It happened when I left home for work. Watching Delhi get all busy and worked up for yet another back-breaking day ... as usual, I haven't slept enough and am cussing aloud at anything that moves. I've always felt so out of sync because I don't like coffee. It’s so easy for others... not enough sleep, grab a cuppa and then you're all set. But I guess I do have my cigarettes.. So maybe not losing out on much.. And then I see her. She was standing on my left probably looking out for an auto-rickshaw. She’s talking to her friends and laughing. I stare intently for two minutes and then force my eyes away. Thinking now is not the time. I’m late for work and have a feeling the boss is not going to be amused by my delusion theory. But I can't stop. I look at her ... and notice every move. Few minutes with that image and I’ve already figured her out. And figured out how much I hate her at this moment. Why is she smiling so much? Why the fuck is she so fucking chipper? Can’t she just go ... find her way and stop bothering me. Stop forcing me to look when I got other things to do. Am trying so hard. But it's not happening. And now I can't breathe. The hands start shaking and I stop the car... right in front of her. Am crying out aloud.. imploring her to leave. So delirious with rage now... what if I kill her over? That would too easy no... let's rape her. Out in the fucking open. Stop that glistening laugh once and for all. Let’s grind her on the floor ... let the gravel surge against her skin so hard that her body is incapable of putting the pain together. Let’s tie her hands and make the strings dig in.. leaving marks lasting for exactly 2 weeks. Let’s punch and press against her breasts so hard that she wears a t-shirt with nothing for 2 months because any other clothing hurts. Let’s dig into her vagina so hard and so much that it makes her bleed all over the place. All that you see is red. All the screaming. Let’s freeze everything around the both of us so that no one can feel the rape even though it's right here. Even though she's a virgin.
Oh god. I’m screaming so loud now ... can't believe I said that. Can’t believe I would want that. No. Got to get out of this place. Before I scare her. Before she gauges anyone could be thinking of her like that. Before anyone gets to know about this. I drive back home in a trance. Weeping myself hoarse through it all. Hating myself. Wishing there was someone else around so that I could at least pretend to hold it up. There’s home now and I barge open the door. My room. At last. Shut the door. Before something new enters your head. Before you get more sinister. But c'mon.. She should fuckin go through that right... why was she so fuckin happy. She obviously doesn't get life. She’s obviously not like you. She wasn't fuckin raped like you. She’s different. She’s simple. And that's why she deserves it. Remember when your dad used to shout at you to be normal? Who all did you blame then? You know .. If there was no normal, then you would be normal. There would be nothing amiss about you. And no one would blame.
Yes.. that's why I wish all of them rotted those 2 fuckin hours. When you forget ... and now after everything in the room is thrown around... I’m hunched on the tiled floor... it's very cold.. and strangely comforting.. now I’m puking blood. And I’m strangely happy. Because now it's close to over ... I’ll wake up and it'll be over. All of it will come out. And then I sleep on the tiles... because they're cold.. and hard ... just like before ...just like that day.

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I’ve often had this dream. Too many times to actually remember. But for obvious reasons, never told anyone about it. What would people think? It’s not one of those logical ones ... and considering it was frequent, it had to be concealed. I always tormented myself over my choice of the victim. Am I really that warped inside? When I’m awake... I’m aware that this was not something that would give me peace. Then why something so fuckin disgusting? Why not him ... and why them..
I knew why ... all that I hated and was terrified of was encompassed in that dream. The girls in my teenage years. So carefree . Who never understood why I was so bitter. And why sex was never something I got coy about. Why breaking-virginity conversations always pissed me off. And why I couldn't giggle at anything and everything. Some twisted thought somewhere wanted them to know exactly why. And things at home didn't help much. The pressure of academics ... which was always considered more important than getting raped at 13. The pressure of being a certain way or else people would talk. The times during my counseling when I used to overhear my parents telling the man to get me fixed fast. That time I obviously hated them. But then at that time, I hated everyone. I deviated towards dumb men with no depth; it was much easier to hang out with them. Because they were always too chicken to make a move. And that situation worked out nicely for me.
I guess you grow up and a lot of things fall into perspective. Even though I never forgave my parents, I do understand why they did all that. It feels good to talk to my father for hours today without feeling claustrophobic. Now, thankfully, I don't wish for the whole world to be raped.
And growing up opens other ideas too. It took me years of studying law to know that 'technically', I wasn't really raped. And that pissed me off. What would a bunch of motherfuckers in their 50's know about the act at all? Why don't they get some rape victims and ask them to draft the bill? Maybe then we'll see how much of a difference there really is between penetration and no penetration. Does it really matter if you escaped it because you were too small? It’s not any less traumatic... and I wish someone would think of that....
No matter how much things change for me now, I acknowledge this weird fixation. Whatever creative process i try to formulate for myself in the future, this comes to mind first ... I used to think that there is no scope for catharsis left now ... but your mind surprises you all the time ... even in your sleep.
I recently read about some families in Punjab who have started the practice of the Draupadi system. After the families out there are done with killing female fetuses, now it dawns on them that they still need females for them to get pregnant and put the family forward. So a family buys a girl for each house ... and that 'commodity' is required to be a wife to her husband, his brothers, and even her father-in-law...
This story fascinated me so much .. morbidly so .. But I was too scared to go to the actual place ... too scared to be sucked into the system myself. But no one is learning. Nothing changed when I went through it, and nothing seems to be changing now.
At least today my reaction to sexual abuse is exactly what it deserves. It perhaps pushes me more to fight against it. My past is probably responsible for my zero tolerance for eve teasing on the streets. And that is what makes me have nightmares about infanticide.I just hope that we haven't become the sort of people who need to experience sexual abuse themselves in order to have voices emanating against it .....