea
• Fly a plane
• Sing on radio or TV where at least thousands of people can hear me
• Play guitar and at least 4 other instruments
• Get published as an expert on any subject
• Take tequila body shots in the place were tequila was discovered
• Take care of a child from infancy till forever, mine or otherwise and help him/her be a perfect person, for self and others
• Visit all religious places of all religions like 4-dhams, mecca, medina, Jerusalem etc etc
• Live in the world’s most expensive and lavish hotel
• Have an out of body surreal experience
• Go bald once
• Sail around the world
• Write a book
• Go on a long distance journey in a hot balloon
• Do hangliding
• Contact the dead once and speak to someone I loved and didn’t want to lose
• Build a farmhouse and rear lots of horses and dogs there
• Be at a war site right in the middle of action
• Visit the equator and the poles
• cross the International date line and gain/lose a day in a matter of minutes

Away, still not away

Well here we are, away, still not away

Apart, still connected somewhere

I may have seen this coming

But i chose to close my eyes

I could've avoided this situation

but let it carry on

I could've remain unfazed

but I let it bother me

I had to let it go

but I held on so tight

I could have chosen to breath

but I turned blue just waiting

And you, you were looking at my face

but you had close your eyes

You knew that I saw you pretending

and you still carried on

you saw my tears

but you called it the rain

you heard my prayers

but you chose to ignore them

you were near, yet so far away

I called your bluff and you still lied

you said you like my smile

but inside you wanted to see me cry

you saw I couldn't breath

but you still made me run

and then you said that we are connected

but we were away

I may have seen this coming

But i chose to close my eyes

So, here we are, away, still not away

Apart, still connected somewhere

Here we are, same as we used to be

but so different that it's hard to believe

Blue

It's nearly 3:30 am and I am a bit junked...I feel like writing. Not sure, though, what I want to write, but writing calms me down so i will, following my impulse and little bit of soul power.

The air was dense, filled with a peculiar stench, something like a concoction of rotting human flesh in flames and burning rubber. The flames were not the regular gleaming orange in colour, they were more of an eerie blue with traces of an enraged red. A silent wind wafted around engulfing her with little droplets of water which promised rain. Rain, which always liberated her and made her insane with joy – today, it had no impact. She sat amidst a pile of broken furniture and burning books, looking closely at a picture of them in a distance and holding tightly on to a small blue rug she had picked up from the market earlier that day. The fire around her danced menacingly, inching precariously close with every passing moment. But she sat motionless, indifferent to any danger, any life within her at all. The blaring sounds of sirens at a distance did not disturb her trance, as her life was falling apart all around her.

“Baby, come on, we have to get going right now. They’re coming for us,” he said while running into the room through the only opening the flames had left. Suddenly, as if woken from a deep slumber, she looked up to where he stood with his otherwise always in shape hair, messed up and doing their own little dance. “Baby, please, let’s go.” His clothes were tattered, stained with blood, she assumed some of it was his own and the rest…Their picture that she was staring at, suddenly burst into flames.

“I bought this blue rug today to put in the study. It would go beautifully with the blue curtains,” she said. He looked around, the study was being reduced to ashes right as she spoke. “…and I bought these books for you, they are collector’s edition, very rare.” He looked at her straight face void of any expression. “Honey, we really have to go. Can you not hear the sirens? They’re getting closer. We must leave now,” desperation in his voice was evident. “Just a minute more, please. Leave me with my life for just one moment.”

She looked at the rug on her lap and smelt it. “It smells so new.” He was getting anxious now and sat down next to her. “Look baby, the curtains are on fire, the books are all burnt. We can’t stay here any longer or we will die, or much worse, they will catch us. Do you know the things they do to people in prison?” “You remember the swing we put up in the front yard? How much we laughed that day after we first sat on it and it caved,” she said oblivious to his exasperation.

The sound of the sirens was getting louder now. “I beg you, honey, please, let’s go. We can’t be here any longer. Please, come with me,” he said. This time his voice quaked a little. She looked up and saw a lonely tear roll down his eye. “I can’t forget the day we bought this house. You were looking so handsome and I was such a mess. You remember we promised we would never leave each other. I picked out inexpensive but precious China from the market that day to celebrate our life and happiness. Oh, what a horrible meal we had cooked together and how we ate it outside, under the stars and talked all night long,” she smiled. He was now on his knees. “I am so sorry for what happened. But it’s done. Look at yourself. You are drenched in blood, your face is bleeding. Snap out of what could have been and face this reality. We have to leave now. Please don’t do this to me. Come on honey, let’s go.” The room was now filled with smoke as the rain came pouring down on the now roofless house, slowly killing the blue flames.

“We were to have two children and that’s why we picked up this house, away from the horrid city and perfect to raise children. You promised everything would be fine, you would fix everything,” she said, her eyes welling up a little. “You know how much I had to search to find these perfect blue curtains and rug and these books? The swing, our beautiful swing, you said you loved it. It is our anniversary today. You forgot like every year, didn’t you? Where are my flowers baby?”

“Honey, I love you, but please don’t do this to me.” He sat there looking at her beautiful face, now pale and sparkling eyes, now dead. The sirens were dangerously close now. “I made cake, black forest, your favourite; and there’s wine in the fridge. There’s also one more present for you on the dresser in our room. Did you see it?” She smiled, still clutching on to the rug. He stood there, weeping like a child now, looking at her empty eyes. “You know I love tulips, don’t you?” she asked, looking at him. A tear rolled down her eye, but even she wasn’t aware of it because of the rain.

“Honey, please…” he said with a quivering voice, filled with desperation. “Just a minute more, please, just one moment,” she said as the sirens drew closer.