Shiva – Gender man Was: a victim City: House/Mumbai


Gender man

Was: a victim
City: House/Mumbai
Was wearing shorts and shirt
Reaction: Reacted (yelling, complaining, slapping, fighting back)

Incident was : One time

Perpetrator was a Friend or acquaintance and aged Less than 20

The incident occurred when I was in my 10th grade. I lived in a big community belonging to the company in which my dad worked. A great friends circle and common schools, playgrounds and festivals provided an ideal environment for a close knit community. A neighbor of mine, 4 years elder to me, who I had befriended recently called out from her balcony asking if she could come over to my place, to which I agreed. My parents weren’t at home, which didn’t seem to surprise her, she didn’t express the slightest hesitation and neither did I find any reason to hesitate.
She came over, and we were watching TV when things got a little uncomfortable when she turned around and mentioned how weird my shorts looked with her left hand resting on my thigh. I slid away saying that I have always been weird, in the obnoxious way I usually do. A few minutes later her hand rested on my right shoulder and she asked if I liked her, by which time I had edged to my end of the sofa and was feeling extremely uneasy. I replied saying “ofcourse, aap achhi ho, didi (hindi for elder sister)” and stood up, feeling very scared and alone and not quite sure how to react, and muttered that it was getting late to play shuttle. She too stood up, and asked if I could get

her a glass of water. I went to kitchen to get a glass of water, and got a shock of a lifetime when I turned around, as I saw the girl standing across the corridor, topless with a smile. I started sweating, stunned, scared; and she moved towards me and raised her hand to touch my cheek, and then I slapped her. It might have been seconds, or minutes, but the next thing I remember was the door bell ringing. She said “open it”, and slipped into the restroom. My parents were at the door, and I mumbled something about being in the other room and not hearing the bell when they questioned me, mixing it up with telling them that she had come over. She came out, coolly saying “hi aunty, I was just leaving” and left but not before whispering that she had left a gift for me.
The moment she stepped out, I rushed to restroom, only to find that the horror continued, and she has left her undergarment there. I remember myself sitting there on the commode, scared to come out, scared to touch it, afraid of my parents, afraid of god, feeling guilty. I had called her didi, a sister, and to me that was sanctified, it had always meant a sense of comfort and protection and this shattered everything. My family was ultra-orthodox and at that moment I felt that my dad would kill me. Trembling I stuffed it in my pocket, fumbled out of the house, ran six stories down and threw it in a dustbin there. Came home, changed my shorts. I spoke to no one, which on hindsight I probably should have. This incident shut me down; I became scared to go down to play, uncomfortable around girls I met anew, starting staying in school or at my friends place more often and panicked every time I saw her. I hid behind bushes when she walked down the same path as me. I was scared of her, afraid of what she may do, of the revenge she may seek, of another move that she would make. My panic ebbed when I left the community, finally leaving behind the city I loved for my higher studies, my discomfort with girls vanished after I met some amazing friends, but I have never been able to completely shake it off, probably because I chose not to confront it, chose not to acknowledge my fear and weakness, chose to bundle it up. She has contacted me four times since, over phone and electronic media, and has accused me to rejecting her love, and every time I have panicked, for all I can remember is the fear of that day and the weeks that followed.
And till today am not completely sure that I have come to terms with it, and I am glad to have a chance to put it out. To break one’s silence is a daunting task.


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