Original Source: http://insightsbydivya.blogspot.in/2014/01/i-live-in-new-delhi.html
I live in New Delhi.
Notorious (more conspicuously so since December last year) for its violence against women, the city space is one that is increasingly intimidating to the single woman. Like any regular girl, I've had experiences in the past. Public masturbation, 'eve-teasing', the sudden swerve of a tinted car etc etc; most of my friends have shared similar stories of horror with me. We speak with a sense of resignation, to the affairs of the world. We've always been told; "This is how the system works", "Let it go, it's useless to fight, " "Just keep your head down", "Are you sure you didn't say anything?" There is of course the occasional burst of indignation, but nothing substantial. Yes. The public space is not mine anymore. Perhaps it never was, perhaps it was an illusion. MUST NOT RETALIATE- we've been told.
Conditioned to think of the city as not mine to roam freely in, I've always had this subconscious defensive streak. Don't trust anyone, they say. Don't get into arguments, don't roll down your windows. It's all a little overwhelming to be honest. We all have preconceived notions of each other in this city; somehow all of us seem bound by this external identity. We behave a certain way, like we are expected to.
I feel compelled to blog about this particular thought because of an incident that happened yesterday. At around 3:30pm, in Shahpur Jat I was trying to find myself a parking space, when while reversing my car bumped another. Now, I am not the best driver in the world, but yes I get around without hitting people's bumpers. The man driving the other car got out, and walked towards my car. He said something loudly which completely escaped me. I was still checking out the damage, there was none. Not a scratch. Relieved, I got out too. It is obviously not a big deal, I thought. The man muttered something about women not being good drivers or something or the other. He started to get inside my car, probably wanted to reverse it. I told him I am very much capable of doing it on my own. He continue shouting, now pointing a finger at me. I realized this was unnecessary, I wanted to get out of it. At the same time, I wanted to stand up. People were gathering around us. They seemed to all know who he was. This seemed to egg him on, he was encouraged to shout louder. He called me a 'kutiya", and the regular ma-behen galis.
This had snowballed. I was digesting it, trying to shout him down. I told him to lower his finger and maintain distance as I started towards my car. He pulled me back and pushed me. Grabbed my clothes. This was getting out of hand. I looked around for help. There was a crowd now. Boys were whispering to each other and laughing. He slapped me. He told me that everyone was mocking me, and that's what happens to girls of 'my kind.' I pleaded with a few old men, asked for help. Everyone told me to move my car, everyone was in a hurry to leave. "hume toh jaane do." I tried to explain that the moment I move my car, the man would also be able to drive off. I did not want that. I had called the cops, so naturally wanted him to be there when the PCR van reached the scene. I stood in front of his car, refusing to let him go. He continued using bad language, showed me the finger. He announced that his father is a DIG, and calling the cops won't help. He moved his car, moving me along with it. It stuck me he won't stop short of running me over. I was in tears. I felt utterly alone. And then I had a breakdown in the middle of the road.
It's the worst feeling in a public space. It's when you're utterly helpless that even an open space and broad daylight don't come to rescue. There were smiling faces, some concerned. Not one helping hand. I felt vulnerable as an individual. It's that feeling of being an outsider, that finally does you in. I reversed my car, shaking. Crying. I was ashamed, I don't know why. Reason didn't exist anymore. There was no sense of right.
My folks reached there soon, shocked at my appearance. Must have been a sight; tear-streaked face, disheveled hair, visibly shaking, angry, passers-by stopping to check out the damsel in distress.
The cops were helpful, commenting on how the crowds that gathered with candles to protest never really came to rescue. It was a matter-of-fact statement. The enormity of it made me sad, but it also made me stop crying. My folks tracked down the guy. He was a resident of Shahpur Jat, a Pawan Pawar. It made sense that he behaved a certain way in a public space. He probably had a reputation to keep. His father is powerful, I wondered what he himself did. Does he have a family, a child? A woman in the house?
The cops asked me to go with them to his place to identify him. In the commotion, I didn't realize that his presence should have been made available to me in a police station and not his own house. Anyway. He had a very old father, retired DIG. They're Jats. My aunt told him so are we. I protested that it didn't matter, that I just needed to see the son and leave. The man wasn't around, and his father refused to get him there in the first place. He used the classic "You're like my daughter" argument. I burst out. Then, I wasn't anyone's daughter, or sister, or a woman. I was an individual with integrity, I wanted my rights. I wanted to get out of this nightmare. The father, he carried a walking stick, kept on apologizing and calling me adamant and a liar. In the same breath. I noticed the double-speak but I was beyond indignation. I told him upon his insistence, that an apology would suffice. My aunt agreed. The son finally came, refused to apologize. Glared at me, and upon more emotional blackmail by his father said, "sorry, okay?"
