Are your reactions always linear? Can people read into your reactions? Are they always transparent? For if they are, you are really evolved. Most of us remain confused in our thoughts, perceptions and hence in our reactions too.
The issue that I am going to talk about is not discussed as much as it should be though it has gained much attention after Pinki Virani's book Bitter Chocolate, which I will never read. No. I don't think it is not worth reading. I have every reason to believe it is a very good book but I do not have the courage to read about more ordeals than what I have heard already.
In the following paragraphs I will mostly use first person narrative but all that are written below are NOT my personal experience. I have felt them with the person who narrated them. I thereby assume the right to narrate in first person. I also think a person should have every right to choose when they want to tell their story and how. I should not take away that privilege just because they agreed that I could share their stories. Their narration will be unique. Close to them. They need to be heard when time comes.
There was an uncle who used to sit in a group near my school. In Bengal, this is called "thek". Usually an open place with some kind of sitting arrangement where some men of similar age passed time gossiping. This particular thek was a source of tension to me. There was this uncle who got up every time he saw me, caught hold of me and gave me a tight squeeze. I was 7 or 8 years old. I hated it. His smell. His stub. His hands everywhere. Everything was obnoxious. I struggled hard to get out of his grip and felt suffocated when I could not. At times, I ran past the thek and waited for my friends at a distance. One day in a desperate attempt I blurted out, "Don't you feel ashamed of holding a girl like this!" I shouted at him. Shrieked as I kicked! He reached home even before I reached and complained about my attempt to talk big. My mother scolded me in front of him. I was told that it was bad that I said such a thing. What he did was considered normal! He was just showing his affection! I was wrong. Not him. It confused me.
It was raining hard that Diwali night. We hardly saw any fireworks that year. When the rain finally stopped, all of us cousins ran towards the window watching the fireworks that just started. There was no electricity. We strained our eyes. That was not why my eyes got filled with tears soon. A married, much senior cousin held me from behind, in a manner that made me hate my body. When the maid finally noticed it, she pulled my hand on some pretext and pulled me away from the window. She took me to another room and said, "You can not let that happen". I got confused. Was I letting that happen?
He was a very trusted family friend. He was our window to the outer world. There was not a dull moment when he was around. He was fun. He paid attention. He could tell stories. And then he sought a price. I was 10. He was 29. I was left to protect myself. I had once conjured the courage to tell my mother. She said, "Did you ask him to stop? If you did not, do not talk about it now". I was confused. Was it only worth discussing if I could protect myself then and there? Otherwise not? How does that work? How does a 10 year old protect himself or herself in a night, in a bed when a trusted adult turns into a predator? It confused me further. How? How could one protect oneself without support of another adult? As I did not find the answer immediately, it continued for some time. I was molested more than once.
I later learnt my mother was wrong. You do not have to protect yourself first to be able to call it ot. You don't have to get yourself killed to prove rape! Whatever may the law of this land say! I realised later that my mother simply did not know how to handle this, like many other mothers of her generation. She only learnt to blame herself and other women and girls. Whatever age that female may be! How I wish we could have had the faith that our parents would stand by us! I wish our parents' generation knew how to!
Coming back to the narration, in the years that followed, even when I learnt how to protect myself in private, I did not learn how to stand up against the predator in public! I remained confused. Even when I learnt to make sure I was never alone with any male adult in a room. I did not allow that to happen to me again but I did not learn to stand up and say it on the face of these men that they are violators, that they were which is what I wanted to say!
I have grown up. Rationalized. Shared my experience with friends who in turn have shared theirs and we have identified the two important lessons through all these stories, "He could have been anyone!" and "I could have been anyone!". But that 10 year old remains angry and refuses to forgive. And much like a 10 year old, she also finds it difficult to let out her rage. She is confused in her reactions. She still needs her family to stand by her. She wants them to amend. She wants them to say, "We are as angry as you are. We will never let this happen to anyone again!" She wants to be reassured this time. I had met one of these perpetrators once and had been extremely rude by my standards but that was all about it. I never blurted out, "You broke my trust. You horrible man! You are a shame on humanity!" Instead I have chosen to hide. Like you hide from a putrid smell and sight! It can not be amended. No amount of apology and no amount of punishment can make this alright. I do not want to go there. I do not want to confront. I told you! We are not all very straight in our reactions.
To conclude, I will quote what someone once said, it should be the person's prerogative whether she/he wants to identify herself/himself as a victim or a survivor. I identify myself as a survivor in every way. It has not left me scarred forever. It has not crippled me in the long run. And a large amount of credit goes to my MSW classmates who agreed to share in great details who faced what on a particularly boring evening in a Delhi University hostel in the mid-nineties. By the end of the evening, we all felt much better knowing we all faced what we should not have to, and we fought back in our own ways and survived. We all read more on the issue as we grew older. We equipped ourselves to help other children and made our own small contributions to make the world a better place for children.
We all healed ourselves!
P.S. I wish more boys talked about the issue with each other. It is healing. I have only heard from a friend and two cousins that they were abused too as children. I am sure there are many of you out there. Reach out to your confidante. And talk. Heal!
Comments
Post a Comment