Rain Shadow

** Prologue **

The long siren went buzzing bizarrely; it was the time to sleep. It was difficult to guesstimate the time here in the four by four grey cell of jail. The atmosphere was gloomy and silent. Footsteps of the patrolling security guard were hitting the ears while the sound of a few officers’ giggling was palpable as well; they must be busy playing card games in the warden’s room. I was able to hear the sound of not only my breathing but his as well; he was in the last cell for men while I was in the first cell for women. In short our cells were next to each other. I was able to feel his presence next to me and that was the only positive for me in here. Just minutes back I heard them open his cell and throw him in. He was taken in the interrogation room, nearly an hour – hour and half back. I imagined him lying on the floor, all sweltered, drained; even bleeding from some part due to harsh thrashings of these morons yet gratified in not telling these people a single word. This is how Satva Agrawal was, tough and obstinate, one who can stand for his causes and words; I guess it was this quality of him which made me enticed towards him at first.

I wondered lying in there, how contradictory it was than what it was last week. We were in one of the best five star hotel of the country in Hyderabad. The room was lavish and comfortable. Satva was busy researching something on his I-Pad while I was just watching TV, when they knocked at the door. After two to three knocks ignored by Satva, I stood up, opened the door and was stunned to see three almost similarly aged and similarly dressed men in Safari Suits. All of them had typically trimmed moustaches, they looked like thrince (the way two identical are called twins, three be called thrince, don’t they?)

“Hello Ms., its CID. Can we have a little time of you people?” And we ended up here; a total contradiction to a profligate five star hotel was this debris. As I saw the summons; we were detained under the Section 498A – Terrorism & Section 122 – Waging the war against the union of India of the Indian Penal Code read with relevant provisions of Prevention of Terrorism Act, 2002 (i.e. POTA), land beneath my legs was taken away, were we terrorists? I am just a journalist while Satva is just a social worker running an NGO, but now we were detained as the terrorists; only god knows how far worse will it be from here?

 

Time doesn’t pass over here; it just struggles to drag itself. It was just last week that we were brought here and it already seems like eternity. I am already missing my home badly. The walls of the cell I stay in are dark grey, colorless- they represent the life out over here; a few green patches of alga are also visible on these already fractured dismal walls. This cell always appeared to be haunted and more so on such silent nights. The air of the room tasted of humidity along with dirt and alga. This pong was passing through my nostrils to brain via lungs and spine; it was deadening my head and wits therein.

As I lay down on the concrete bed, the cell was absolute dark; asphyxiating dark, no light what so ever. Only a little piece of a sky was visible from the little aperture like window on the wall. This little piece was full of glitzy stars; my eyes were stuck over that point, on those stars, on that dark black slice of the sky. I still remember being a kid; I used to sleep on the terrace in the days of my summer vacation. The sky, full of glitz and blitz of stars and the monarchy of the moon over dark grey almost to be black sky always fascinated me. In those days I never realized when I went to sleep watching the glittering sky even on hot and humid nights of summer. I was expecting the same miracle to happen tonight as well but sleep was nowhere near in the deepest corner of my eyes. My back was aching due to laying on the concrete bed since last week, my appetite had also given up eating this bogus food, a yellow colored liquid which they called dal, but tasted like water with only turmeric and salt in it, some green leaves with a few masala in it, which they called sabji and half burnt – half uncooked rotis, one needed a tool-kit just to make pieces of these rotis. This was almost not possible to consume for any of the human atleast for me.

I was exhausted of constant interrogation from the Crime Branch officers, since last week, they had made up a routine. They would take me to a room, would make me sit on the only chair in the suffocating, dark room, surround me and ask repetitive questions. ‘Who are you?’; ‘You belong to which terrorist group?; ‘What are your plans for now?’; ‘Are you planning any new attacks here in Hyderabad, why are you here in Hyderabad?’ ‘What are your relations with Sahid Khan?’ And I will have only one answer, “I don’t know anything, I am not the terrorist; I am just a journalist and who is this Sahid Khan?”

