Same story, different place

We have all read the news today, and are all experiencing the same feelings yet again: shock, revulsion, fury and déjà vu. A 23-year-old woman was raped at Shakti Mills compound in Mumbai. No, she was not wearing a short dress. It was not late at night. She was not alone. She was an intern working for a lifestyle magazine and was out doing an assignment with a male companion. And every girl is asking the same tiring, grueling, exasperated question: what does a woman have to do to feel secure in this country?

As an aspiring journalist, I am exhausted of feeling that it could have been me. It could have been any of us. The incident has dashed all the supposed notions of Mumbai being a safe city to the ground. Every woman working in the capital feels scared today. Going out, no matter what time of the day is an extremely strenuous task because we always have to look back over our shoulders. We have to carry pepper sprays, or learn self-defence or always be body-guarded by male companions, and yet we can never feel fully safe.

In a recent CNN report RoseChasm, a student who shared her experience of studying in India, talks about how dangerous a place India is for women.  “There was no way to prepare for the eyes, the eyes that every day stared with such entitlement at my body, with no change of expression whether I met their gaze or not,” she writes. Women every day are letched at, groped, molested, masturbated at and raped. But probably the biggest problem is our own apathy.

Yes, we follow the drill. We read articles, we share them over Facebook, we express our disgust over Twitter, we even take part in protest marches. We shudder for our own safety, and at the most we write about it. Can we do anything more to bring about an actual change? And worse, will our collective efforts bring about a change at all? The answer is most likely a no, because even after rallies and protests and brutal acts of shame that recently took place in our country, yet another girl was raped in one of our purportedly safer cities.

Why can’t our leaders, our policemen, our thinkers, our decision makers take steps to curb this monster that is gnawing at our lives every day? Why can’t there be more police security on the roads instead of shadowing politicians? The most immediate action is laws so harsh that men dare not even stare at another girl on the streets again. It is sad that it takes inhuman incidents such as this one to shake us out of our reveries and make us think. And while all this is happening, people seem to be more concerned about the fact that Ben Affleck will play Batman in the next Man of Steel. Apathy one, humanity zero.

Our country has failed us yet again. Our men have failed us yet again. And while we hang our heads in shame, somewhere another gangrape is waiting to happen.

Possum :3

It is a typical rainy night in Lavale. The kind which depresses you, fuels your poetic side, or simply makes you want to curl up in bed with a book. But mostly it just makes you want to sleep. A lot. I have been listening to Amit Trivedi’s music, and it has a balming, dreamy effect which goes along perfectly with this weather. Sometimes I go to the city just because I get excited I will get to hear my music on the bus, and view the green hills and feel the wind and ponder about life.

I am writing after ages. It feels weird, now that so much time has passed, and so much has happened. My roommate, Possum, (as I would refer to her. Other names include: Thumbelina and Oompa Loompa) has gone to Mangalore to meet her grand mom and cousins. Not surprisingly, I am missing the small bump that her tiny body makes under her blanket, and the way her legs take up only half the bed. Shifting in with her is one of the best decisions I’ve made in this college so far. I thought I wanted someone sincere as a roommate so that I would be motivated to be like her. Or maybe someone serious and nerdy so that her ‘qualities’ would rub off on me. I was wrong. By the end of the second semester, I was ready to settle with absolutely anyone who would be willing to adjust to my random outbursts and idiosyncrasies, and that too I would have kept to a minimum. But I ended up living with someone just like me. Well, almost like me.

It’s awesome. Not only does she complement my insanity, she supplements it. When I make noises, she makes louder noises. When I make faces, she copies me with gusto. When I laugh at something, she laughs harder. She floods my Facebook wall with the silliest of posts. She has cookies running through her blood stream, and each time she opens an Oreo packet, she squeaks a loud and clear “Cookie?!” and when I say no, she looks at me incredulously as if she cannot believe a person can ever turn down a thing so divine. She’s not exactly the “Oh-share-your-woes-with-me-I’m-here-for-you” type, but she cares, in her own little retarded ways.

She gives me the most awkward pelvic hugs when I surprise her with a chicken shwarma roll from Casa Lolo. She starts jumping up and down like a mad woman when I play N Sync or Avril. She loves my South Indian version of “Baby Got back”. Our rendition of “Su kar mere mann ko” gets crazier and louder with each passing day. We laugh at each other and with each other every night, the reasons are not important (and should better remain untold). She cackles so loudly that she invites neighbours to knock on our doors asking what happened with genuine concern. Now they are quite used to it. She gives me death threats when I do something she hates, (God save you if she’s irritated) but then assaults me physically and later explains it was supposed to be a hug. She lets me put my earrings on her earring stand and lets me wear her tomatoes, while she wears my flowers. She gives me those asinine Cookie monster smiles when I offer to do something for her. 

She reads random quotes and jokes out to me and then says “duuuude”. The variation in the tone of our 'dude' is enough to understand the exact emotion. She never believes me when I tell her she’s smart, or pretty, which she is, and tells me that I fish for compliments. We finish each other’s sentences, and sometimes we read each other’s minds. I've hated her, and I've loved her. Considering everything I had gone through last year, she is the best roommate I could have ever hoped to have. Cheers to the Owl night longs possum :3