A dark summer evening in the City of "Bhoi"... An Apology

Calcutta. September 2012. 4.15 pm.

The ride had begun easy. I had boarded the public bus from Elgin Road. I was on the way to my mom's place.The bus was full although it had very few women passengers. We had barely reached Esplanade, one of the most crowded places of Cal, that a few young men, stone drunk, got up . They stormed past a delicate and frail conductor, hurled abuses at men, plopped themselves on the empty ladies' seats and started having "fun". The women were, of course, the target.But the men too weren't spared. They cracked obscene jokes, made vulgar gestures,tried to get up to get cozy with the women, which a moving bus and an overdose of alcohol to some extent mitigated.

A lady co-passenger and I protested and demanded these men to be pushed down at the next stop. A couple of men raised their voice against the "nuisance" they created. And then the show began.

Three of these young men, drew out broken bottles from a plastic bag and rushed to the gentleman who had demanded that they better behave themselves. They were about to hit this elderly person when the conductor "pleaded" them to keep peace and not to lose their temper "over such a trifling matter."

The words of peace however, did not pacify them. Soon inspired by the Don Juan of their group, the others started yelling and using profanities. They even drew up a young kid from the seat and slapped him hard as he resisted. They also mentioned a certain political party's name and said that they would show us what it is to protest .They towered over the women's seats and continued to comment on their anatomy.

The bus could have been stopped. At a police kiosk.With the hope of the law keepers taking some measure. But somewhere we the veteran Indians knew that informing the police would cook up trouble. They perhaps would under some political influence accuse me instead of adam teasing.Or drag the the young boy to the court or slap a charge on the bus driver for breaking a traffic signal.

They got down at the NRS Medical College bus stop, gloating over their success to unleash terror.

My protest wasn't up to the mark. It was hardly a protest. Something had frozen inside me.I could "feel" terror. The woman instinct in me had recoiled in fear and had warned me against confronting these men.

60 people on the bus...6 women...54 men...6 drunkards...2+2 faint protesters...56 Spectators. Simple maths. Complicated logic.

I couldn't figure out what kept us silent that day. I guess it was the fear of being the first one to take the broken bottle thrust at her/his tummy.I guess it was the fear of getting manhandled. I guess it was the fear of getting involved in a brawl that could take us to an unsympathetic corrupted law machinery. I guess it was the cynicism that nothing would come out of this.I know we had taken the easier way out. " What cannot be cured has to be endured."

I had narrated the incident to a few friends who had expressed surprise and extreme dismay at our spinelessness. They were ashamed of us. I AM ashamed of us. And I am sorry that I failed. To stand up for myself. To stand up for Damini, To stand up for all the humiliated Adivasi women.To stand up for the elderly gentleman. And all the other men on the bus.

Calcutta. December 2012.10.47 AM

As the phantom of a September evening haunts me...I quit. I quit my peace. I quit my comfort. I quit the "culture of silence". I quit to stay quiet anymore because other women and men have already taken the first broken bottles in their tummies. I need not be scared. I apologize to myself and I tell those creatures "meet ME next time." Protests don't go in vain. Nor do Resolutions.