Bangladesh has never been one of the socially progressive countries. I’ve known that since birth. But still, could there be a possibility of living like a human instead of a woman among this mind-handicapped crowd?
I keep stumbling over rape stories every year, more than once. Sometimes in fiction, sometimes on the news. Surprisingly, those fictions do more justice to the rape victim than the real world would. Most of the guys today (the ones I have met at least) still believe strongly that rape is a very rare incident, that girls are not teased as much or harassed as much. Is that so? Then why do I still have to keep checking where my fellow male passenger on the bus is keeping his hands? Think I’m just being paranoid? Well, go here to sprinkle some fresh reality on your face.
I was first harassed when I was 11. In a popular crowded marketplace, I went for Eid shopping with my family wearing a gray frock and a ponytail. Before I knew it, some guy passing by us pressed his hand on one of my breasts. I was totally baffled and didn’t know what to do. I got even more scared when the guy followed me till a shop and then turned around and left for some reason. May be he was expecting to get me alone but realized won’t have the chance because I had my family with me.
The next time I was 12. A distant-relative uncle came to my grandma’s house and I was doing something with betel leaf along with my aunts. He rubbed his fingers against my neck in a very nasty way. I didn’t even know what a sexual harassment is by then, or why do girls have to cover themselves and not guys. But I felt so violated anyway. I kept thinking about it the whole day, wondering what the hell happened at that moment.
Throughout my teenage I met part-time harassers every single day on my way to coaching or class. These were guys of all age groups, passing by me and each making a nasty comment about some particular part of my body in a second, like I was some kind of delicious dish. And the even more pathetic part is that every time that happened, I came home and wondered what did I do wrong. What did I DO WRONG, not THEM.
Last year I watched the movie Pink and cried for the victims. This year I’m watching 13 Reasons Why and crying again! Last year I cried for Tonu. This year I’m crying for two new victims and it hasn’t been even half a year. Before this in 2015, I cried more for the multiple rape victims at the TSC Pohela Boishakh incident instead of grieving over my mother’s death. Needless to say, none of them got justice, and so I can tell already that the ones who are fighting now won’t either. The guys who raped all these girls are living their days just like the rest of us – free and unburdened, not a shred of guilt in any of their cells. But guess what? In both of the FICTIONS I mentioned, the rape victims DID get their well-deserved justice.
This is why I always felt and still feel the need of some superhero existence ; because we normal humans clearly failed our species. And no, don’t call us civilized. We are not worth of it, not yet.
The Free Magpie 