There she was, standing with her head tilted to one side and her light brown tresses to the other side. From time to time, she was shifting hangers in the closet. Every morning, she would ponder over the cloth to choose from her dull closet and every day a red dress would catch her attention. But like every other day, she ignored that dress today as well.
She had never worn that dress because she thought it would make people notice her, and she didn’t like attention. But, she loved the cute little red dress, just like a few other clothes that she loved but never wore.
This red dress, her love at the first sight, reminded her of her adorable red frock that she got on her 12th birthday, the day she’d never forget, and the frock that she wore just once. But, her friends gifted her a similar red dress on her 23rd birthday, and she loved it as much as she loved the red frock, but still, it never came out of the closet.
She is still standing there, confused as ever, trying to choose between the gray and the black trousers. Reluctantly, she takes out a gray shirt and black trouser, thinking that this boring formal color will help her mix with the crowd.
She is now walking on the road, on her way to the office, from the point where the shuttle drops her. A fair, tall and pretty girl with a fresh morning glow on her face, a beaming smile, and dreamy eyes. As always, she is conscious of the eyes on her and she is wondering that why people look at her, is it her skin color, her height or what is it that people make her uncomfortable with the constant gaze. She, on the other hand just loves seeing buildings and animals, so much so that she sometimes forgets that she’s walking on a road, alone.
Although she is just another girl who had her own share of bad experiences, like many others, so she knows that this is common and that she needs to be careful on the road because there aren’t just vehicles that may hurt her.
She is now passing that sutta point where she thinks that too many men exist. She is fine with mere admiration, but she hates it when people scan her, her movements, and her body followed by a lewd gesture about it.
However, with practice, she has learned to ignore people and their stares on the street. She just looks straight and walks, she sees no face, no eyes.
But she is still scared, cautious and aware. Her ears open, trying to hear every footstep closely, sharply. Her eyes constantly checking at the back. Like every day, she is hoping that no one is following her. She isn’t a cynic, she has friends who told her their experience of being followed, so she is just being careful — preventive measures you know. It’s her daily routine and she hates it. She hates walking alone because random bikers shout something and go.
A sweat trickled down her temples, she is nervous and vulnerable. She still remembers that evening on her birthday when she was returning to her house after dropping her best friend who lived just one block away. She was jumping and running on her way back in the same red frock when suddenly a hand appeared to grab and squeeze her breasts.
She still remembers the pain, but back then she didn’t really understand what it was, why it happened. She couldn’t understand why someone just tried to hurt her and run away; that why someone touched her newly developing fatty tissues. But she understood when her mom told her. Since then, her mom became over protective, and since then she missed her freedom. Her mom was extremely worried about her early puberty and since then she was convinced that she would never wear any body-hugging dress if she wanted to avoid anything unpleasant.
She followed this learning religiously because she didn’t want to go through all the pain and the shame again. Nothing like that will happen today because it’s neither a dress nor it is red.
But, suddenly a hand appeared out of nowhere that scratched her arm, tore her sleeves and disappeared. A noisy crowd surrounded her. She is flummoxed and tears welled up in her eyes.
She couldn’t blame her clothes now, nobody could. This time, a hand again hurt her and went away. She felt like an animal, a poor animal, who was hunted for fun and killed for no reason. She was broken, hurt and betrayed.
But, she had always been strong, she recovered.
A few days later, she was back, on that road, walking to her office, alone, but in the red dress that she loved but she never wore. She had now found a new courage.
She thought that she’ll anyway be stared at, molested, eve-teased or touched, then why she shouldn’t wear what she loves at least.
This time she also stopped at the sutta point to hear what they had to say and laugh about. She didn’t bother about the glances that she was getting, she was just careful with the hand that might come, and it did, again, suddenly. And this time too there was blood on the arms, but not hers. The hunter had fallen down, hunted by his own prey.
She kicked him in the groin and he groaned.
Again there was a noisy crowd with hush-hush whispers because she knew that this time they could blame her, her dress and she could also blame herself for the demon crying in pain, in the middle of the road.
Now, she knew that it was never her red frock or her skin color.
She knew that such hands, comments, stares wouldn’t discriminate and that they would keep coming because she was a female, because ‘Now’ wasn’t the safest time to be a woman.
Though, she believes that someday she’ll walk as freely as these men.
But, till that time comes, she’ll have to be courageous.
