By Ritika Sadhwani
It’s 3rd August, 2:30 am and my mind yet again roams the closed doors of freedom, overthinking about how I am going to beat my buried fears, slipping through thin patriarchal lines into the cosmic of my dreamy desires. But before I dream further wait… did “she” get justice? Did the monster, who crawls every inch of “her” body violating its boundaries, get caged? How do I know if the cage is all thorns, and unbreakable? I saw the monsters of the past spying on their next prey today. How do I trust the cages now? I wonder if this cage is just a place to hide till the world is not coming after you. Should I live somewhere like the concept of this cage, locked up, invisible, and safe? Wait for the people to forget so that I can run away! Or will the monsters be waiting in the way? How do I escape? How long till I am the next prey?
Another layer of fear putting me in my place, echoing the whispers of people telling me, inside is safe. But is it? safe? A newborn becomes prey before even having a chance to step out in this hell. Inside is hell. Outside is hell. You know it’s true when a bill associating with a voice against violence gets bailed. How should I have the answers when this is all I have ever witnessed. Heaven is a dream so blurred to me just as human rights are in this place, to be specific, hell. The only lucky part is that I was born with a mind, fortunately, with the ability to understand the concepts of common sense and basic human rights. I always find myself stumbling upon this question that why do we have to use stats, data, or previous incidents to tell why violence is bad? Don’t get me wrong, we must tell their stories to spread awareness. But do we have to tell it so a human mind could understand that why abuse, sexual harassment, rape, and murder are something that should end today? Why is a bill including the words like violence is thought upon for many days and still ends up getting rejected? Where are human rights, I say?
I’m a 19 year old, small-town girl, whose father was so frightened by the thought of sending her to someplace away for studies, all the possibilities pacing up his mind. The only question that arises is “Would she be safe?”. Here I am, so young, still at a place in life where I should be thinking about my next trip; whether should I go for a morning walk or sign up for a yoga class; when should I start my internships and plan a career for my future. But instead, my twisted teenage mind has always wandered back to thoughts about what opportunities could I use, that are safe. Sharing my location with family and friends, making sure I’m never alone and pissing off any “so-called man” just so I don’t ruin any chance of getting home safe, and making sure I live to see more of this day. My father always calls me at night to be certain that I have closed every lock on my door, again frightened of possibilities that could happen to me at 'my place' because the watchman of my building sees me as his prey. Every time I find those monster eyes on me, all I’m reminded of is the day when the doctor told my parents, “Congratulations! It’s a girl born”. That's the label that I’m punished my whole life for. A label knowing no privileges in a society bounded by patriarchal lines, living a lifeless life, serving as a slave. I wish death upon me before I am forced to see how much worse it can get. Each passing day, the question remains the same, until when?
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