I logged in for my session yesterday with a client and she looked forlorn, not her usual chirpy self. She had overcome her severe anxiety in many ways and was doing so much better. I wondered what could have led to her looking so glum.
“I just finished catching up on the news about the Kolkata doctor who was raped and murdered.” She said. I found my answer.
We spoke about it for a bit…how unsafe us women feel in being alone on the streets, or even taking public transport late in the evening. How we have to think about what we need to wear, how we need to behave in public lest we bring on some “unwanted attention.” It’s sad how it’s become second nature, because just that day as I was getting ready for work, I thought, “Should I wear this saree, but wait, it has a sleeveless blouse and I know I will be returning late on the metro, after an official event, which means a 10 minute walk from the metro station to home…Hmm, let’s wear something else that basically covers me from head to toe.”
People wonder why I drive 30 minutes to Delhi at 4:30 AM on Sundays for my long runs. Because running in Noida is met with stares and hooting and whistles makes me feel very jittery and “dirty.” How we have to live in fear and apprehension, not because we have been conditioned to it, but because a Nirbhaya case happens, and then the one in Kolkata, and countless others that go undocumented, unreported, undiscovered. Lives lost to brutality, to inhumanity, to violence of minds, bodies, and spirits, and we fear it could be us next, or someone we love. But I’ve digressed, because yes, my mind is all over the place today, trying to make sense of this world we live in...
Back to my 26-year-old client, who looked at me wistfully through the screen. “How can I bring a child into this world when it feels so inhospitable?” We collectively grieved yesterday, silently, with so many others out there, thronging the streets, seeking justice for the Kolkata doctor, and seeking liberation from such atrocities on India’s 78th Independence day.
Someone I know was subjected to sexual abuse 28 years ago, and when she described it to me, I could feel my blood boil. My heart ached for her, as I saw the panic and fear in her eyes which were pleading for feelings of security and safety in a world that she has only known as threatening, violating, intrusive, having stripped her literally of all dignity and respect years ago. The trauma seeps through every cell of the body, the brain is on constant high alert, scanning for what else could come and shatter her world, a world where now she has two teenage daughters who are just about learning to be independent. The trauma crosses over to the next generations; where nannies and guards are constant companions, while going to school, on play dates, and at home, while constantly hearing “please don’t close your door and sleep because I won’t be able to hear if anything goes wrong.” Their lives are shaped such, where fear dictates every decision, and they lose opportunities where they could have thrived, and they have ended up losing a significant part of their childhood.
Having worked with survivors of sexual abuse, who continue to live in the shadows of their trauma, I know what a lifelong impact it has on some of them who have suffered the most heinous crimes. It starts off with their claims of abuse not being believed, let alone validated. Protecting the family’s reputation takes priority, and not believing that the person could have done such an act. That’s the first instance the child feels that they are not significant, are not important enough, and the marginalization begins there. But only they know, the pain and anguish they feel every waking day of that abuse. It’s a thing of the past, but its shackles bind the person years later.
“I can’t trust a man/woman again.”
“I have trouble being emotionally and physically intimate with my partner and they just don’t seem to understand. And even I don’t know why this happens.”
“Why I am constantly anxious and fearful?” And so on…
The onus has been on the woman. Don’t wear skimpy clothes, don’t drink alcohol, don’t look like you’re too progressive, don’t go out late in the nights, don’t go to clubs…because well, that is an “invitation” for men to misbehave with them. Basically, just give up dreaming of a life that you deserve, of respect, care, and independence.
The Kolkata doctor went to rest for the night at 2 AM. She is training to work in a profession where she is providing care to scores of people selflessly. What was the reason that such monstrosity was unleashed on her? She had not put herself in a “vulnerable” situation deliberately. This was most likely her daily routine as part of her training. But yet, why her? Did she “bring” this on herself? And we clearly know the answer.
It has NOTHING to do with her but everything to do with the man or gang of men who raped and murdered her. And it just doesn’t stop.
Sexual abuse survivors live with the trauma for years. I can’t imagine the grief the loved ones are left with when a rape victim is mercilessly raped and murdered.
“Beti bachao, beti padhao.” We see this message splashed all over across campaigns, public transport and billboards. Female infanticide may be on the decline but there needs to be a shift now and educate people on how to raise men who treat women with kindness, sensitivity, respect, and honor. We need to do away with cliches such as “men will be men” which are often used to dismiss or excuse certain behaviors or attitudes typically associated with men such as aggression, promiscuity, or a lack of emotional sensitivity. This phrase does nothing but perpetuate harmful stereotypes and to justify inappropriate or even harmful actions such as sexism, harassment, or other forms of misconduct. It does nothing but reinforce the idea that men are incapable of change or responsible behavior, which does nothing but causes an erosion of the basic fabric of society. That of collective support, of a symbiotic, thriving relationship with each other, of growing together and being pillars of strength and support.
I am so grateful to be at the receiving end of the love and respect from the men in my family, my network of friends and colleagues who have supported me, and have made me feel safe. I wish everyone had the good fortune to be surrounded by individuals like these…Those who are known to us, and those who are strangers as well, who look to us with compassion, kindness, respect, and with whom we don’t have to look over our shoulder to see if we would be anything but secure.
We need respect and humanity for all, where together we create a safe world. Where this becomes a life skill, a lesson in every home, in every school from the formative years, in workplaces, and in every corner of our existence, for men and women alike.
We need people who witness any offensive behavior to speak up and fight and save and protect, rather than be mute spectators or worse yet, catch it on camera to share it on social media. That is not enough.
We need kindness as true strength rather than brazen masculinity and aggression as a badge that is flaunted and normalized. We need to teach our kids beyond just recognizing “good touch/bad touch” but how to treat each other with compassion and reverence, irrespective of what we look like, what we wear, where we are, at whatever time of the day.
If we can’t assure every citizen this basic right then we truly need to question our very basic existence and purpose.
Shattered Lives: The Horrors of Abuse, Rape, and Murder in the Wake of India's 78th Independence