Dear molester, I hated you for years, but now, I feel sorry for you

No, at no point did I ask for it. Photo Courtesy: YouTube

It all started with a seemingly casual but a well-calculated push of his elbow against my breast in a crowded metro years ago. I wasn't an innocent kid or a naïve teenager-but a pampered brat, fresh out of school, filled with hope and ambition on the first day of my college life.

But I had absolutely no idea that my happiness would be so short-lived, because what followed scarred me for life.

At First, There Was A Feeling of Utter Disgust
The disgust that comes with watching a man stoop to the level of treating a fellow human being this way just to satiate his sexual urges. The disgust that comes with watching a man do it so unabashedly, without an iota of guilt or shame. The disgust that comes with seeing what humanity has come to.

Those lustful, prying eyes shamelessly staring at me, the feeling of his filthy hands on my body-it made me sick, it made me sick to my stomach.

And Then There Was Fear
I still remember that unapologetic, proud look on his face. It was as if he had done a great deed; as if he had won a battle; as if touching me was his winning trophy; as if he had already stripped me naked in his head. And that scared me, so much so that I couldn't muster up the courage to say anything on my first day. It deprived me of sleep for many nights, and of course, of the ability to trust a man in the future.

But he didn't stop there.

Never had I thought that my silence would prompt him to take a step further and lay his dirty hands on my waist to pull me close. I remember how perplexed I was. I remember how I stormed out of the metro at the very next station. I fled, I fled for my life, leaving a part of my soul behind.

I Still Have Regrets
Regrets because I let this weak moment overpower me. I let it define me to the extent that I began to doubt myself. Blame it on my own shortcomings back then or the way the society has conditioned us women to think that if we are molested, maybe we asked for it. I immediately looked at myself to check what I was wearing. I was clad in a full-sleeved kurta and baggy jeans. Unfortunately, dad's advice of not wearing a dress while commuting in the metro didn't help.

But you know what I regret the most? The fact that I didn't speak up!

Also read: Dear parents, please teach your sons to be gentle men and not prudish ones.

Thankfully, I Realized It Wasn't My Cross to Bear
It took me years and years of counselling and unconditional support from loved ones to understand that it wasn't my fault. Travelling to my college in a crowded metro wasn't my fault, getting into the general coach because of paucity of time and space wasn't my fault.
And no, no way in hell was I asking for it. No matter what I would have decided to wear that day, he would have been the same because his patriarchal mindset would have made him think he had the right to.

It is he who should be ashamed of himself, and not me!

Yes, I Hated Him For Years, But Now, I Pity Him
I pity him for that misguided mindset that makes him think he can do whatever he wants just because he is a man. I pity him for not understanding the simple concept of consent, for being so unaware of crushing someone's soul to this extent. I wish he knew that a moment of his cheap thrill made him a subject of someone's hatred and curses for so long.