She reached her mum’s place late at night, carrying her
younger one in her arms and tugging her older one’s finger. Both kids fell onto
the bed in a deep sleep while she ate her dinner. “How’s the food?” her mother
asked while hovering over her, ensuring that her plate was still laden with
food, even after a second helping. She rolled her eyes,” Mum, I have grown up
eating your cooking. Why do you need to ask me this? “Mum ignored and proceeded
to update her on the gossip about the neighbors – Mrs. Taneja , Mrs. Aggrawal ,
Mrs. So and so.
“Mrs. Dhingra’s son is now in Singapore. Earning big bucks I
hear. She went to stay with him when his son was born. She came back very
happy. But now she is all alone and her knees hurt while walking. But she
doesn't want to move in with her son. Says she won’t leave India but we all
know that she doesn't want to relinquish her share in the joint ancestral
property of her in-laws.” Mum smirked at Mrs. Dhingra’s evident lies. Then she
suddenly became even more animated, “Vishal is here from U.S. along with his
wife and son. You have to see his son. He is ten years and so adorable and very
fair (degree of fairness being Mom’s benchmark for beauty and adorability), has
light brown hair and light eyes. Vishal brought him along when he came to meet
us. He speaks with such a charming accent.” Mum rambled on, not noticing that
her daughter had stopped chewing and was staring in space with a pained
expression on her face.
Vishal’s name had brought memories washing over her like a
deluge. Bile rose in her throat and she found she could not even swallow the
morsel she was chewing. The person her mother knew and she had suffered at the
hands of were like two different protagonists of a sick horror story. So;
Vishal was now happy, had a lovely son? Great, except that it felt like a
betrayal of sorts - betrayal by Fate or however the highest authority up there
was. Karma had not rewarded Vishal with anything unsavory or remotely annoying
it seemed. Settled in U.S., working in a MNC, as a senior technologist, earning
very well, he seemed to have it all.
“What happened? You are not eating? Is the daal not cooked creamy?
Is it spicy? I know you guys don’t eat spicy food. “Mum again started with her
food tirade till she stopped her. “Mum I am just very tired and not hungry
anymore. I just want to go to sleep now.” She remonstrated.
When she lay down on the bed, sleep was miles away. Memories
came back, creeping along the floor and climbing on the bed, stealthily lying
down with her. Vishal and she; a young girl of 10, he a strapping lad of 18,
playing holi together, and on the pretext of rubbing color on her face, his
hands slipping down to her pre-adolescent bosom. She remembered her naive self,
tying a rakhi on Vishal’s wrist, believing in the relationship of a brother sister
with her whole heart. Vishal coming
home; and running his hand on her legs as she slept; and then assuming
innocence when she woke up with a start. Vishal coming to her house after that
and with seeming affection, draping an arm around her shoulder, only to graze
his fingers against her small breasts.
Coming back to the present, she shifted uncomfortably,
remembering the moment of her ultimate humiliation. She would have been around
fourteen or fifteen, confused, with her own adolescence related issues taking
over her life. She had gone in for a bath, in her parents’ modest two bedroom
apartment, taking her time to wash her hair and later her undergarments.
Unknown to her Vishal had come home to meet her brother. When he had casually
enquired about her, her mother had informed him that she was in the bathroom.
While her mother went out and was occupied in buying vegetables from the vendor
and gossiping with the neighbors, Vishal had somehow pried open one of the
slats on the door to gaze at her, while she bathed.
It was only after a while that she felt uneasy and on an
intuition as she turned towards the door, she jumped out of her skin, to find
two eyes boring hungrily into her naked body. She held the towel before her and
shakily asked, “Who is it?” although she knew who the eyes belonged to. The
eyes disappeared. She dressed hurriedly and came out, her mind and emotions in
turmoil. Should she tell her mother about this? Would her mother believe her
story? What would she say? Would she condemn her as being a come-on, a slut or
would she support her?
Her mother was an educated lady, but her roots lay in the
small town of Uttar Pradesh where she belonged. She would most probably lay the
blame on her shoulders and disallow her from going out or maybe quarrel with
Vishal’s family and then the neighborhood would know of her shame. Nobody would
blame Vishal, he was male, and automatically the blame would fall off him and
onto her.
Her teen mind could not comprehend that a voyeur today could
turn into a molester tomorrow. Being brought in a patriarchal social environ
had had its toll. She did not reveal the incident to anybody, not even to her
closest friend. She started feeling insecure about her body, thinking she had
in some manner encouraged Vishal. Loose baggy clothes, tight pulled back hair and
geeky spectacles became her armor. Whenever she encountered friendly boys, she
invariably withdrew into her shell, lest they also feel provoked into touching or
looking twice at her.
