I was recently talking to this perfectly, enterprising departmental senior of mine who had shifted to Delhi and had lost a miraculous amount of weight. Losing "miraculous amount of weight" almost gives out the essence of him severing chunks of flesh from his corporeal self. It does sound gross but this is the first impression i got when i suddenly chanced upon him yesterday. Now, i have been obsessing bout losing weight for some months to no avail. My sedentary state of mind, much to my chagrin, does not quite allow the notion of hyperactivity. However, i was not going to let this chance go before finding out what 'miracle' made him lose weight so drastically. So our seemingly innocuous and banal discussion started on this strain and drifted completely into uncharted territories. There were a hundred things racing in my mind at the end of it-things that i did not tell him or anyone else. In response to my question of what 'miracle' had made this seemingly impossible task possible, he had responded by how he has developed this habit of going for long walks and also how he has been running regularly-yes, right in the midst of busy Delhi streets, jostling clueless pedestrians, upsetting vendors, eve-teasers and such likes.
He was also kind enough to suggest that now since he is in Calcutta (till next week) and we are practically neighbours, i could accompany him while he is walking/running. Now my eminently enterprising senior had bailed me out of sticky academic situations in the past, had patiently explained abstract concepts and critical, literary theories over telephone, had solemnly endured my relentless idiocy during long, never-ending bus rides from Jadavpur to salt lake and had also kindly escorted me to British council and American Center because i wasn't comfortable travelling alone.Of course things changed after he shifted to St Stephen's for Masters, For one, i only go to British council and American Center on Saturdays when Ma is at home and the car is therefore available. I am still not comfortable commuting alone.
Okay, so obviously i agreed to the plan-the running and the walking that is but something else nudged me at the back of my head, something that had been suppressed( or at least, i thought so) but reared it's ugly head again. I was silent.What bout when he was not here? what bout when he is back in Delhi?
It really isn't easy to figure out, why this unnecessary thrust on always having to have some company or other while travelling and why this stress on always having to be chaperoned by someone physically superior. Why this unflagging, almost dogged necessity to be always surrounded by people you know and people you can somewhat trust, if one hasn't ever experienced what most girls tend to experience, when they are barely mature enough to understand, to what extent things can actually go wrong with them.
As a child, i always loved walking.Alone, that is. I still do, somewhere i want to believe.
So i would disappear for hours at a stretch.No one worried because they all knew i was responsible enough to not stray too far and be back home before it was too late. i would disappear, armed with a book and an ancient Walkman.I never cared bout the way i looked.Uninhibited, i was always eager to discover unfamiliar paths to house my own imaginative world, peopled with 'my people'. i would aimlessly wander down meandering, pebbled roads that drew up dust as i uncouthly stepped on the frayed edges, discovering covert ribbons of thin,ephemeral streams.yes, places like that did exist in Salt lake of my childhood. i would marvel at my discoveries with childish enthusiasm, coloring my imagination with fragmented, disconnected characters from my books that inhabited these hidden nooks and crannies.Ecstatically,i would trace patterns on the wet earth, fumbling about for lost treasures and surreptiously hidden clues.There would be a spring in my step as i would joyfully find my way back home after a hard day's work.
Matter of Time. The bubble had to burst. My idyllic world had to come crashing down.
i was twelve. i hadn't done well in my half-yearly exams. Ma had been shouting for the last two days. I unceremoniously banged the entrance door and departed, fuming in anger for one of my favourite reveries. By then, there weren't many new places left to be explored. The foundations of City Center, Salt lake had just been laid, so that entire area was in a veritable mess. I still marvel, as to how that pile of rubble of my childhood managed to look so sophisticated later on.
He was also kind enough to suggest that now since he is in Calcutta (till next week) and we are practically neighbours, i could accompany him while he is walking/running. Now my eminently enterprising senior had bailed me out of sticky academic situations in the past, had patiently explained abstract concepts and critical, literary theories over telephone, had solemnly endured my relentless idiocy during long, never-ending bus rides from Jadavpur to salt lake and had also kindly escorted me to British council and American Center because i wasn't comfortable travelling alone.Of course things changed after he shifted to St Stephen's for Masters, For one, i only go to British council and American Center on Saturdays when Ma is at home and the car is therefore available. I am still not comfortable commuting alone.
Okay, so obviously i agreed to the plan-the running and the walking that is but something else nudged me at the back of my head, something that had been suppressed( or at least, i thought so) but reared it's ugly head again. I was silent.What bout when he was not here? what bout when he is back in Delhi?
It really isn't easy to figure out, why this unnecessary thrust on always having to have some company or other while travelling and why this stress on always having to be chaperoned by someone physically superior. Why this unflagging, almost dogged necessity to be always surrounded by people you know and people you can somewhat trust, if one hasn't ever experienced what most girls tend to experience, when they are barely mature enough to understand, to what extent things can actually go wrong with them.
As a child, i always loved walking.Alone, that is. I still do, somewhere i want to believe.