“Oh, you don’t know Sahid Khan?”

“No”

“Without even knowing one you stay with that guy in a hotel room? Do you know what these types of girls are called?” Initially I replied once out of my anger, “Mind your bloody tongue officer, his name is Satva Agrawal; I don’t know any Sahid Khan.” And there came a hard slap on my face, my whole body shivered in the pain and terror even at this moment remembering that hard slap on my face, my left cheek still had the itching feel of the sudden smack of that masculine lady officer. I actually knew nothing, who was this Sahid Khan, Don’t even knew if Satva was actually Sahid. Yet, I was here; strange, very strange. It all started with the strange incident as well, I still remember the night I met him for the first time, quite clearly.

 

** Chapter : 1 **

How I encountered, Mr. Hallucinating eyes..?

All India Rocks, a pub in a very posh area of the capital of the country was in full fledge. The place was clogged with the weekend bashers, liquor was pouring, disco lights were turning up-side down, and DJ was grooving the crowd to his beats and tunes, the crowd was getting bizarre, a perfect Saturday evening set-up it was, while I was in totally opposite frame of mind – low and depressed. If I would have been a drinker, without even thinking twice I would have been three or four pegs down by now. But, I wasn’t; I was the one who drove the friends home who over-drank.  The evening I had, was mind numbing:

“Ipsa, are you ready? They might be coming soon?” I was trying hard to wear the ear-rings matching with my Salwar-Kameez that mom had left on my dressing table. I wonder, why I agreed to see this guy, I wasn’t ready for marriage yet. I had just begun my career as a journalist; I wanted to do so many things, marriage would just cut down my newly shaped up wings.  But no, my mom was one of those typical Indian housewives who believed girls should do nothing except for taking care of her husband and his family; if that was the case, why they educated me so much. The world is double edged sword; at first it summons you to ‘Fly’ and when you spread your wings out of an egg, they are being cut down. Can someone please elaborate, how one can fly being within the egg? But, my mom was very much eager to cut down my wings, and I agreed to ‘just’ meet the guy, after so much of emotional black mailing from mom.

“They are here..!” She once again screeched from the kitchen, I wasn’t ready yet (psychologically as well).  The very first scene of the drawing room was gloomy as I entered, there was a hush, I took the corner seat on the dining table on the right most corner. It looked like a set-up, a set-up to trap the girls, like me. A middle aged guy, wearing his Safari-suit was sitting on the left hand side of the sofa with the smugness of being father of a boy unambiguously patented on his face while on the right hand side of the sofa sat an out-spoken lady. Everything about her was glittering; her saree, jewellery, her face, her smile; even her teeth (it was filled with gold by her dentist, I guess). She was the one who was trying to talk with everyone in my family. What talks, she just was trying to do the marketing of her own son. In every two lines she spoke, there was some praise for her kid. And in-between the haughty father and opinionated mother sat a poor sandwiched son, my potential husband.

He was an engineer from IIT earning heavy bucks. He was a geek; it was evident from his very first exterior appearance, a boring checkered shirt, lack-lustered trouser, well-trimmed moustache and heavily oiled hair. He was more than nervy, I could say so from the way he was avoiding the eye contact with anyone, absenting himself from every conversation. It seemed he wanted to look at me but was trying hard not to gawp, Mr. IIT Nerd; you are here to see me for a marriage, so you can look at me without feeling mortified or humiliated.

Damn it was so vexatious, I was feeling like running away from the place to some deserted island. Infuriating silence followed by the social talks with artificially loud hilarity along with Samosa and Cold-drinks, the elders of the family talked and talked and talked, I guess they had forgotten they were here to see me, not to discuss political and social issues of growing India. And then came the ultimate moment, mom asked me to take him to show my house; he hesitatingly stood up with a wary smile on his face. We kept on walking in silence for a while which was getting heavier (boring as well) by the minute. Finally I cleared my throat to make him realize, he was here to talk to me and not to see my house.

“What is your name?” would you believe, this was the first thing he spoke and I felt like running away giving an earsplitting squeal from the place.