I couldn't help but laugh. They must have thought I was mad. Maybe I was. And I was getting madder by the minute. I told the cops that I didn't want to be in that space anymore. I wanted to file an FIR. I succumbed to the process. I called my father, used the contacts. The SHO was called, the IO was instructed. I called up people at work, helpful souls (particularly Soni) immediately came forward. Influential voices were raised. In times like these, an inexperienced mind like mine might not understand the due process that is attached at the hip to our legal system. It's when you most need your people, emotionally and otherwise, no? Mind your words with the cops, the IO (a lady named Rita) was indulging in diplomatic speech. It seemed clear that nothing less than a powerful intervention would be accepted. The poor old father of the man followed us to the police station, with the egoistic son in tow. Tapping his walking stick up and down the stairs, he kept on apologizing. I was overwhelmed with emotions. My family from Jaipur kept on calling, friends' mothers were calling.
Hours later I lie in bed, drafting this. This is my space, this is my city. I've lived here for 7 years, a young girl learning my ways. The city had always left me with that tiny ray of hope, of being able to see the goodness in the corners. Never before has it exposed itself so blatantly. I've never felt more powerless as a citizen. I don't want to depend on the politics of the process. I ask, how easy is it for us to see each other as just human beings? Not men/women, or belonging to a particular caste, or a certain area. More importantly, how easy is it for us to break free from the prejudice that walks ahead of us. I do not know this man. The crowds only seemed to aggravate the matter. He was fitting into a stereotypical figure that was crafted for him, by us a society. Maybe I was too. I am trying to resolve the emotions I am feeling, trying to make sense.
All logic escapes me. at is increasingly intimidating to the single woman. Like any regular girl, I've had experiences in the past. Public masturbation, 'eve-teasing', the sudden swerve of a tinted car etc etc; most of my friends have shared similar stories of horror with me. We speak with a sense of resignation, to the affairs of the world. We've always been told; "This is how the system works", "Let it go, it's useless to fight, " "Just keep your head down", "Are you sure you didn't say anything?" There is of course the occasional burst of indignation, but nothing substantial. Yes. The public space is not mine anymore. Perhaps it never was, perhaps it was an illusion. MUST NOT RETALIATE- we've been told.
I live in New Delhi.
Notorious (more conspicuously so since December last year) for its violence against women, the city space is one that is increasingly intimidating to the single woman. Like any regular girl, I've had experiences in the past. Public masturbation, 'eve-teasing', the sudden swerve of a tinted car etc etc; most of my friends have shared similar stories of horror with me. We speak with a sense of resignation, to the affairs of the world. We've always been told; "This is how the system works", "Let it go, it's useless to fight, " "Just keep your head down", "Are you sure you didn't say anything?" There is of course the occasional burst of indignation, but nothing substantial. Yes. The public space is not mine anymore. Perhaps it never was, perhaps it was an illusion. MUST NOT RETALIATE- we've been told.
Conditioned to think of the city as not mine to roam freely in, I've always had this subconscious defensive streak. Don't trust anyone, they say. Don't get into arguments, don't roll down your windows. It's all a little overwhelming to be honest. We all have preconceived notions of each other in this city; somehow all of us seem bound by this external identity. We behave a certain way, like we are expected to.
I feel compelled to blog about this particular thought because of an incident that happened yesterday. At around 3:30pm, in Shahpur Jat I was trying to find myself a parking space, when while reversing my car bumped another. Now, I am not the best driver in the world, but yes I get around without hitting people's bumpers. The man driving the other car got out, and walked towards my car. He said something loudly which completely escaped me. I was still checking out the damage, there was none. Not a scratch. Relieved, I got out too. It is obviously not a big deal, I thought. The man muttered something about women not being good drivers or something or the other. He started to get inside my car, probably wanted to reverse it. I told him I am very much capable of doing it on my own. He continue shouting, now pointing a finger at me. I realized this was unnecessary, I wanted to get out of it. At the same time, I wanted to stand up. People were gathering around us. They seemed to all know who he was. This seemed to egg him on, he was encouraged to shout louder. He called me a 'kutiya", and the regular ma-behen galis.
