At my ancestral home in Kolkata, at a party on 31 December last week, a friend who is single, divorced and like a surrogate mother. He joked about his 11-year-old nephew. He was critical of her off-shoulder dress, which she wore. When we insisted that he remove the Bolero jacket, he told how the boy criticized that this dress is very 'revealing', something that is naturally making him very much confused. This was the opinion of a boy who was like his son.
Offensive
Too much body is visible ”She was repeating her sharp comments word-for-word. Recently a reader of mine wrote to me about his son, 14 year old teenager with a face full of pimple, always telling his mother "I will tell Papa what you do behind his back". Keeps threatening. This happens every time when she expresses her desire to meet with her female or male friends.Her words were abusive and painful, especially when she left her successful career to become the boy's mother. Most of the time, her husband was out of the house in connection with corporate meeting or work and she continues to serve her mother-in-law in bed.
"Do I have to pay this price?
My son, who I gave birth to, treats me like servants - even he checks my phone and hates me whenever I wear western clothes. Seeing my stomach laughs at me and taunts me like a husband. Anything I do 24 hours, I have to give it a clean - where do I want to go? Who will be at home with me? Every time I wear a backless blouse and short skirt I feel like a slut. "
I recently read about the reactions that came after the social media Bengaluru Mass Molestation. Among them were angry and befitting replies against Samajwadi Party leader Abu Azami who commented that girls who roam the street at midnight wearing skirts deserve rape. Truly speaking, there is no difference between Nirbhaya's rapists and those who made an anti-women statement in a BBC documentary sitting in jail.
And how in August 2016, the tourism minister said that taking care of their safety, foreign women should not wear short skirts and roam alone in small towns at night.
Talking to the media on the safety of foreign tourists, Mr. Sharma said that any foreign tourist who comes to India is given a welcome kit for the safety of women. "It includes very small things as to what they have to do and what not to do, such as not wearing skirts in small places and not having the courage to roam alone at night, whenever they travel, they are photographed by the number plate of the car. Should be sent to Foreign women should not wear short dresses and skirts for their safety. India's culture is very different from Western culture. "
Hate myself
I wonder how many years ago when I lived in Bangalore, on Brigade Road, party-like boys used to press their private parts behind me in a crowded place, while we stood waiting for an autorickshaw. How I used to freeze right there.
It reminds me of the day when I was about ten years old. A brown-eyed man near the bathroom of the train squeezed my breast hard. How I could neither scream nor tell mother that day. Later, due to hatred and fear of herself, she started getting worried about going on the train. I was fat and had my period at the age of 10, much before the rest of the girls. The boys around my house used to wait for me and deliberately push me.
like
For the first time we were alone in a hotel room. At that time, my lover was trying to forcefully come over me. I was 24 years old. I had a lot of cough. I tried to redeem myself. I got stuck between my own will and love of a man who was still in log distance relationship. In this way no one wanted to touch or touch me. The way love wanted was not lust.
I am thinking about the commercial sex worker whom I interviewed once. At the end of our conversation, he said while touching his breast, "All men want the same thing." What you cannot give them, they take away from us, because they have paid for it. A woman's voice is never heard. Our… yours… After all, we are all the same - vagina, breast, hip, flesh, hair. Who gives fun, does not expect anything… Never lets go in the first place.
I am thinking about the little boy who is playing in my house or the elder son of my reader and I am asking myself, when did they start judging us? Our body? our clothes? To our liking? Are we raising a boy who will rape us later? On a crowded highway or a deserted highway? Or in the pub? Or in the darkness of the bedroom? Day by day, every day…
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Is our freedom nothing but a compromise? Minor transaction? Is this the answer to male power? Will we be afraid to reveal our real personality?
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