“So what is your answer beta?” Mom innocently asked, as everyone left from the place

“Tell them a NO, at your own convenience.” I just took my bag and left for pub.

Still, the after effects of “What is your Name?” was there on my mind, I was still upset at my own self as to why had I agreed for such pathetic stuff.  The music was getting louder and people were maddening up in the pub.

“Oye, I have brought you here to cheer you up. C’mon lets hit the dance floor.” Dhriti was already two pegs down.

“No re, no mood. You please enjoy yourself, your AB-baby (her BF) is here too.”

“Haan, he too came when I told him I am taking you over here.”

“Oh, so sweet of him, go and enjoy, I will wait over here.”

You know how guys abuse each other and never mean it, similarly girls remain cute and sweet with each other and don’t mean it either. I was furious at Dhriti, one of my best friends to desert me in the pool of people for her boyfriend – AB Baby. One, you are down, two, music is beating at your head and three, you are alone. What else can you ask for to screw you even more?  In between all the volume & noise, I noticed a poised guy sitting on the bar, wearing a coal black, slim fit shirt and matching denims. There was a pleasant smile on his face, his hair were ruffled. In the midst of this noisiness, he sat there quiet and composed, enjoying each little sip of his drink. His eyes were hypnotic; there was some sort of deep vigor within, which was exactly opposite to his calm appearance.  He was silent while his eyes were busy doing all the schmooze. I couldn’t help but to intently gawk at him. In a while, our eyes matched and I was attractive enough for him to look at me once again. He didn’t say anything, just signaled me to join him for a drink.

“I don’t drink.” I don’t know what stretched me to the chair next to him on the bar

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, I don’t drink. I don’t need alcohol to intoxicate me. I already am inebriated of my life.”

“Well said Ms.?”

“Ipsa Vaidya.”

“Satva, Satva Agrawal.” He extended hand for a hand shake.

“Sounds like – Bond, James Bond.” We smiled, talked a little and parted for the day, it was getting late and we journalists don’t have the privilege of leaves on Sundays. On the other hand, Dhriti wanted to spend some quality time with AB-Baby (What quality time she can spend on a Saturday night after four or five pegs down, calls for no explanation). So, I had no option but to leave alone. Yes, Delhi is a good place to live, earn some bucks but mark it, it isn’t the safest place for a girl, that too at midnight. As I came out of the pub, I didn’t find any rickshaw and had to start walking to look for one. The street was silent; I was walking at a pace bit faster than normal. A jeep, zip-zap-zoomed across the street I was walking by. It stopped by applying sudden break.

“You need a lift baby? This isn’t the safest of the road to travel alone!” He seemed a young guy, wasting the wealth of his father. He was wearing some expensive jacket and was almost drunk.

“Why don’t you take care of your own ass?” I just kept on walking ignoring his presence; yes I had improved my walking speed, I was looking for someone around who could help me in case needed, but no one was there.

“Oye Chammak Challo, I don’t only want to take care of my but yours as well. Aaja meri gadi me baith ja.” He came down from the jeep blocking my way; he held my hand as I tried to bypass him.

Sataaaaaaaakk…!! The slap echoed twice or thrice on the silent night.

“You bloody wh**e, you will pay for this. You don’t know who the hell you have slapped.” He slapped me back harshly; I almost fell on the road with the force of his hand.  Two or three drops of the blood rolled down from my lips to the road. He took out a little revolver from his jacket pocket; pointing at my forehead. I was petrified; I didn’t know at that moment what to do, I was breathing heavily feeling the metal of the little black revolver on my forehead, I was perspiring.

“Now I will make you strip here on this public road, you wh**e. And I will leave you naked here, publically naked, people will come and see you like this, that will be my revenge. Now c’mon bend to your knees.” I just kept my eyes to ground, breathing heavily.

“Bend to your knees.”