And, she’ll fight. She might fall and get hurt, but she’ll rise again, higher.
If you enjoyed this story, please recommend and share to help others find it! Feel free to leave a comment below.
She had never worn that dress because she thought it would make people notice her, and she didn’t like attention. But, she loved the cute little red dress, just like a few other clothes that she loved but never wore.
This red dress, her love at the first sight, reminded her of her adorable red frock that she got on her 12th birthday, the day she’d never forget, and the frock that she wore just once. But, her friends gifted her a similar red dress on her 23rd birthday, and she loved it as much as she loved the red frock, but still, it never came out of the closet.
She is still standing there, confused as ever, trying to choose between the gray and the black trousers. Reluctantly, she takes out a gray shirt and black trouser, thinking that this boring formal color will help her mix with the crowd.
She is now walking on the road, on her way to the office, from the point where the shuttle drops her. A fair, tall and pretty girl with a fresh morning glow on her face, a beaming smile, and dreamy eyes. As always, she is conscious of the eyes on her and she is wondering that why people look at her, is it her skin color, her height or what is it that people make her uncomfortable with the constant gaze. She, on the other hand just loves seeing buildings and animals, so much so that she sometimes forgets that she’s walking on a road, alone.
Although she is just another girl who had her own share of bad experiences, like many others, so she knows that this is common and that she needs to be careful on the road because there aren’t just vehicles that may hurt her.
She is now passing that sutta point where she thinks that too many men exist. She is fine with mere admiration, but she hates it when people scan her, her movements, and her body followed by a lewd gesture about it.
However, with practice, she has learned to ignore people and their stares on the street. She just looks straight and walks, she sees no face, no eyes.
But she is still scared, cautious and aware. Her ears open, trying to hear every footstep closely, sharply. Her eyes constantly checking at the back. Like every day, she is hoping that no one is following her. She isn’t a cynic, she has friends who told her their experience of being followed, so she is just being careful — preventive measures you know. It’s her daily routine and she hates it. She hates walking alone because random bikers shout something and go.
A sweat trickled down her temples, she is nervous and vulnerable. She still remembers that evening on her birthday when she was returning to her house after dropping her best friend who lived just one block away. She was jumping and running on her way back in the same red frock when suddenly a hand appeared to grab and squeeze her breasts.
She still remembers the pain, but back then she didn’t really understand what it was, why it happened. She couldn’t understand why someone just tried to hurt her and run away; that why someone touched her newly developing fatty tissues. But she understood when her mom told her. Since then, her mom became over protective, and since then she missed her freedom. Her mom was extremely worried about her early puberty and since then she was convinced that she would never wear any body-hugging dress if she wanted to avoid anything unpleasant.
She followed this learning religiously because she didn’t want to go through all the pain and the shame again. Nothing like that will happen today because it’s neither a dress nor it is red.
But, suddenly a hand appeared out of nowhere that scratched her arm, tore her sleeves and disappeared. A noisy crowd surrounded her. She is flummoxed and tears welled up in her eyes.
She couldn’t blame her clothes now, nobody could. This time, a hand again hurt her and went away. She felt like an animal, a poor animal, who was hunted for fun and killed for no reason. She was broken, hurt and betrayed.
But, she had always been strong, she recovered.
A few days later, she was back, on that road, walking to her office, alone, but in the red dress that she loved but she never wore. She had now found a new courage.
She thought that she’ll anyway be stared at, molested, eve-teased or touched, then why she shouldn’t wear what she loves at least.
This time she also stopped at the sutta point to hear what they had to say and laugh about. She didn’t bother about the glances that she was getting, she was just careful with the hand that might come, and it did, again, suddenly. And this time too there was blood on the arms, but not hers. The hunter had fallen down, hunted by his own prey.
She kicked him in the groin and he groaned.
Again there was a noisy crowd with hush-hush whispers because she knew that this time they could blame her, her dress and she could also blame herself for the demon crying in pain, in the middle of the road.
Now, she knew that it was never her red frock or her skin color.
She knew that such hands, comments, stares wouldn’t discriminate and that they would keep coming because she was a female, because ‘Now’ wasn’t the safest time to be a woman.
Though, she believes that someday she’ll walk as freely as these men.
But, till that time comes, she’ll have to be courageous.
And, she’ll fight. She might fall and get hurt, but she’ll rise again, higher.
If you enjoyed this story, please recommend and share to help others find it! Feel free to leave a comment below.
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