Rape is violation of my bodily boundary which patriarchy
forces me to set. Rape is forcing me to set a “boundary”. I cordon myself off.
I hide myself in loose ill fitting outfit to fit in this society, never rise my
eyes at those who look at me without a blink, unclothing me layer by layer till
I am all naked and trying a failed attempt to cover myself with my own bare
skin. They list out so many reasons to rape me that I sometimes think myself
justifiably “rapable”. I am violated when I want to claim my own space, when I
want to break free of barriers, when I want to live a norms-free life or rather
want to live a life and I am raped even in retaliation for perceived fault of
my family or village or caste or religion or race! They need not claim victory
by winning a war, but just rape me and declare themselves triumphant! After all
I am “izzat”of my family!
I am ageless. They rape me even if I am 2 years old; they do
so even if I am their grandmother’s age. Perhaps they rape me because now those
toddlers don’t smile back at them out of fear and grandmothers do not tell stories
now a day!
By the way, I am also gender-less! Recall incidents of
assaults on young male children by their own close relatives. (Recently, a well
known politician created sensation when he narrated harrowed childhood experience
of his own abuse in a crowded bus)
They say it’s me who invite rape and it’s me who enjoys and it’s
me who cries foul to get compensation!
It is not always so perhaps. It is me who was depicted in
bare breasts and derrière all over Ajanta and Elora .It was me who used to
have five husbands. It was me only who went to fight with my husband in the
battlefield and made him win and no one found it “unwomanly”. No one used to
call me names if I got innocent feeling for someone while married to someone
else. I used to dance with him and he never took advantage of me. I was fond of
his craft, enamoured more with his magic of flute than him. I was after him and
he was after perhaps larger scheme of things:
“હું
તો કાગળિયાં લખી
લખી થાકી, કાનુડા
તારા મનમાં નથી”
(I kept sending missives to you, Krishna, u don’t have any feelings for
me.)
Don’t know what happened and things turned upside down. Now,
they proudly pronounce themselves “rapist”:
“Mai balatkari hu” (I am rapist) (courtesy
our own Honey Singhji, God bless him)
Though I am still there who shouts from billboards in skimpy
clothes and shaped raised eyebrows to buy you “Panforce” and you do buy it I believe.
But then I am called “Bazaaru” (one who sells oneself in market) not for no
reason. Should I take offence when everything else is being sold in market- even
happiness wrapped in white cover of Eye-phone and relationship on Chhaadi.com! If
they sell themselves, it’s called their net worth and brand value!
I don’t know what will deter them not to rape. Possibly a
story from their grandmothers while they go to bed or a Madalsa like mother who
brought her children up in such a manner that they went to forest as an ascetic
after getting off from their crib! Or a word of caution from their fathers that
even in their family I reside as their mothers and sisters and daughters. Or
perhaps let me take hammer-chisel in my
own hand (menandi or without mehandi) and hollow out this hierarchy, patriarchy
and all things gendered!
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