“Ouucch..!” He pressed the revolver on the soft skin on my throat, he was running the revolver on my face from forehead to my nose to lips to my throat and my throat had dried up.  As I bent on my knees, he pressed the revolver in my mouth; I was able to taste the metal.  My breathing had started to get shallow, revolver tasted very bad. I felt, a little sweat droplet trundled from my forehead, brushing my eye-lashes, jumbling on my cheeks down stroking my neck, to get missing somewhere in my t-shirt.

“Now take your T-shirt off.” He ordered, I just let my hands down towards the end of my t-shirt. There was where my purse was hanging, instantly before he can notice I put my hand in and took out the Pepper Spray – ultimate armor of a girl to save herself from such philanderers, sprayed it towards him. After the recent gang rape case and other rape cases had prompted the Delhi girls to keep this kind of stuff with them handy. As police were unable to protect them, they had to do something to safeguard their dignity and integrity. He was caught unnoticing by my sudden reaction, all his face was burning I guess, due to spray. In all this he dropped his gun, I immediately stood up, grabbed his gun and shot at both his legs. “F**k you…!!” I bawled, as he cried in pain, bullet shots ricocheted on the silent night. As I turned to run away, I saw a guy standing, leaning back on a Yamaha Sports Bike – the calm, composed, unruffled Satva Agrawal, he was.

“Great work, dark knight warrior Ms.?”

“Ipsa, Ipsa Vaidya.”

“Yes, Ms. Vaidya, great work.” He clapped in the appreciation, I felt a little embarrassed.

“How long have you been standing here?”

“I am seeing it since he ordered you to bend on your knees.”

“So, you were enjoying the show instead of helping a girl.”

“He is the one who needs the help as of now.”

“Such men deserve even worse than this.”

“Totally agreeing onto this one, mam. So, shall we call the police?”

“Why, his dad will get him out tomorrow morning only, and he should have learnt his lesson by now. So better just call the ambulance, I will leave for my place now.”

“Uff.. Aisa Asar kiya zalim katil; teri aankho ne, tune khanjar uthaya bhi nahi aur hum dher ho gaye.” – “O Slayer the influence that your eyes had on me, I was cut-split even before you raised your knife.”

“Excuse me.”

“Wait, I will drop you home now, let’s get this guy fixed first but.”

“It’s okay, I will manage.”

“Don’t worry, I will charge the auto-fare or you can take me up for dinner tomorrow, I won’t mind at all.”

“You guys can flirt how f**ked up the situation is, can’t you?”

“Oh, thank you. I will take it as a complement.” We giggled, as the guy on the floor whined in the agony.

 

The evening was set-up nicely; the place Satva choose was identical to his own personality, calm and composed. It was a garden restaurant situated away from all the roistering of the New Delhi. And he was the one giving me the treat for the courage and presence of mind shown by me. I don’t know why, I accepted his proposal last night, when he came to drop me home. I was never comfortable with the strangers, but he never seemed a stranger. I felt it was the alluring effect of those hallucinating eyes. I should be vigilant with this guy; he has some mystery about him for sure. I reminded myself as I waited for him next to India Gate, to pick me up.

“Hum to fanaa ho gaye uski aankhein hi dekh kar Ghalib, Na jane wo aaina kaise dekhte honge.” – “I fell for you just eyeing at your eyes; I marvel how you face mirror.”

Here he was, in formals today. A guy on a sports bike, in formals looked bit strange. But everything about him was strange, including his poetry.

“You seem like a poet.”

“Poetry is my hobby, shall we leave?”

The set-up itself was beautiful, lush green lawn sniffed wonderful at an early night, the place was serene, not much over crowded. The staff of the restaurant was nicely dressed and they seemed in no hurry to feed you in dash to get rid of you at the earliest. This was the place to date a guy, if ever you want.

“For the angry young woman..!” Satva, courteously dragged a chair for me, as the captain lead us to the table on the lush green garden.  Chairs and Tables, artistically made of carved wood gave the very eye catching feel and soft instrumental music smoothen the air in the surrounding area.

“Nonetheless, nice choice of the place Satva..!” I comforted myself in the comfy wooden chair with a nice lenient base; Satva too took his place opposite me.

“So what do you do, Ms. Vaidya?”

