Chapter 1: Welcome to ‘the World’
Class X. I said goodbye to school buses when the academic year started. I slowly started loving the KSRTC (State government’s bus transport) bus rides to and from school. It was very refreshing to enjoy the freedom of travelling without chains. The fact that I could have a ‘Soda Sarbath’ with my friends after a tiring day at school (all days are tiring, by the way) made this change to public transport very enjoyable.
There was a particular bus which I preferred the most on my way back home. A bus which always was so empty that its existence and utility was in question. Anyway, that’s the KSRTC’s headache, not mine. For me, the bus offered a comfortable, peaceful side-seat journey back home. I used to travel alone in the evenings on this bus because there wasn’t any friend of mine on the same route.
Another evening after school. My favourite bus stood at the bus station, waiting to receive its favourite passenger. I got in and occupied one of the side seats. The bus was empty as always. I saw a middle-aged man outside the bus. He came near my window, smiled at me and asked if the bus was going to ‘Mavelikkara’. I said yes and he entered the bus with a wide smile. I thought that he was one of those ‘positive’ people who spread smiles wherever they went. In that empty bus, he came and sat near me. I didn’t appreciate it because I used to be an XL shirt size person even then and it was difficult for me to accommodate another person. Maybe he wanted to talk something. He was, after all, the ‘positive’ person in my mind. He smiled at me again and I smiled back. Then, he put his hand on my thigh. I didn’t know what was happening. I just moved closer to the window side. He continued doing it and slowly moved his hands to my penis and started touching it. I was out of my senses for the 4 or 5 seconds this happened. It gave me a chill, a strange one, which I never experienced ever again in my life. Somehow I recovered and put my big schoolbag on my lap. He suddenly took away his hand. I looked at him. He fled the place immediately. He must have got his daily share of pleasure with that activity. I got something too: an experience that I can never forget in my life.
Leave aside my favourite bus rides, being in a public place itself became a very precarious exercise for a few weeks following the incident. It made me look at every stranger with an eye of suspicion. Maybe, I lost a part of my carefreeness as a child with that. I was welcomed to ‘the world’ in a disgusting manner.
Chapter 2: Face ‘the World’.
I moved to Trivandrum (my own ‘Thironthoram’) after X. I became a hosteller. Our hostel is situated in the heart of the city. I used to go out for walks in the evening and night. Hailing from a small town, the feel of exploring Thironthoram was great. I was on my phone on one of those lonely night walks when I encountered a middle-aged man walking towards me. He was smiling. He extended his hand for a handshake. My father has many friends in the city. I thought he was one among them. I gave my hand and we shook hands. I was still on the phone. Then, he started scratching my palm and gave a wry, creepy smile. What a villainous smile it was! But, I wasn’t out of my wits like in the previous incident. I took back my hand immediately and ran away to a safe distance from him. I got pumped up and started swearing at him with my limited knowledge in the area (I wish I had met Adithya Haneef earlier). Then I threatened him, said that the police were nearby and that I would make sure that they catch him. Then, I looked around to see if the police were around. No, they were not. But, the abuser left soon after I made that threat. ‘The Police’ indeed is a very powerful threat to abusers like these.
Why I wrote this.
Like most of the women or people from disadvantaged gender/social/age positions out there, I don’t live with a constant fear of getting sexually abused. Probably, it is my position as a child which led me into these unfortunate scenarios. And, the privilege of being a man is so large that these life incidents cease to create any insecurity for me as a person now. But then, it is important to let you know that I was abused as a child like many others and that this could happen to any kid out there. And the perpetrators needn’t be strangers, but very close people as well. Just take care of our kids is all I can say.
Secondly, for the last few days, I have been deeply moved by the impact which the #Metoo campaign has created. I strongly believe that the movement is absolutely necessary for our campus as well. There are stories to be told and predators to be called out. I hope I inspire at least some of you reading this to share your stories. Let’s scare the shit out of the abusers. Let’s expose the ‘clean’ guys.
And finally, I find great relief in storytelling. Storytelling is a meaningful act in itself.
Article by Biyas Muhammed
Illustration by Sanjana Acharya
Article 19 