30) Sexual Abuse

I was watching Times Now which featured an elaborate panel discussion on sexual abuses in the country. For me, it only brought very painful memories for I was once a victim too. Even now, the thought of it disturbs the mind for who would expect a father to be such a depraved pervert?

I was hardly 8 years old and in 3rd standard at school when this occurred. Mamma had gone to visit her ailing father in Bangalore and not expected for the next couple of days. Dad just popped in when I was trying to catch some sleep. He lay beside me raining kisses and I clung to him tightly. It was only when he was probing me in the abdomen with his fingers that I felt something amiss. Thank god, he didn’t go all the way.

I was perplexed and did not know what to make of it. But one thing was sure: I had lost faith in him almost instinctively. That incident more or less transformed me to a morose and silent character losing forever my gaiety and chirpiness. Mamma on her return asked what was wrong but neither could I articulate nor comprehend except feel a sense of worthlessness that persisted through out my growing years.

My vivaciousness and happy-go-lucky attitude gave way to suspicion and fear. I had a huge circle of friend but I had abruptly stopped talking to boys and male relatives. My mind somehow refused to trust anyone and sense of torture persistent. I had to stay with my parents and hated myself for coming face to face with the villain everyday.

It was only when I joined JJ School of Arts that the healing started. I met this professor Mr. Colin John who unwittingly taught me that all men are not the same. His classes were full of scintillating wit and a concern for students that went beyond the calls of duty.

How can I ever forget the professor motoring down to the station to hand over my project report? It so happened that I had misplaced my Assignment book at the hostel and our team had already boarded the Rajdhani at Mumbai Central station for an art exhibition in Delhi. I discovered the loss on boarding the train probably forgetting to pack in the excitement. I was frantic and called Mr. Colin on my predicament. Being the good soul that he is, he searched for the book in my room and drove down to the station in time to hand it over. It was such an atmosphere of friendship and hospitality; I was growing out of fears and almost becoming normal again.

In the Art school, I would hang out with friends and have a merry time and not averse to double entendre jokes, or enjoy a peg of gin apart from an occasional gold flake. One boy from the junior class got uncomfortably close and attempted a kiss on the cheeks. I lashed out in no uncertain terms and gave him a hiding he shall never forget. Just because I look brash and sound modern, I am not loose or freely available.

Women are vulnerable and we must take guard of ourselves. I had a pathological distrust to all MEN but now I am learning that one cannot paint everyone with the same brush. I am 24 years old, hope for my Lochinvar, and help regain that innocence and vivaciousness I lost on a wintry night 16 years ago.