Learning to be a Woman Incidents 2- #metoo

 

 For a thirteen year old, I was a big girl. Anyone on the street could think I was a young adult, only realizing that I was a kid if they stared at my child-like face. Growing up with my much older siblings had given me a certain maturity that got accentuated with my woman’s body. I started to experience funny mix ups, where people looked at me and thought I was the elder daughter of the family. Of course, this didn’t make me happy, but, that was how things rolled when one was my size as a teenager. On the other hand, it was great to be the tallest in the class. It was fun to catch up quickly with the older children around.

During those teenage  years of mine, my sister ran a business in data collection. She used to assign small tasks to me so that I could make some pocket money. It was great to be able to afford some small things and save up for some treats. One of those times, my sister asked me to run a small errand for her. Normally, going and picking up something from an office didn’t intimidate me, but this time she wanted me to travel outside my area to do so. She really didn’t have any other solution. 

Doing her errand meant that I would need to travel by bus to the station, catch a train to the suburb five stations away, then take another bus, visit the office, do my work and make my way back. She convinced me that she thought it would be a good learning experience for me. All I needed to do was to be careful to enter the ladies compartment of the train and then get off at the right station. I knew our train station well enough and knew where to go to buy my return ticket. 

The difficulty of travelling in Mumbai is that the buses are always packed. The train stations and roads around them are mostly bustling with vendors moving around with their wares, people waking in all directions and traffic engorging the streets. So navigating all these obstacles was my first mission. When I finally reached the railway station, I somehow managed to get my ticket, ask where the train going to Andheri was expected to arrive and make it to the railway platform. 

Luckily, the train was quite empty and I reached Andheri without any difficulty. I had to now figure out where the bus stop was situated to my destination address. Once I had that information, I found myself on the bus seated near a window. In a few minutes, I had someone sit next to me. I was busy looking outside the window, so proud of myself that I was just busy reveling in that. Needless to say that the arm moving and trying to touch my breast was quite a startle. I was trying to figure out what was happening, why this man who was wearing such a nice shirt and tie was touching me. First, I tried to move even further near the window. But I realized that this was not going to change anything because he moved in closer to me. 

I was hit with a truckload of  feelings of anger, shame, helplessness and incomprehension. I didn’t know what would happen if I said anything or if I screamed. I had grown up with two elder brothers and an elder sister. My mother was a very strong willed woman too. I knew that they would be upset if I didn’t speak up. All the same, I tried to project if the situation would get out of hand and if I would have to physically hit this person. I just felt the bile rise in my throat more and more. This man couldn’t do this to me. I would feel horrible if I went home feeling violated and having not done anything to stop it. I remembered an incident where my sister had been groped on the street in front of me and she ran after the man screaming and hitting. She had done that to give me strength for right now. 

I still don’t know where the voice of this mature woman came out from me and I said, “Move your arm!” loudly. There was a sudden shock in the energy I felt just before and the man seemed to take away his arm and still stare ahead. This time around, I turned my face towards him, forcing him to look at me. I stared him in the eyes and said with a  very angry and severe tone, “Keep your hands away from me”. I said it again in Hindi and made sure to get an eye contact from anyone in the bus who was looking forwards me. The man’s demeanor changed completely and he slid to the outer corner of the seat. He stayed there till I had to get off the bus. Ferociously on the outside and weak and trembling in the inside, I ordered him to move out of my way so that I could get to the passage way. I kept looking at him with disgust till I got off the bus. He didn’t look up at all. 

I got off the bus, a changed human being. I was now learning that this would also be something I had to learn to deal with. I was growing up fast.#metoo

This is an empowering #metoo story of survival and strength 

Learning to be a Woman - Incidents 1

Black kite, soaring high 

Growing up, I went to a convent school. One of the most prestigious girl’s schools in our area or even our city. I had been lucky to get a slot in this school. In India, in the seventies, the government allowed lower school fees for families who had only two children. If the child was a girl, there were schemes for free or heavily subsidized education. However,  as a fourth child of the family, my father had to pay full fees for me.

Another part of growing up in India, means that any child going to school wears a uniform. This has a socio-economic and anti-elitist benefit as many children who are poor would stand out amongst the rich or the middle-class students like a sore thumb. It promotes equal opportunities for children amongst all strata in our society.

Now, in our school, we had two types of uniforms, one which was a regular school day uniform, a blue pinafore or a blouse and skirt. The other uniform was a white outfit with a blouse and knee-length wide-leg pants or something which looked like a skirt from far. We were to wear the white outfits on days when we had sports classes. So, that was a couple of times a week. 

On one such sports day, a twelve-year old me had reached school quite nervous. I had just started menstruating the week before.  It was difficult learning to wear the sanitary pad and hard  work trying to know what my body cycles were like. How much time was I to wear one pad  before it got full and needed to be changed, when did I need to go check if it needed changing or how to move and walk optimally in order to avoid any accidents were several questions on my mind from the moment I got my periods.

Unfortunately, what happened next in a crowded class of around sixty-five girls was not a memory easy to efface from my mind. I was sitting right in the middle of the class in that white uniform when the teacher asked a question. I lifted my hand to answer and as I stood up, I heard a collective mix of ‘ohs’ and ‘eehs’ and ‘Gods’. I realized with unease, immediately, that my skirt was soiled. One of my classmates looked at me and as it was the end of that period, she went up to the teacher and whispered something to her. I was beckoned to the front and felt all eyes on me and on the back of my body. I knew then that it was not just a small stain. I remember thinking even in that panic mode, how ironic and stupid it was to have a white uniform for sports in a school full of girls. Girls who like me would be squirming, if, they did manage to stain their clothes with  blood. 

I remember walking through all the corridors and all the by lanes in our big school to reach the Principal’s office. I was treated kindly there. I was asked to follow a nun who handed me a spare pair of the white pants and a plastic bag to take my soiled pair home. I remember feeling afraid, embarrassed and not sure how to pass the rest of my day.

Luckily, all was forgotten by the time I returned to the class. I got back to my good friends, and simply got down to  planning how to finish our homework in time after school to be able to play together around our homes. No one seemed really bothered to look, point, stare or comment on what had just happened. They seemed to have forgotten the incident completely.

The embarrassment stayed for longer with me though.  I went home and told my family the story of what had happened that day. I insisted that my parents buy me the best sanitary pads available in the shops to avoid having to endure something like that at school again. 

It was one of the first times of millions when I realized being a woman was not child’s play.

Women's day - we repeat the dream each year

Cheers to Life,
That has given me so much
I don't need a day to
celebrate as such

Cheers to opportunities
that keep coming my way
It doesn't matter
which minute, which hour, which day

Cheers to the stars Under
which I was born,
No need to fight
and try to win any crown

Cheers to the men
who are in my life
My Father, my brothers, my boss, my love
I'm treated well by all,
No need for strife

Cheers to the world
that rises through my eyes
The sun is Glorious
the stars bring respite

Cheers to the day
That will cease in existence,
When all women of the world
Will stop having to live their lives
in resistance