My writing skills have become a bit rusty so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors,spelling blunders, slangs, sentences which do not please the eyes of critics and again a hefty mammoth sized( oh wait that’s not enough), a megalodon-sized apology to all the Grammar nazis.(for all those who don’t know what a megalodon is, it was the largest shark that ever swam in the oceans.)
Ok so before this post becomes something else, I’ll jump to the actual text which my friend wanted me to write about. A success story. hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm……. nope still can’t think of one. 😮
After months, literally months, I came to the conclusion that yes, maybe I do have a success story to share and this is my story, a different kind of success story yet a success story. I was not able to pen down every bit of the story which I should have mentioned but well, I completed it.
It’s almost been a year but the incident still haunts me. Each time I’m sitting or attending a lecture or chatting with my friends, something strikes the chord of that gruesome, hideous, indelible memory which I wish I could erase completely and permanently from the database of my mind. (Oh yes, I am an engineering student and yes I wish I could be Clementine Kruczynski from eternal sunshine of the spotless mind). Tears still come trickling down my cheeks when I am reminded of the horror.
So,it all began when a friend of mine and I were sitting in the cafeteria (sufficiently crowded) of our University ( which claims to be the most prestigious private institution and strives to shape the young minds beautifully so that they can serve the society, our Indian society, more efficiently so that our nation and the society would bloom). We were sitting there ,just the two of us and we were upset about a recent event that had happened in our life. Being the emotionally distorted person I am, I particularly was in great distress, So, this male friend of mine came close to me and gave me a warm hug to calm me down. Everything was nice. It was a sweet gesture but little did my friend and I know that an eagle( the University marshals or should I say the moral police, the protector of the innocence of young adults) was prying on us.
He came storming to us and started shouting, almost bursting his lungs out. He asked for our identity cards and took us to the Head Proctor’s office while shouting and telling every person he met on the way that ” iss ladki ko dekho , itni characterless hai, kaise kaise kaam karti hai, koi sharam hi nahi uppar se hostler fir bhi aisi harkate”. All the while, I being from a conserved family (scared to death that my parents would kill me), weak and timid, kept apologizing for my so called mistake. We reached the head’s office where the authorities there made me and my friend write letters that we hugged each other and we were extremely shameless in our act. They said if we write this letter, no further actions would be taken or else my hostel seat would be snatched and I would not be given a degree for my course. Yes, all this over a hug. I sat there crying, begging them not to do this. They still won’t listen and would tell me that “Girls provoke guys and when something bad happens to them (pointing to rapes, acid attacks, etc), they blame the institution.” After a while, they let me go and asked me to come back to the office the next day.
I went back to the hostel room and cried vehemently. I was too scared to tell my parents about this but somehow I gathered courage and told them everything. All this while, what really went in my mind was , let things happen, after tomorrow the world would not have me.(yes I was this depressed). I had a huge number of friends who were there for me but at that time I felt empty and the only thought that kept recurring in my mind was to take my life and put an end to this. The matter got resolved (I won’t go into the details of how and when). My family proved to be extremely supportive. I went home for Dussehra holidays after the incident but I was lifeless. I was no longer the same lively, happy and cheerful person. I wore a smile but inside I was empty. I’d cry when alone and at random moments and I could not stop. My mother tried to cheer me up by every means she had but nothing made me happy. I actually started believing that I am a whore, a slut, a characterless loathsome piece of crap who did not deserve to live. The proctor engraved deeply in my mind that this is my identity from now on and everyone would think of me this way. I felt horrible. Horrible is an undermined word for what I felt.
One day, while I was sitting, my mother kept cracking lame jokes. She never stopped cracking jokes around me while I stayed for holidays. My brother would keep talking to me incessantly about things. My friends would keep texting me, making sure that I wasn’t alone. My father would keep bringing me chocolates. Just before I was about to take the final step to end my emptiness and suffering, something struck me. “I am not this. There are people who love me. I did not do anything wrong. Who the hell is that bloody proctor to tag me and tell me who I am and what I deserve.” This was the moment I conquered my weakness, my fear. I decided to be strong and be a fighter not just for me but for others too. I still don’t know why or what made me gather my courage again. I don’t know what keeps me going but I know one thing that I would not let any person define me ever again or tell me what to wear or how to be. Although the thought of that incident still brings shivers down my spine, but I no longer regret it or feel weak. I emerged as a strong person. This is my success story.
If you have experienced something similar or are going through something harsh, I want you to know that “You need to fight. Not for others but for yourself because trust me you are worth fighting for.”