CSA Survivor Story – 10.
The Trauma of Molestation.
Lately, I have been thinking of this issue a lot more than earlier. Not that I have had a fresh experience to trigger the thought process. Thankfully, no. But I have had my share in installments of various sizes all through the twenty-three years of my life as a girl; an object of fantasy to the perverts. I am writing in today of matters extremely personal because a) I am not the one supposed to be ashamed of it. b) You need to be aware of the what goes on around you.
As I write this, memories of those incidents flash across my eyes like it all happened just a while ago. And I find it tough to pin-point my first encounter with this face of reality. Oh yes, that does mean I have had many. The men included strangers, old men and a relative. As surprising or disgusting you may find this, I know most girls will relate to me. Sadly, yes.
I was telling Hero last night that its so bad that molestation is so common and it spares no girl. I said something like bringing up a girl child is more difficult because you can never always protect them from such stuff. You can educate her, ask her to be alert but it doesn’t entirely help. I was immediately forced to think that someday my daughter too will have a story to tell. And the mere thought of it made me feel utterly helpless. Hero said “Its a part of growing up for every girl” to which I fumed. I yelled back at him for having accepted it so easily. This is not what growing up means, does it? This is something that we all need to tackle with awareness and courage. I said that every pervert needs to be nailed. there and there. And since I would not fight back when younger, not because I wasn’t courageous enough but because I was unaware of what really was happening, I am all ready now.
The first incident goes back to my primary grade days when I was using public means of transport. A sixty-plus oldie offered me a seat on his lap in the awfully crowded bus. I readily accepted his offer as would any other kid. His hands slowly began to reach the wrong place and he began to fiddle me. Oblivious to the world of sex and perversion, I thought no good or bad of what he was doing. However, I tried to free myself of his clutches when he pained me. He immediately grabbed my stomach and made me unmovable. I wonder, if the people around were blind. With one hand across my waist like a protective grandfather and the other under my uniform skirt, I was toyed with for the entire journey. Not surprising that I did not utter this to anybody, not even my mother. I was probably more ashamed than afraid. Years later, I mentioned it to my sister and a cousin. Neither were really shocked. Last night, the old chap was so heavily cursed that I am sure if he isn’t already dead, he is sure to kick off today. Right now in fact.
Hero debated with me about being hypocritical of sorts. He gave me the ‘practice what you preach’ gyan. I was reminded that a part of me too has accepted molestation as a part of life lying down. else, why would I still be talking with that bloody relative like nothing ever happened? Why would I act like I have forgotten or forgiven that jerk teasing my young body in the most disgusting way? Why else would I still call him by his stupid family nickname and laugh at his jokes? I was convinced by what Hero had to say. The shit that man is, he doesn’t deserve to be as free. I know of similar things that he did to my cousin and something equally awful attempted with a then newly wed aunt. I know more than I need to, to strip him off in public. Just then the thoughts of my parents, his parents, his darling wife and his innocent son come to me. I am glad he doesn’t have a daughter. When I so strongly fight men on the streets, why am I so silent about a criminal in the family. Now, I am old enough to know what ideally should be done. and I won’t be at peace till the fellow is nailed. I feel sorry for his wife, she so didn’t deserve a man like him. I wont get jumpy and blurt it all out to my family, but I promise, someday I’ll get even. There, another promise to myself, I really hope I keep.
The trauma doesn’t end there. And though I don’t fancy long posts, I always say- reality is not entertaining. When you know its true, nothing else matters. Innumerable incidents of rubbing, grabbing, pinching, smacking in the buses, on the streets. The list is dreadfully endless. Its shameful when guys around turn a blind eye to such matters and even more shameful when a grown up woman doesn’t fight back for herself. I see them requesting the man to ‘please stand properly’ and I already know she is a loser. Teenagers are often a soft target, because the poor souls are so awkward about themselves and their bodies at that age, that they will rarely talk back. I say so , because I never did. But now, I know. Kicking a pervert in his balls is my dream in a way. And sadly, I know I’ll have enough opportunities to fulfill it.
Be alert. Be safe.