Wait, Girl! It has been 26 years, and the world has forgotten her. But here I am, typing profusely because she refuses to let go of me. As I write this, she peeps over my shoulders, playing with her sari’s end. “Gosh! You're finally writing!” she exclaims.
I tried reasoning with her several times, but today, I am digging her grave, once and for all. Let her scare and trouble others too!
I am being humble if I say that I have accepted her. I have somewhat spoilt her! She gushes in and out of my life without a preamble. Like me, she too has come a long way, except that she is now sans body.
So, years ago, there was this talk about a young mother admitted with severe burns to the hospital. I gathered amid murmurs that events were shady, and doctors were convinced that it was not a freak accident. The woman refused to give a statement and finally died. While filing a complaint against the husband’s family, her parents confessed that their only daughter had constantly complained about being tormented. But was told to “adjust”. They now regretted deeply, having lost everything to the flames.
Back to ‘normal’
The parents kept seeking justice until their resources dried up. The husband soon remarried. The burnt woman’s picture was etched in my vulnerable mind through narratives, though I had seen neither her nor the sinister kitchen.
I recognised them a hundred times, though in newspapers, over the years.
The rebel in me kept questioning why society did not ostracise the victimisers until they pleaded guilty. I was told this is not the way life works. I felt indignant and insulted. Life? What about the woman without a “reasonable dowry” who surrendered to flames while her baby played outside?
Society dumped her, and she followed me home. I experienced guilt and bitterness. The burnt girl kept appearing in our long-forged relationship, looking for peer support. Now that she was a ghost with special powers, she knew I would narrate her tale. The copyright, though, is still hers!
I am writing this now, a quarter-century after the incident, because I am yet to belong to a society free of gory crimes against women. From bride-burning, we have progressed to molestation, rape, acid attacks, honour killings, domestic violence, workplace harassment, and so on. The more a woman asserts her brilliance and competitiveness, the more vicious become the attacks. The prime flaw — hope that things will get better with time and tolerance.
Surfing through various reports on crime against women, I realise that we have come very far. India has the highest number of dowry-related deaths in the world. According to Indian National Crime Record Bureau, in 2012, the dowry death cases reported pan India were 8,233. Not to mention a massive body of unreported ones. Our rape victims’ numbers increase, with age ranging from under six to over 60!
Not just in India, the virus rages in all the countries. According to the world population review, 2022, approximately 35% of women worldwide experienced sexual harassment, and less than 10% sought legal aid.
Gender is the worst invention of mankind, with my pretty bandwagon fanning the gender divide. Our most significant institution, the home, has thrived on soul-wrecking compromises by women.
This is not an appeal for feminist morchas, lest you blame it on my “West-influenced” upbringing! It’s time we stopped passing on this legacy of violent tales.
With a short and forgotten life, the fire-torn girl smuggled a part of her pain to whosoever was willing to listen. Be merry wherever you are. But wait, girl! Before we welcome you back, this world needs to be repainted and refurbished.
alka28jain@gmail.com
