Thamarai’s story: I will fight against evil forces
Hi,I am living in Perambur,Chennai.I have already shared my story here.In this connection,i have given a written complaint to the police.The inspector came to my house and enquired.what he asked you know why you alone harassed and you are alone complaining about them.They wont do like that and they are maintaining law and order in this street.See the ladies who are running the petty shop telling they are all good guys.Next day he enquired the drivers before my husband.The drivers told we didnt even see this lady before.the inspector is telling that my father was also a driver they are insane and instructed the drivers not to go near our house even murder has happened.After some days the lawyer of those drivers approached us and they are ready to give money as compensation.we told filing FIR is the only compensation for us.During night patrol the cops are drinking liquor and playing cards with them. One cop stood before my house and telling inga irunthu pesina unakku vettukulla kathu katkuma , pattu padina ketkuma like that in tamil.in tamil there is an old saying,valiyae payirai mainthathu pole.Now i complaint and appealed to the CM cell. I got signature from five houses against them and sent that aiso. Iam 45 years old.I will fight against those evil forces and set right them.
no commentsPriya’s story: ‘All they could tell me was that I should have worn my dupatta properly’
The very first incident happened to me when I was hardly 7 years old, walking in the ever busy Ranganathan Street with my Mum and cousin. There was this young boy, probably 13-15 years old selling bangles or something and was constantly harrassing us to buy something off him. But we weren’t interested. That was the first time we were there in that street since we had just moved from Kerala to Chennai and we weren’t used to that crowd and mob. SO this boy is very determined to sell us something and mum was tired of telling him no. I felt sorry for the boy and looked at him. He also looked at me and while my mom and cousin were busy looking into a shop, the boy just came so quickly to me and groped me and kissed or rather bit my lips. I was scared, hurt and hence screamed but before that, my instincts kicked in and just made me punch him in the gut and then he just disappeared into the crowd. That left me shocked and scared for days. My mum tried attracting attention and the crowd in general were looking for that boy but to no luck he just vanished. It took me a great while to get over it and that was probably the last time I visited that street and have always been afraid of crowds since then.
Another incident happened when I was probably 12 years old and in the middle of wedding shopping with my older cousin. We were both happy and excited, me as a twelve year old would be and she as the bride to be. I have always been surrounded by family and cousins and never had I had the chance to go anywhere alone, had been brought up very protectively. Just like our previous shopping day outs, that day was busy and crowded. There was this short dark guy walking in between the pavement stalls and staring at me. It made me feel uneasy and I was very watchful for his every move. He kept going and coming back. For a few minutes there was no sign of him and I told my cousin about that guy. He smelled of sweat and drink and she asked me to be careful. My cousin was busy selecting bangles and I was looking at her as well and there he was out of the blue from beside me and groped me as much as he could manage and I was just shocked to retaliate. My cousin saw it managed to let the shop owner get a glimpse of it too and he disappeared. To my horror he came after me again and managed to grope me once more and this time I shouted my guts out and hit him and called for help. This time the public noticed it. Soon there was the traffic constable near us, asking my cousin what happened and that was the last we saw of him. That was the second place I had to sacrifice to shop, for a long long time, till I grew up and was mature enough to handle such rogues.
The harassment and nightmares continued when I had to join a coaching class in West Mambalam and had to ride alone in cylce all the way to KK Nagar west. There was this guy who always followed me and stared at me, always maintaining a distance although making it known that he was there. With the start of various serials, the entire area folks are busy drowning in their television while unknown to them lots of paedophiles lurk in the corner to prey upon children and young girls. This guy was one such guy. I might have been 16 years old but surely looked 13 or less. When I got a good look at him he seemed at least to be in his mid thirties in his men’s cycle waiting in the street corner. He saw me walk out with my cycle and ride it to the main road and soon he followed, suddenly disappearing into a side street. I always watched him my rearview mirror and was glad he vanished, hence began to slow down my pace and relax a bit. Just as I managed to do that, he came towards me and before I knew it, in a flash he groped my barely developed breasts and blew a kiss at me, muttering something that was barely audible, except for his word ‘en Mambhazam’. I lost my balance, fell on the road, was shocked and started crying in the middle of the road and few bus commuters who’d just got down spotted me and tried to help me. I told them what happened and all they could tell me was that I should have worn my dupatta properly- this came from an Iyer lady in a saree, showing most of her waist. Well, that was the first time, someone made me feel guilty and responsible for a bloody pedophiles act. After that, I couldn’t go back there, had to leave that coaching class and found one close to home.