“Ipsa would be nice. Don’t be so formal, I don’t prefer it.”

“Okay Ipsa, so what do you do?”

“I am a journalist, working with the Jay Hind – one of the bestselling English daily of the country.”

“Oh journalist & Column writer of from Ipsa’s pen, then you can be a great help for me.” I could see the spark in his spirited eyes.

“How?”

“I am a social worker, running an NGO.” He handed over me a visiting card, it looked very expensive. 2^nd Home, an initiative by Satva Agrawal was embossed onto it in glossy blue colored fonts on the shiny white background.

“This is the place I run as Orphanage and Old age home. Along with that I also work for other social causes. Currently I am working on a little project and you can help me with that being a media person.”

“Oh, that is great. And what is the one, you are working on currently.” Anxiety in me shoot up a bit, I started to play with his visiting card, as he got busy observing me. He was a keen and deep observer, his eyes scanned whole of you even before you can realize.

“Let’s dine first, Kaam ki baatein to hoti rahegi..!” He took the napkin from the table, placed on his lap as the waiter left the Lemon Coriander soup at the table, it smelt delicious.

“Thanks for the dinner, it was yummm..!” I softly wiped my face off using the tissue

“Thanks for accepting the invitation, oucchh..!” He was too busy looking at me, never realized water in the finger bowl was hot and not warm, we ended up giggling.

The whole way from the restaurant to my place, he kept on riding the bike without even a single word; he seemed to have an astounding rapport with silence. I wasn’t much comfortable with the silence, though. I was the girl of the words, girl of the lexes.

“Take a left from here..!” These were the first words between us, since we left the hotel.

“Thanks for accepting the invitation once again. It was a pleasure.”

“Finally, some words from you Mr. Agrawal. I thought you had some intimate relationship with this quietness.”

“મનેજોમૌનદોબોલકુંએપણબનીબેસે; કરીછેપડઘાસાથેએવીમિત્રતાઅમે, યારો.” – “If you gift me the silence, it will also become chatty. I have an amazing camaraderie with echoes.”

“Oh, you and Gujarati? You don’t seem Gujju..!!”

“Yes, I am Marwari but my mom was Gujju. I can speak as good Gujarati as anyone else.”

“Good one, sirji…!”

“So, you have my visiting card; call me when you wanna meet for the project I told you. It will be pretty good for both of us.”

“How about this Saturday, 4 o’clock?”

“Most welcome, 2^nd home will await you.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, have some rollercoaster dreams.” I couldn’t help but chuckle, at his creepy night wish.

∞

** Chapter : 2 **

Joining hands…

Din ne hath tham kar idhar bithaliya,

Raat ne ishare se udhar bula liya;

Subah se sham se mera dostana,

Musafir hun yarron, na ghar hai na thikana,

Mujhe chalte jana hai, bus chalte jana.

The day held my hand and made me sit here. The night beckoned and called me there. Day and nights are my friends. I am a traveler my friends, with no home or place to stay. I have to keep going…. just keep going.

The ever euphonious Kishore Kumar greeted me at the 2^nd home; a timeworn uncle must be in his early seventies was sitting at the swing in the complex, with radio sitting alongside him.  The place was nicely built, it didn’t look like a charitable place rather it looked more alike a citadel of an affluent businessman. The boundary wall of the verandah was crowded with the different species of the trees, birds were tweeting around in the place, and squirrels were playing in the portico. The evening at the 2^nd home looked calm and composed, much more indistinguishable to the personality of Satva.  As I entered in the place, a security guy popped up from somewhere

“Excuse me madam, whom do you want to meet?”

“Mr. Agrawal, I am here to meet.”

“What’s your good name, mam?”

“Ipsa”

“Wait for a minute” He went into his little chamber on the left, picked up the inter-com and yakked to someone.

