We deserve better

 I cannot remember the last time I opened the newspaper and felt this vulnerable. With the passing of the Delhi rape victim and the many more sordid incidents that are exploding in black and white, I find myself feeling unsettled even while I indulge in the most mundane daily activities. As a working girl whose day ends only at 5 p.m., my return home involves an arduous bus journey and a fifteen-minute walk back to my house. I cannot stop reiterating the unfairness of the whole situation - no woman deserves to live in constant fear of what might transpire during these moments. We should not have to wonder whether to carry around a bottle of pepper spray or if a bottle of deodorant will work just as well. 

While I remain relatively well removed from the situation, I cannot imagine what the women of Delhi must be going through at the moment. Every bus ride and every dark street probably stirs up some degree of panic within them. While I could go on about the impudence of men in the country who assume they have the right to take anyone they see or the fact that our police are more worried about protecting politicians rather than the people, I know that I'm only rehashing what has been said over and over again on televisions, radios and in written form all over the country. What I do have to say is this - if anyone else feels stifled or unsafe in the light of everything that seems to be going on around her, you are not alone. You deserve better - a better class of men, a better class of police and politicians and an infinitely better sense of security. And it is about time we got it. 

 

On loosening up

My reading content for the two day journey to Chennai had been well-planned - A Princess Remembers, the collected poems of Sylvia Plath and a collection of letters to the editor by one Thomas Coon. Choosing to read the last one, I found myself confronted by a letter discussing a topic that tends to drive me crazy, for lack of a better word. The author spoke about people's need to loosen up and achieve happy endings. "What's so bad about that?" you may wonder, puzzled. Let me elaborate further: -

Imagine a night at a fancy party. The music's blaring with the bass so loud that your stomach starts training for the Olympics. On extremely rare self-imposed dry days or at equally rare dry parties, I find myself with a non-alcoholic drink in my hand and find that I have to force myself to sway appropriately to the music. In a few moments, I find myself confronted by a well-meaning friend. "Why are you sitting around? Come join us - let's dance!" I smile it off, saying that I don't dance. "Oh but you have to!" she says in astonishment, "Puji, you have to loosen up!" Apply the same scene to weddings and my brief periods of anti-social behavior. 

I find myself adding the term "loosen up" to a list of all my least favourite phrases - which include "when are you getting married?", "why don't you drive?" and "wake up". It seems to be a source of great worry and at moments, disappointment, to a lot of people that I'm not an easy-going loudmouth who never ceases being cheery. Yes, I prefer being on my own a lot more than other people. Yes, I usually stand in a corner and watch the fun. So what? I have been the centre of attention a lot of times but they mostly involved waking up in the morning with a voice in my head screaming at me, "What the hell were you thinking?" 

I can safely say that the worst part is when people decide to take it upon themselves to pull me into all the "fun" that they're having. No matter how many swears and curses you drop and however threatening they may be ("Let me go or I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!"), I invariably find myself frozen in the centre of a group of people who seem to be jiving away with the greatest ease. 

On days like this, I wonder why so many people find it difficult to accept that others may enjoy things that are widely different from what they like. Given a considerable amount of social lubricant, I will gladly put myself in the middle of the dance floor and shake my booty to Sheila Ki Jawani. On other days, I prefer to sit back and watch others do the same. It's not like I walk around distributing copies of my favourite books, insisting that people read only those in coffee shops in lieu of chatting or watching the telly. So be nice to me and return the favour. Don't pull me onto a well-lit dance floor and expect me to dance. After all, if all the wallflowers in the world decided to take the spotlight, who, my cheery friends who can dance at the drop of a hat, will be around to watch you put on some serious moves?

The Giant Who Eats Buildings

Evening approached the city of Blort

And each was a quivering sight.

The Blortians had an odd monster,

To deal with in the night.

A monster who ate their grandparents,

Or a tree-devouring creep,

Would have surely received a warm welcome

And housed on Scruppian street.

Yet sadly no, they had to deal with

This huge abomination.

Nothing had been spared its wrath,

Not even the police station.

And soon the sun was fast asleep,

The moon lit up in its stead.

There rose from the edge of the ocean -

A gigantic human head.

He wore a shiny black bowler hat

And his pants were awkwardly short.

With one gargantuan leap, he was

On the shores of the city Blort.

His eyes gleamed with a hunger

That seemed most peculiar.

For all you faint-hearted souls, I suggest

That you stop reading here.

His pudgy hand wrapped around

A concrete building rather stout,

And without a moment’s hesitation,

He put it in his mouth.

Once he finished with his appetizer,

He looked around for something more filling

And found a skyscraper to his liking

A steel one, dealing with billings.

He finished his feast and let out a burp

That made the trees sway

And took another humongous step

To go consume another place.

The Blortians woke up the next morning

And surveyed the damage done.

“What’s the point of building it again,

When it'll only be eaten?” asked one.

 Yet they still completed the construction

And went on with their work that day.

Knowing that in a few days, the monster will

Make a meal of the building again.

In cold blood

The wind blew harder, a sign of the thunderstorm yet to come. Elena pulled her coat closer and huddled up, trying to keep the warmth of her body from escaping. A few drops of water fell on her forehead and rolled down the side of her nose. In her hurry to reach before the rains drenched her, she brushed past the cornerstone of a building and her purse was bumped from her hand. She turned around to pick it up and froze as she caught a glimpse of a dark figure quickly melting into the shadows of an alley nearby. 

Elena's heart quickened. As she pushed her purse back into her handbag, her fingers closed around the unused can of pepper spray. She had only brandished it a few times to chase away the occasional stalker. The thought of actually having to use it terrified her. She looked around. It had started to drizzle and the street  suddenly wore an abandoned look. A sudden thud startled her and she spun around, the pepper spray in her hand. A garbage can rolled back and forth, its contents spewed across the pavement. 

Panic began to well up in Elena's heart and she walked faster. Just as the rain started to pour down more heavily, she turned another corner and the familiar gate to her apartment greeted her. She sighed in relief and raced into the building. Walking up the stairs, she laughed nervously at her still fluttering heart. A misplaced step flung her forward on to her hands. Pain radiated through her right ankle - she knew that wearing those high heels to work was a bad idea. Picking up her bag, she turned to face the window on the landing behind her. She stared at the black hooded jacket reflected in the glass for a few seconds, motionless. 

A muffled shriek escaped her lip. Engulfed by the darkness, the only sound she could hear was her heart beating frantically. She didn't hear him approach till she felt the cold blade of the knife rest on her throat.

******

He stood over her lifeless body. He was accustomed to the dark and he could see her contours as though they were bathed in the brightest light. He ran his hand over the bloody blade, watching it slide off. Placing the knife on a nearby table, he began looking around at the currently unoccupied and well-furnished house. A flat-screen TV mounted on the wall caught his attention and after a brief search for the remote, he sat down with his legs up on her designer couch and turned on the football game.

It had stopped raining.

******