One thing I learnt after all these years is that, clothes make no difference to the insane one who can manage to see through the different layers. He gets to see what he wants to see. Its all there in his imagination and he just wants to feel it. My friend was assaulted in college when she has to travel by train all the way from Tambaram to Kattankulattur. She always used to cover herself generously and yet some lust filled guy managed to grope her. She wasn’t like me, she punched him right in the face and nearly dropped him down from the train. He then called her ‘akka’. Is that what its all about? He gets caught and the relationship just changes?
Not all men are like that but just because of the few there are around like these dirty pigs, girls would never feel safe where they are supposed to feel at home. Things should change for the better…. Its been 5 years since I left Chennai, and I still feel nothing much has changed… T.Nagar, still gives me the heebiejibbies. It makes my skin crawl even while shopping inside Pothys or Kumaran Silks, Pondy Bazzar, GRT Thangamaligai. When its too crowded gropers get the maximum opportunity to touch/grope and go before even we realise its happened…!!! Wish we could do something about it…
Susanna’s story: To live in a city where I can walk freely
Susanna Myrtle Lazarus
I am and always have been an independent girl/woman. I have travelled alone by trains since I was in class five, and I have always vouched that they are safer than most modes of transport.
I have travelled as late as 10PM alone by suburban EMUs without incident.
Late last year, I promised my cousin that I would stay over at her place in Mudichur. I live in Purasaiwalkam. Since my parents were going as far as Nanganallur that evening, I got dropped at Palavanthangal station. The time was around 8.15PM (which I do not consider late at all).
So I buy my ticket, and settle down on one of the benches to wait for the next train to Tambaram. I was wearing jeans and a short kurta, along with a huge stole I always carry to imply KEEP AWAY.
A while later, I noticed this guy loitering around. Well dressed, well groomed. Full formal wear. And he was staring at me. In a way that made my skin crawl. Did I mention he was shorter than I am? I’m only five foot four. I had felt stares before, but this was on another level.
Anyway, I glared and turned away even though I could feel the look on me still. Thankfully, the train came within a couple of minutes, and I jumped into the ladies compartment. Listening to music and enjoying the cold November breeze on my face, I soon forgot about the guy. The train rolled into Tambaram station around 9PM, and me being a fast walker, quickly climbed the stairs and reached the pedestrian subway.
I don’t know how, but I realized that the guy was following me. And I stopped smack-bang in the middle of the crowded subway, and waited for him to pass. Yes, I read too many mystery novels.
The cheek of him – after he figured that I am waiting for him to leave, he too stops, turns and looks me full in the face. With a sneering look. Challenging me. That did it. I thought, “Screw you man.”
Rushing past him, pushing other pedestrians out of the way, I raced to the share auto stand. By the time I found one to get into, he had reached. Now I had no wish to go the last six kms of my journey with him (which also included a short walk through a dark road from the main road to my cousin’s house).
The second I saw him peering into each auto looking, something inside me snapped. I started walking around looking for the policeman who is usually posted there. I saw him, and I yelled, I pointed at the creep and generally made a lot of noise.
The guy took to his heels. The cop took a few easy strides and collared him. Dragged him to the Tambaram police station.
The next half hour was the time I have felt most empowered as a woman. Not because the police thrashed the guy in front of me. Not because he went from saying, “I never saw your face.” (I told him if he had seen only my face I would not have had a problem.) Not because he then literally begged for my forgiveness.
But because I took my safety into my own hands. I stood up for myself. I refused to be cowed down. And it felt so damn good.
It was not the first time. Granted, I had screamed holy murder when a man on the bus squeezed my breast when I was in class VIII. I loudly, and in local Tamil lingo, told off the guy who was leaning on me with a sickeningly dreamy look on his face in an empty bus when I was in college.
There have been other times I have been helpless.
Like the time I was around 10 years old and a man in a minivan put his hand up my skirt, and caressed my thigh. The thought of that feeling nauseates me to this day.
Like the day some guy flashed me in Kasturibai Nagar station. I have not travelled by MRTS since that day.
Like the day I was walking near Kathipara junction and a man on a cycle out his hand out and damn near pushed me down with the intention of groping me. I do not walk in situations where that can happen to me.
Not out of fear, mind you. I just don’t want to be in the same situations again. It irritates me, and I would rather remove myself from the source.
Going back to the smartly dressed creep. I did my own bit of drama, threatening to file an eve teasing case even though I had no intention of doing so. Flashing my press card at the cops, who were doing their whole good cop bad cop routine (it does exist!).
My dad offered to come, but I refused. My friends and family were worried and kept calling every two minutes. I did not back down. After speaking to the Inspector, I left. He promised to hold the guy back for half an hour and then let him go.
