There I was. A bright, young, hopeful thing, stepping into the grown-up world of having a career, living away from home, and other exciting things. I’d even bagged a job in the big city, where I’d always wanted to live. My friends were here, my boyfriend was here; and life was going to be a happy, chill, affair. A few weeks into it, it happened. I found myself being bothered by it. The eyes. The shameless, perverted, staring eyes. I spend about two hours of every weekday travelling to and from work. Most of what I’ve learnt in the 5 months since having been in the city, I’ve learnt in those two hours. I’ve learnt how to nimbly side-step, and walk swiftly away from someone who I know is trying to intentionally brush past me. I’ve learnt how to walk while shielding my chest, so that it is not easy to stare at, and cannot be touched innocuously with the hand/elbow/shoulder. I’ve learnt to always have an object in my hand, like a phone or an umbrella, which can be used as a weapon to administer blunt force. I’m a young woman, so it is a given that my body is everybody’s to admire, and enjoy. I’m a busty girl, so I should not complain about being ogled at, and for having invited desperate squeezes. I wear T-shirts and jeans, and sometimes even cropped trousers, and tops with wide necks. So I must learn to shut up and take the cat calls, whistling, and singing of appropriately rowdy Hindi songs. I like to stay out late, have a few drinks with my boy-friends, and hug them hello and good bye. I must learn to accept the fact that sometimes, strange men want to touch me too, and it is their right to stand too close to me in buses, to rub up against me, to graze my arm, thigh, butt, boob while walking past. I’m a young woman, fresh for the taking; and I must get used to it. The two hours of commute every day are like a minefield. I always have my headphones on, to drown out the offensive muttering. I have my head bowed down, to avoid the piercing eyes. I make myself smaller, in an effort to not have my personal space be invaded. I make myself do this twice a day, every day. I do not feel safe in my country, and I loathe to think about the time I will have to raise my baby in a land that is slowly descending into barbarism. It’s getting to me, and I don’t know what to do about it.