Vishal, emboldened by
her silence, took to coming to her home frequently. But she excused herself all
the time and scooted away, to a friend place. Her vivacity and vibrancy dimmed
and made her into a complex person. It was only after marriage that her
inhibitions and timidity loosened and she returned to a bit of her former self.
By then, it was too late. Years had passed by. Vishal, emigrated to US, soared
to top ranks in his company, came back home and married a girl from a wealthy,
small town, chosen by his parents. Vishal’s mother had been so proud. Her NRI
son, despite having lived in a “corrupt” western country had returned to his
roots. She had mentally gagged when she heard the news.
Her daughter cried in her sleep, bringing her back to present.
Hugging her baby close, she pondered whether her silence had been her cowardice.
She tried to justify her silence to herself with all the reasons she could
think of. Now, Vishal’s prosperity seemed to bite her like a dirty vermin. Why
should he be happy and prosperous when he deserved to be castigated in public?
Was she being too cruel? Surely, there were many voyeurs in the world, more
dangerous than Vishal? Tossing and turning, she couldn't get any sleep at all.
Next morning, it was Sunday and as the kids slept in, she
decided to freshen up by going to the nearby sports complex for a swim, where
her Dad was a member. Though government owned and by no means posh, it was
clean and well maintained. The pool was relatively empty except for a few
women. No men came to the pool on lazy Sunday mornings, but the ladies, found
it a welcome reprieve from early morning school runs and breakfast cooking. While
she did her laps, she noticed Vishal walk in with his son. She ducked
underwater to swim to the far end of the pool to avoid any contact or greeting.
But she couldn’t help but notice his son. He was every bit as attractive as her
mother had described. While Vishal swam in the water at the other end, in the
company of many ladies, she slipped out after some time and headed to the
changing rooms. She saw Vishal’s son also head towards the men’s changing rooms
after talking to his father; apparently he was done too and wanted to shower
now.
She had a very quick shower and as she made her way out, she
heard strange guttural sounds coming from the men’s washroom. Vishal’s son was
having problems in opening the shower stall door, it seemed. She looked
furtively at the pool. Vishal held court at the pool’s edge, to the ladies of
the neighborhood, with his back towards her. More out of curiosity then
anything, she peeked in the men’s changing room and froze. The watchman had his
eyes peeled to a gap in the shower stall, while he pleased himself outside.
Her tongue cleaved itself to the roof of her mouth. She
couldn’t breathe let alone scream or shout for help or drive the dirty man
away. Somehow she backed away silently. The watchman had not paid attention, of
course and went ahead with his business. She ran to the pool and shook Vishal’s
shoulders violently. He jerked around, very annoyed at the action. His
expression went from recognition, to greeting, to bafflement as she gestured
towards the men’s washroom. “The watchman, the dirty watchman, go and see.” She
incoherently tried to convey her distress. The other ladies climbed out of the
pool and ran towards the washroom with Vishal.
Soon, they all came out thrashing the half-naked watchman.
Vishal clutched his son tightly, a wild look on his face. The kid was numb and
couldn’t even look up. Vishal was shouting at the top of his voice; “What kind
of sick bastard takes pleasure in watching a kid take a shower? People like you
should be flogged in public. You guys should be skinned alive. People like you
turn rapists. I’ll hand you over to the police and make sure you are jailed for
life.” His rage knew no bounds. One of the ladies had called the police and
they were on their way.
She was rooted to her spot. Her timid, cowardly self; had
come forth again. She should have barged in and saved the kid herself, but her
limbs wouldn’t have moved. She felt bonded to the kid huddled against his
father’s frame. Vishal’s words just washed over her, meaning nothing to her.
Her only concern was the child, tears streaming down at the ground. But she
could not bring herself to approach Vishal or his son. Vishal’s presence seemed
to repulse her while his son held invisible arms out to her. She looked at
Vishal, willing him to remember his own voyeurism. But this Vishal was an
outraged parent, and not the lust filled young man, whose mind was filled with
fury, leaving no space for his own guilt. Finally, she forced herself to
approach Vishal, who was still punching the watchman and holding his son close.
She tapped him on the shoulder. As he turned, his expression
changed from rage to gratitude. Before he could utter a word, she quietly said,
“Make sure you punish this bastard. But take your son to therapy when you are
back in U.S. I could survive what you did to me, but then I am girl. I am used
to much more pain than this. Your son is not so lucky.” The ladies gaped at her
and then Vishal who turned beetroot red and started muttering, finally realizing.
There was no sense of vindication or appeasement in her as she walked towards
the gate. Her steps were leaden and her heart was heavy.
