A Silent Change

There was once a girl. Unnamed. Some one like you or me. One with simple dreams. She had her whole life ahead of her. One who had a jump in her step and a twinkle in her eyes. One whose laughter would have brought wonderful joy into the world around her.

How do I know this? Because she was just like you or me.

And one day, just like that, she was no more. She suffered brutally. And that was not the way anyone should die. I wouldn't wish my worst enemy a torture an ounce of what she had to endure. Horrific, brutal, savage - these over-used words speak of a loss of language; none of them express how deeply we identify with her.

What was so special about her case, you may think. That thought is perfectly justified for such instances are, shamefully, a dime a dozen. You wouldn't find any single female in this whole vast nation who has one time or the other, not been victimised. Be it an unintentional display of male parts whilst walking to the market/school/college/office/just plain down the street. Or touched/squeezed/groped or have unwanted body parts shoved/pressed into any part of your body. Or raped. Be it a total stranger, or ones own father. Or by ten such monsters. Or fifty.

What made her special? She touched a chord in all of us. Irrespective of whether we are male or female. My thoughts - she was the tipping point of an over-boiled situation. That so happened at the nations capital.

I remained tight-lipped through out the whole instance. Although I identified with her on many different levels. I empathised and sympathasized with her. She brought on memories. Many that had been subdued, suppressed. Selective and intentional amnesia was my self-defence. She brought emotions I had long ignored. But amidst all this ruckus in my mind, my network, FB, flooded with invitations to march for her cause.

Judge me as you like, but this is sheer stupidity to me. What can you possibly garner by marching for her justice. Justice? Is there any such punishment that equates her torture for those monsters? Capital punishment? Castration? I mean, dude seriously? Does that even an iota near what she endured?

And so I will continue with my life. Unaffected. It will be the same for me, she is a total stranger where I am concerned. But yes, there will be a change.

My daughter. She should know who can touch her, and how. and where to draw the line. To be strong. Mentally. To survive against any atrocious odds that may, God-forbid, be thurst on her. Most importantly, she should learn self-defence and a form of attack. Know how to hurt and how to escape. Survive.

My son. He should know how to treat women. How to touch her, and how not to touch her. To empathise with her, her struggles and battles. To be strong physically and to protect. Protect any one who seeks or deserves. Respect, and protect.

Amanat. Damini. Nirbhaya. I do not know the name of the girl in the bus. She had a name, an identity of her own. She lives in every one of us now. Thank you, who ever you were, for pointing me in this direction, of self-survival for my babies.