There is a huge storm of articles and blogs that's been circulating after Michaela Cross posted an article in CNN about her experiences in India. Reading those articles brought back some unpleasant memories. The memories I have tried very hard to suppress.
Before I share my experience I would like to make something very clear- I do not HATE India or think that all Indian men are bad!! In fact my best friend is a guy and some of the guys I know are probably the nicest people on Earth. I am not trying vilify India or Indian culture. I am extremely proud of my culture and heritage and I think I am blessed to be born an Indian. They say home is where your heart is, and I left my heart back home in Bangalore, India.
But I do believe in accepting some bitter facts about my home. I know India has so many experiences to offer but sometimes it does get hampered by some creep who thinks he can grope/ sexually harass woman and get away with it. It is the bitter truth. The reason I never felt comfortable taking a solo trip in India.
Using public transport in Bangalore was sort of a weird experience for me. Let me explain why- It was a great learning experience, I could travel on my own without depending on my parents, it was a nice way to meet new people from different walks of life and have interesting conversations, it taught me never to take the luxuries I had for granted and gave me a sense of independence. But it also scarred me emotionally. I was eagerly waiting for the day I would turn 16 so that I could have my own vehicle and not use public transport.
This animosity towards public transport started due to an incident that happened in the year 1999 when I was 12 years old. That was my first time traveling alone in B'lore buses. Up until then my mom would accompany me when I had to use the bus. I was very excited at the thought of traveling alone and handling money! I waited for the bus to arrive at the stop with bated breath and squealed with delight when I got on to it and paid money for my ticket. The bus was crowded and I could not find a seat to sit in, so I found a place where I could stand without realizing that I was at the boundary of men' s side of the bus. As more people got in I got pushed back into the men's space. That's when it happened- Some one pinched my butt. At first I was too scared to look back because I did not know how to react! I was a 12 year old who had no idea about sex let alone sexual harassment! Next I felt something hard rubbing on my butt. I thought someone put their hand there by mistake because I had no idea what it was! But the rubbing felt weird. This time I dared to look back- It was a middle aged man, probably older than my dad who was holding on to his son with both hands! I asked him to stop doing whatever he was doing. This was his response 'Oh yeah? What will you do if I don't stop?'. His blood shot eyes and fierce expression scared the hell out of me out. I asked a lady standing in front of me to help me with tears in my eyes. The lady snapped back at me and said 'This is what happens if you wear such short sleeveless frocks. You deserve what is happening to you'. It was like my whole world was spinning and I had no idea what to do.
I tried to ask some women standing in front of me to make way so that I could go to the front away from that disgusting man. No one cared to budge. I decided to get out of the bus at the next stop and walk to my destination. I walked 3 kms in the hot sun crying. I had no idea how to could get rid of the pain in my head. I just wanted to go home and cry. I was cranky throughout the dentist's appointment and threw a million tantrums at my dad who was waiting for me at the dentist's office. I was too ashamed to tell him about the incident. After my dad dropped me home my mother asked me how my bus ride was. I could not keep it in any longer and burst into tears and told her what happened. This was her reaction -'This always happens in the bus. Next time if it happens do not confront him, you never know what sort of a manic he is. He could follow you home and throw acid on your face. From next time just push your way to the front in between the ladies, or wait for an emptier bus. Now stop being a baby about this and deal with it'. I was aghast for being called a baby instead of receiving some sympathy. I cried for three more days threw more tantrums at my parents and refused to go to school or step out of the house. Finally I got over it and never remembered that incident until I read Michaela Cross's account.
From then on I tried to avoid public transport as much as I could. I even resorted to stealing money from my dad's wallet, so that I could take an auto instead of the bus (My parents thought traveling alone by auto was unsafe and refused to give me money for it). But the groping and grabbing did not stop-- It happened while I was standing in queue at Tirupathi with my parents, while I was buying flowers for my mom in Malleshwaram market and by a cop who stopped me to check if I had my DL. (A freaking cop! When I shouted at him and pushed his hands away from my breasts. He threatened to put me in jail for my behavior. Thankfully the road was dark , I started my vehicle, knocked him over and sped away before he could get the license plate number). The sad part is that I was molested in spite of being an Indian and wearing baggy non provocative Indian clothes that covered my whole body.
Many Indians were enraged at Michaela Cross's article and tried to defend India. She was probably traumatized to such an extent that it overshadowed her positive experiences . That's how I felt after my first bus trip. I forgot about my earlier delight, after the groping incident and tried to repress the whole memory.
Is there a solution to this? I have no idea. But I do think accepting the existence of this dirty secret instead of ignoring/defending is probably the first step to take.
Here is the
link to a poem written by my good friend Arvind- who is an Indian and a male- and is one of the nicest people I know.