“Ms. Vaidya, sir is waiting for you at his room; room no.205, 2nd floor.” He came to leave me up to the stairs. As I entered into the complex, I saw huge dorm on the ground floor itself. A few aunties were devotedly working in there, they were cooking something, nice whiff was flowing out from there. I silently started climbing the stairs. The place was so well arranged and well maintained, there wasn’t even a spot of dust. This was the floor, where all the residents stayed. It was evident from one or two residents roaming around in the balcony, clothes too were hanging there on the nylon strings tied parallel to the parapet of the balcony. Second Floor was reserved for children, it was their sleeping time. Thus, second floor almost looked haunted. I silently moved looking for Satva’s Room; 201…… 202…… 203………. 204…………… and here was the 205. I silently knocked at the door, don’t know why but my heart started to pump my blood at a pace little higher than normal.

“Welcome to Home, 2^nd home Ms. Vaidya…Aah…! Sorry, Ipsa” He was almost whispering, a little girl was sleeping out there in the room; she was looking like an archangel. As he signaled me to have a seat over there, he silently sat over there caressing the forehead of the girl, I ran of the count how long we sat there silently, watching little girl sleeping. The clock was ticking around, we sat there for a while, no words, no expressions; it was a calming experience against this so rajdhani express life of mine, you can say a kind of a meditation.

“Deedar-E-Rab kahan mushkil hai jaise kahe hain waeez, humne sote hue bacche ki muskan dekhi hain.” – “Seeing the god isn’t that difficult as believed by the saints, I have seen a sleeping child’s smile.” He finally broke the silence, still in the whispering tone but a poet came out once again, I just kept on glaring at amusing sight, subconsciously expounding the meaning of the verse he just narrated. A little while later, an attendant came to take care of the little angel as we stepped down in the vestibule to have a talk finally.

“Your room was way to clean Satva; I was surprised to see that.”  With Satva around it’s always me who has to start something.

“Thanks, why surprised but? Don’t you keep your room tidy and clean?”

“It was clean only a little while before I came here.”

“Then?”

“Then, I had to decide what to wear today..!”  Both of us ended up chuckling.

“So Ipsa, will you have tea or coffee?”

“Tea, at any given time.”

“That’s good. You are different from your gender a bit.”

“Oh really! Thanks, I will take it as a complement; I never prefer to be generalized.”

“Oh yes mam, will keep that in mind.”

“So nice of you.” As I was busy blushing and smiling, a servant came to him, Satva instructed to him something in whispering tone and the servant was off. It was always composure, mannerly behavior Satva focused on, but he was way beyond that, yes he was something beyond this it was the gut feeling I had.

“So, what was the work you were talking about and I was here for Satva?”

“You have heard of Sitaram Bapu?”

“Fish..!! That Black Magic wala, who killed two kids at Ahmedabad?”

“Yes, I am trying to open a fight against him to open him up. I want your support via some columns From Ipsa’s Pen.”

“Oh, so you know about my column.”

“Oh, yes.. To Our struggle, Strife & Survival – your today’s one on international women’s day was awesome.”

“Thank you.” I blushed, as a servant left tangy tea and crispy Khari biscuits on the center table.

“The good thing about you is being a young one you connect to youth via your writing. I want that to happen in our case as well. I have a few papers regarding that thug; you can begin your first column based on what his wrong doings are.” He handed an eye-catching brown colored leather folder to me, as I opened it contained a bulk of papers, copies of a few statements, copies of some old FIRs and some Sale Deeds of Land acquisitions and all. They were all for or against or involving a guy names Sanjay Sirumalani urfe Sitaram Bapu.

“I will read all these papers and then take a call on where, when and how to go with all these.”

“Take your own time madam; we are in no hurry at all.” I gathered all the documents, put them back in the folder and took Satva’s leave. I had the task on my planner now, finish researching these papers ASAP and draft an article based on them.

Here I was on the one sitter wooden swing, with a coffee mug in my hand. It was the place from where ‘From Ipsa’s Pen’ had instigated. I took The Hindu’s today’s edition lying on the table, opened special supplement for the International Women’s Day, first page – FROM THE IPSA’s PEN

To our Struggle, Strife & Survival

As a 12-year-old I gasped loudly when a man on a bicycle smacked my shoulder, whistled joyously and rode away feeling some sadistic sense of accomplishment. I just stood shocked, petrified, humiliated. A common reaction to any young girl’s first tryst with ‘eve-teasing’.