I gained some respect for the police force that day. Women, go to them if you need help. Be frank. They appreciate it, and they are helpful.
I got a share auto and while going to my destination, I called my aunt and recounted the adventure of the evening to her. And I could feel the man sitting next to me inching away from me. I literally LOL’d.
As I share this, I feel good. As I read other posts here, I wish we did not have such sad stories to share. Oh to live in a city where I could walk freely.
no commentsSnap your fear!
This week, as we observe Anti Street Sexual Harassment Week, we’re inviting you to Hollaback! in a slightly different way than you’re normally used to. Take a look, and head over to our Facebook page to post or email us on chennai@ihollaback.org
Deepi’s story: In my cocoon of dilemma
I’ve led a fairly protected existence so I cannot say I have been on the receiving end of harrassament a lot. I guess I’ve always been hiding behind this mask of intimidation. The angry stare, the head-held-high strut. But it’s all just a pretense. Deep down, I knew there was only crumbling nerves. Somehow my gaze drops down whenever I feel people staring at me hard. All I can do is cringe.
Having lived all my life in Bangalore, I can say that to an extent one can feel safe in this city. But it’s not without it’s incidents of harrassament. But the one time I really felt violated was when I was travelling by train a few months ago to Tamil Nadu.I was dressed pretty modestly as far as I know. (Oh jeans with a loose top and a sweater over it for God’s sake!)
But they wouldn’t stop staring. If you read most of the posts on this blog, you might think staring is not so big a deal.But it is. It’s this lecherous, lust filled gaze. It just makes you want to feel like you should be buried 30 feet below the earth. Oh, and my mom was sitting right next to me. It was a 6 hour painful journey that left me nerve wrecked.
Catcalls, jeers, whistling. Something everyone is familiar with. Why must we put up with all of this? But I fear the consequences of rebelling. To this day, I cannot walk home alone in broad daylight without entertaining alarming thoughts such as being assaulted. Yes, maybe it will be easy to shout, chase after the offenders. But what if they come back the next day with more goons to support them? It is this constant feeling of fear whch has been ingrained in my mind that prevents me from being more bolder. Hence, I am forced to hide in my cocoon of dilemma.
Dennis’ story: Ugly faces of violation
Dennis S Jesudasan
So, yeah. It happened when I was a Class 3 or 4 student in a prominent school in my native Cuddalore in northern Tamil Nadu. It was one of those school functions that would extend the day up to 8 or 9 pm in the night. Most of these functions be it annual day, sports day or any other would be organised essentially on a Saturday so that the extending function does not affect a following working day.
On this day, I was not taking my cycle to school for whatever reasons. The function got over and it was well past 8 in the night. Mindful of getting late especially without my cycle, I was walking my way back from school.
When I was walking along a long, dark and secluded road called Judge Bungalow Road, a man who looked like in his late 20s offered me a lift in his cycle. But, when I tried to sit on the steel carrier behind him, he asked me to sit in the bar (the one seen in what they call gents cycle). I could not refuse since he was the one offering me a lift.
Few minutes into our ride, he asked me about my name, class and parents. While I was answering him, suddenly I realised he was caressing my thighs a bit under my half pants. I did not mind as it felt normal yet strange. Nor was I told about sex and related abuse by my typical conservative middle-class family.
By the time we crossed half that poorly-lit road, the animal in the man pushed his left hand into my trousers and held my private parts. As this was something I have never experienced in my life, I was perplexed. My repeated whining and forceful removal of his hand from my crotch under my half pants failed and proved feeble against his aggressive desire.
Now, I jumped off the bar from the cycle. He stopped and said he will tell my parents that I was disobedient. (Now I laugh at myself for that). After promising me to take me home fast, he lifted me and made me sit on the bar again.
But this time, he did not do anything since we had passed that road and entered Beach Road with bright street lights and bikes passing by quite often.
In a junction, he dropped me. I thought that was the last I saw of him. But, I spotted him again in my school another day. “Ah, he is that one,” my conscience told me. He must have a son or a nephew who he was dropping at school everyday. He did not recognise me or pretended to not know me. Though I felt violated, the experience slipped my mind since I did not see him thereafter.
Not until I was educated about child sexual abuse through posters during my college days, I realised I was a victim too.
I am 26 now and it was long back, yet I remember his face very well. Dark, tall, thin with a furtive face. To me, that was the first face of sexual abuse.
It was unacceptable – not for being a victim on an unexpected night, but to have remained silent when I spotted him the second time in broad daylight in the midst of students and parents.
Few years later I found myself in an incident helping a woman to catch hold of a molestor. And this, helped me forgive myself. I did not remain silent this time, even if I wasn’t the victim.