This had snowballed. I was digesting it, trying to shout him down. I told him to lower his finger and maintain distance as I started towards my car. He pulled me back and pushed me. Grabbed my clothes. This was getting out of hand. I looked around for help. There was a crowd now. Boys were whispering to each other and laughing. He slapped me. He told me that everyone was mocking me, and that's what happens to girls of 'my kind.' I pleaded with a few old men, asked for help. Everyone told me to move my car, everyone was in a hurry to leave. "hume toh jaane do." I tried to explain that the moment I move my car, the man would also be able to drive off. I did not want that. I had called the cops, so naturally wanted him to be there when the PCR van reached the scene. I stood in front of his car, refusing to let him go. He continued using bad language, showed me the finger. He announced that his father is a DIG, and calling the cops won't help. He moved his car, moving me along with it. It stuck me he won't stop short of running me over. I was in tears. I felt utterly alone. And then I had a breakdown in the middle of the road.
It's the worst feeling in a public space. It's when you're utterly helpless that even an open space and broad daylight don't come to rescue. There were smiling faces, some concerned. Not one helping hand. I felt vulnerable as an individual. It's that feeling of being an outsider, that finally does you in. I reversed my car, shaking. Crying. I was ashamed, I don't know why. Reason didn't exist anymore. There was no sense of right.
My folks reached there soon, shocked at my appearance. Must have been a sight; tear-streaked face, disheveled hair, visibly shaking, angry, passers-by stopping to check out the damsel in distress.
The cops were helpful, commenting on how the crowds that gathered with candles to protest never really came to rescue. It was a matter-of-fact statement. The enormity of it made me sad, but it also made me stop crying. My folks tracked down the guy. He was a resident of Shahpur Jat, a Pawan Pawar. It made sense that he behaved a certain way in a public space. He probably had a reputation to keep. His father is powerful, I wondered what he himself did. Does he have a family, a child? A woman in the house?
The cops asked me to go with them to his place to identify him. In the commotion, I didn't realize that his presence should have been made available to me in a police station and not his own house. Anyway. He had a very old father, retired DIG. They're Jats. My aunt told him so are we. I protested that it didn't matter, that I just needed to see the son and leave. The man wasn't around, and his father refused to get him there in the first place. He used the classic "You're like my daughter" argument. I burst out. Then, I wasn't anyone's daughter, or sister, or a woman. I was an individual with integrity, I wanted my rights. I wanted to get out of this nightmare. The father, he carried a walking stick, kept on apologizing and calling me adamant and a liar. In the same breath. I noticed the double-speak but I was beyond indignation. I told him upon his insistence, that an apology would suffice. My aunt agreed. The son finally came, refused to apologize. Glared at me, and upon more emotional blackmail by his father said, "sorry, okay?"
I couldn't help but laugh. They must have thought I was mad. Maybe I was. And I was getting madder by the minute. I told the cops that I didn't want to be in that space anymore. I wanted to file an FIR. I succumbed to the process. I called my father, used the contacts. The SHO was called, the IO was instructed. I called up people at work, helpful souls (particularly Soni) immediately came forward. Influential voices were raised. In times like these, an inexperienced mind like mine might not understand the due process that is attached at the hip to our legal system. It's when you most need your people, emotionally and otherwise, no? Mind your words with the cops, the IO (a lady named Rita) was indulging in diplomatic speech. It seemed clear that nothing less than a powerful intervention would be accepted. The poor old father of the man followed us to the police station, with the egoistic son in tow. Tapping his walking stick up and down the stairs, he kept on apologizing. I was overwhelmed with emotions. My family from Jaipur kept on calling, friends' mothers were calling.
Hours later I lie in bed, drafting this. This is my space, this is my city. I've lived here for 7 years, a young girl learning my ways. The city had always left me with that tiny ray of hope, of being able to see the goodness in the corners. Never before has it exposed itself so blatantly. I've never felt more powerless as a citizen. I don't want to depend on the politics of the process. I ask, how easy is it for us to see each other as just human beings? Not men/women, or belonging to a particular caste, or a certain area. More importantly, how easy is it for us to break free from the prejudice that walks ahead of us. I do not know this man. The crowds only seemed to aggravate the matter. He was fitting into a stereotypical figure that was crafted for him, by us a society. Maybe I was too. I am trying to resolve the emotions I am feeling, trying to make sense.
All logic escapes me. at is increasingly intimidating to the single woman. Like any regular girl, I've had experiences in the past. Public masturbation, 'eve-teasing', the sudden swerve of a tinted car etc etc; most of my friends have shared similar stories of horror with me. We speak with a sense of resignation, to the affairs of the world. We've always been told; "This is how the system works", "Let it go, it's useless to fight, " "Just keep your head down", "Are you sure you didn't say anything?" There is of course the occasional burst of indignation, but nothing substantial. Yes. The public space is not mine anymore. Perhaps it never was, perhaps it was an illusion. MUST NOT RETALIATE- we've been told.
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