 

At 16 I chose ignorance when a group of boys in a car followed me from a nearby shop to my house. Mouthing smooches, winking, inviting me to get into the car. They left pleased with themselves once I took momentary refuge at a neighbour’s house because it was closer than mine. I felt upset and disturbed. Today, when I think about it, maybe I feel morbidly grateful they didn’t pull me into the car and drive off.

Post 18, mine and my friends’ frustrations grew worse. Our common grievance – why can’t we stay out beyond 8 pm in well-lit, crowded marketplaces? Aren’t we being raised a bit too overprotected? So I thought at the time.

Frustration and helplessness are powerful emotions. I’d say they are the reason I found my voice. In my twenties, when a man made inappropriate remarks under his breath standing next to me, I verbally attacked him like a hyena (of course, this mainly because I wasn’t standing in a lone area. Bravado shouldn’t negate good sense.)

It is frustration and helplessness through my years of adolescence, like those of many other women, which rose to the rim and overflowed in December 2012 in the aftermath of the gruesome Delhi gangrape. Rage, powerlessness, misery, depression – my friends and I experienced the same emotions. Should we cry? Cuss? Scream? Shout?

The sheer audacity and brutality of this heinous act left us feeling numb and enraged at the same time.

I went to the protest with a friend and her mother. Hell, I didn’t even feel safe going alone to a protest for women’s safety! This is our state of affairs. We walked from India Gate to Rashtrapati Bhavan, shouted slogans and were tear-gassed out of there soon enough. 

No, we didn’t come back feeling satisfied, pleased or content. We didn’t think ourselves to be great or noble for going. We came back feeling how we felt when we went there. The same. Numb and enraged.

Some of the reactions I got for going to the protest were: “Kya mil gaya jaake? All this naarebaazi is crap yaar. This was anarchy in the name of a protest. Oh wow! Like it would’ve made a difference had you not gone?” If that’s the case, why did you dance your hearts out on the streets when India won the cricket World Cup? Kya mil gaya jaake? United in joy, divided in grief? What difference would it have made had you not gone to scream in joy standing atop your cars. Oh, and anarchy then, anyone?

Another gem I came across was a forwarded message professing that Mumbai loves its women more because ‘it’s a city that never sleeps’ and so is always watching. So ner-ner Delhi! Much as I’m envious of Mumbai’s dreamlike safety for women, does the city then snooze during terror attacks? Every city in the world has its pros and cons. So, really? Was this a time to indulge into this state-divide propaganda? To which a morbid ignorant reaction I came across was “Yes, well that’s true. You may not get raped in Mumbai but you might die in a blast.”

I was sitting with four women from Mumbai when I received the text on Mumbai gloating about its safety for women over Delhi’s and let me assure you they were way more irritated than I was. We don’t want to feel safe ONLY in Mumbai, or not die of blasts ONLY in Delhi. We’d like a healthy order of both, please!

Meanwhile, the reaction that really got to me was: “We’re not Taliban. We’re a democracy. The punishment can’t change to chemical castration and capital punishment will ensure a lower conviction rate. And with the protest which was more of a mess, what exactly did you even hope to achieve by going when you don’t even know what you’re asking for?”

I may not have all the answers and solutions but I know what I achieved. I was a part of India’s biggest protest – to end sexual terrorism. And for those who came out at the time voicing a common anger, we knew we were asking for our rights, for a change. And, undeniably, an impact was made. Its ripples can be seen and felt.

I know what I want. Hell, I can even go out on a limb here and say I’m pretty sure I know what most women and MEN want at this time. I want justice for her. I want them to be punished severely. I want others to fear the law and not think they can get away with it. I don’t just want to feel safe in the confinement of my home. I don’t want to go to work in the morning hoping I return home un-raped.

Happy International Women’s Day. Here’s to our struggle, strife and survival.

–          Ipsa Vaidya

 

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