I was about to board a Cuddalore-bound bus from Puducherry during my college days, when a loafer who had groped a woman’s bosom was trying to get out of the bus. I held him in the entrance while the frail ashamed woman was crying in her feeble voice. Soon as I held him near the entry gate, people gathered and took him to her feet.
His face was ugly not because it was unclean and unshaven but because it was nervous, shaking, looking down and not brave enough to face the crowd for his act. That was another face of sexual abuse.
So, the next time you come across an offender, catch hold of the violator, gift a couple of tight slaps if proven guilty and chant in chaste Chennai slang – ‘Aiya, moojiya paaru!’ (Ah, look at your pathetic face)
Sowmya’s story: I put myself as the person in command
Sowmya Rajendran
I don’t remember the first time I was groped but then, you don’t remember the first time you ate breakfast either. Being given the once-over and getting groped are pretty routine if you happen to live in a country where people believe dupattas can prevent rape. But I do remember this one incident because that was the day I stopped feeling afraid.
I was in middle school back then, around eleven years old. One day, after school, I went to the Connemara library to get some books. I was in my school uniform and barely five feet tall. The library was near empty. I was enjoying the quiet and browsing through books when I suddenly saw a man behind a shelf watching me. I moved away, hoping that he would stop staring. But to my uneasiness, he began following me around. There was something strange about him; he wasn’t like the usual guys who ogled or even groped. The furtive expression on his face sent alarm bells ringing in my head and I felt panicked. But before I could make up mind on what to do, the man unzipped his pants and held out his erect penis.
I was horrified to say the least. My legs told me to run and not be a fool. I could feel my face going hot and a scream forming in my throat. I glanced at his face and I saw an expression of eagerness light up his leering eyes.
That’s exactly what he wanted.
Something went off in my eleven-year-old head. Rage. I decided that I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of making me feel shamed. I would feel no guilt. I would not be afraid. I looked at him in the eye and said, ‘Zippa podu’ [Zip up, in Tamil] and then, I proceeded to stare at him coolly. Suddenly, the man was confused. Suddenly, from being a powerful harasser, he’d turned into a comic character who was caught with his pants down. He didn’t know what to do and I stared him down till he zipped himself up and walked away. Double-quick.
I did not complain to the librarian or even tell anybody about this incident. But that wasn’t because I was afraid. It was because I wasn’t afraid any more. It was because I finally felt like I could protect myself, depend on myself, and handle any situation when required. Instead of answering endless questions on the position of my dupatta and feeling like a victim, all I had to do was make a switch. Put myself as the person in command. It worked then and it has worked ever since.
I stopped visiting Connemara library soon after. But that was only because they had a terrible children’s books section.
2 commentsAkshay’s story: ‘Voice of the criminal’
Akshay Keshavan
A Dark Episode: Voice of the criminal
How does it feel to hear the criminal proudly present his experiences?
***
I was young; I have frequently used the public transport to commute to my school. There have been times when the buses were very crowded, while at times you get to sleep flat on the seats. That was all the memory I had of MTC buses, until I camped with the criminals. As a part of the Cadet’s organisation, I was one of the few nominated by the state to attend a camp in Sikkim. The camp’s objective was to create an opportunity to exchange ideas and hence drew representation from all types of colleges; the students’ pool consisted of the various socio-economic classes in the state. A casual post-dinner discussion got all too revealing.
There was a name to it – they called it “Ollappu” in Tamil (if I am spelling it right). First the girl in the bus is identified. The identification has a process to it. (Some guys were supposedly good at identifying and were sharing their expertise). Post identification, the guy’s group ensures the guy is positioned right behind the girl. The guy, usually being taller and wider has enough body area to cover the entire back of the girl. And invariably, this is planned during the peak hours, which ensures there is enough pressure in the surroundings for a ‘natural’ touch – or otherwise on signal, the group ensures a ‘natural’ touch. They said if they were lucky, they would also get to put their hand in front and still get away with it blaming it on the crowd, the sudden braking etc. Often inter-college fights happen because Guy A wants to ‘Ollappu’ a girl in the bus, while Guy B is already doing it and claims she is his girlfriend.
A simple question – ‘aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’ made me the outlaw, for talking too much, that the rest of my team set out a plan to beat me up or mug me on our way back (I was the only fresher, while they were all college seniors). To me, it really didn’t matter what they were going to do – I had already lost my life in shame, in embarrassment. How does it feel to hear the criminal proudly present his experiences?
What are we even talking about when there is an incorrigible section in the society which seems to be thoroughly amused by such deeds and has gone to the extent of sharing their ‘fun’ experiences even with strangers.
