undying wounds

It was a rainy Sunday evening. My friend and I were seated on our balcony enjoying the wet smell of the mud. As usual we were chatting over coffee watching the rain drip from the rusty iron bars. Birds chirped and the dusk was setting an appearance. There was a certain sense of sadness that was forming an icing to an otherwise picturesque. Minutes passed by and the two of us became conscious of the silence that was layering the celebrated, yet still life.

Before I knew, my friend sitting opposite me burst into tears. As she started narrating her story, I sat there wondering what I could possibly have done for her as a listener, especially as a woman. I had never seen her break down before then! To me, she was the epitome of strength and courage.

Then she started telling me how when she was traveling on a bus one afternoon, a young chap (possibly in his twenties) walked up behind her, caught hold of her kurta and tore it open. The boy went and parked himself on the seat while this girl gathered her shawl to hide the disgrace. It took a while for the humiliation to sink in. No one on earth would ever be able to explain in words the feeling that the move left in her.

She walked up to the conductor with teary eyes and complained to him hoping he would at least take action against who had become to her, the most detestable creatures in the world. Maybe throw him out of the bus?

Shameless is an under statement. The conductor replied to her that he couldn’t do much as the boy had a ticket.

Hearing her experience left me at a loss of words to see how sickening humans had become. The bus was full. There were people who swarming inside it- men and women- passive spectators of what they thought was a drama, perhaps a scene to take pleasure out of. The so called human beings just sat, not wanting to engage themselves in speaking out against what every individual should know was unjust and unforgivable!

All my friend could do was jump out of the moving bus, not bothering whether or not she would get run over by another vehicle that passed by. She ran! She ran like never before and she could not stop. Her mouth grew drier, her eyes became more moist every second and her clothes were drenched in sweat. Before she even knew, she was pacing bare foot. She did not ever want to halt, not even an instant, not ever.

She was sick for almost a month after the heart breaking incident. She still has not recovered. Her wound she says will never heal. It has left a scar, a deep impression that is hard to be shaken or wiped out. Every thought of that ride on the bus kills her soul, kills her being. And to think how little a man thinks about when he taunts, fondles or brushes past a woman, taking advantage of crowded situations.