So i would disappear for hours at a stretch.No one worried because they all knew i was responsible enough to not stray too far and be back home before it was too late. i would disappear, armed with a book and an ancient Walkman.I never cared bout the way i looked.Uninhibited, i was always eager to discover unfamiliar paths to house my own imaginative world, peopled with 'my people'. i would aimlessly wander down meandering, pebbled roads that drew up dust as i uncouthly stepped on the frayed edges, discovering covert ribbons of thin,ephemeral streams.yes, places like that did exist in Salt lake of my childhood. i would marvel at my discoveries with childish enthusiasm, coloring my imagination with fragmented, disconnected characters from my books that inhabited these hidden nooks and crannies.Ecstatically,i would trace patterns on the wet earth, fumbling about for lost treasures and surreptiously hidden clues.There would be a spring in my step as i would joyfully find my way back home after a hard day's work.
Matter of Time. The bubble had to burst. My idyllic world had to come crashing down.
i was twelve. i hadn't done well in my half-yearly exams. Ma had been shouting for the last two days. I unceremoniously banged the entrance door and departed, fuming in anger for one of my favourite reveries. By then, there weren't many new places left to be explored. The foundations of City Center, Salt lake had just been laid, so that entire area was in a veritable mess. I still marvel, as to how that pile of rubble of my childhood managed to look so sophisticated later on.
i was walking down this deserted stretch near GD block, when i felt something brush past me. Shock and humiliation took over.The culprit whispered something unintelligible in my ears, I couldn't figure it out exactly but it did sound humiliating to my childish years.I started running. He kept up with me and brushed past me again. By then we had entered the main thoroughfare. Before, i could scream he dispersed into oblivion. i still remember his face and can probably recognize him, if i do happen to come across him again. There is unfinished business to take care of.
i remember feeling dizzy, my heart pounding as i desperately ran down the streets.By then the initial wave of humiliation that had previously taken over had conglomerated into a pool and settled down at the base of my stomach. There was a queasy feeling, as raw anger and humiliation overlapped and rose up my throat. I felt my fist clench and a feeling of helplessness take seize.i entered the safe haven of my room and dissolved into tears. Ma thought, i was merely upset bout my dismal results. i remember not being able to behave normally for days.i just hated the sight of the boys in my class.For all i knew, they might grow up to be as reprehensible as that stinking man in the deserted alley.i was also new to the school at that time and had already been labelled as as a snob.i could not really figure out what had exactly happened with me and why it had to happen.i was too young and i wasn't aware of adult words like 'molestation'. i did not have the courage to narrate this incident to my mother, fearing she would never let me go out alone again.i myself did not have the courage to venture out alone anymore.
Everything changed since then. i became inhibited, more conscious, started taking my mother's warnings more seriously and began dressing in loose, ill-fitting clothes.I would be scared to make eye-contact with people when i was out in the streets and would quietly finish my work and run back to the shelter of my home. Over time, i had this select friend circle comprising mostly boys. Friends who were more like brothers. Their protective presence was like an aegis, shielding me from roving eyes and groping fingers. Of course, there have been more incidents like that one as i grew up but i also became more mature and learnt to handle things on my own.
Now the idea of walking alone, brought this painful memory back again. i was just twelve then. My childhood had been nipped into the bud. That initial wave of humiliation stills exists when something like that occurs.I always believed that my diminutive, childlike appearance would protect me from such incidents but i have been proven wrong time and again.Today something rankles in me, when i remember this incident, not just the filthy nature of the act but how inevitably natural it seems in our present surroundings.Every girl has to experience something like this at some point. It is terribly wrong and inhuman. It just makes me helpless as to how distorted and convoluted the perpetrators of such acts are.
Twelve is too young a age to be initiated into this cruel jungle and gain access to the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.
i remember feeling dizzy, my heart pounding as i desperately ran down the streets.By then the initial wave of humiliation that had previously taken over had conglomerated into a pool and settled down at the base of my stomach. There was a queasy feeling, as raw anger and humiliation overlapped and rose up my throat. I felt my fist clench and a feeling of helplessness take seize.i entered the safe haven of my room and dissolved into tears. Ma thought, i was merely upset bout my dismal results. i remember not being able to behave normally for days.i just hated the sight of the boys in my class.For all i knew, they might grow up to be as reprehensible as that stinking man in the deserted alley.i was also new to the school at that time and had already been labelled as as a snob.i could not really figure out what had exactly happened with me and why it had to happen.i was too young and i wasn't aware of adult words like 'molestation'. i did not have the courage to narrate this incident to my mother, fearing she would never let me go out alone again.i myself did not have the courage to venture out alone anymore.
Everything changed since then. i became inhibited, more conscious, started taking my mother's warnings more seriously and began dressing in loose, ill-fitting clothes.I would be scared to make eye-contact with people when i was out in the streets and would quietly finish my work and run back to the shelter of my home. Over time, i had this select friend circle comprising mostly boys. Friends who were more like brothers. Their protective presence was like an aegis, shielding me from roving eyes and groping fingers. Of course, there have been more incidents like that one as i grew up but i also became more mature and learnt to handle things on my own.
Now the idea of walking alone, brought this painful memory back again. i was just twelve then. My childhood had been nipped into the bud. That initial wave of humiliation stills exists when something like that occurs.I always believed that my diminutive, childlike appearance would protect me from such incidents but i have been proven wrong time and again.Today something rankles in me, when i remember this incident, not just the filthy nature of the act but how inevitably natural it seems in our present surroundings.Every girl has to experience something like this at some point. It is terribly wrong and inhuman. It just makes me helpless as to how distorted and convoluted the perpetrators of such acts are.
Twelve is too young a age to be initiated into this cruel jungle and gain access to the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.
