In the year that I turned 26, all we heard about were rapes. Rapes on the streets, in homes, buses, trains, everywhere. There was a man on top of a woman wherever you looked. A struggling, unhappy woman. I am a woman, and I was constantly reading of my younger species being stripped off their clothes, independence and pushed down on the survival pyramid, where laying flat and still is the only way to live. Walking on street that summer, winter and monsoon, I felt like a soldier. Fully covered, walking in a jungle where showing any limb will alert the enemy or animal or maybe both were the same. A constant terror of night and empty streets. I don’t think I was ever alone that year. The only place that I went alone was the bathroom. In public toilets I was always sure I was covered as best as possible. The threat of hidden cameras was never far behind.

That year, walking on the streets, full of varied smells and sweat camouflaging as a mob, I often wondered what it would be like to be raped. To be a victim of a superior force wanting to seal it’s superiority on my being. It felt oddly exciting and terrifying at the same time. Scared and excited, I would look down and walk faster towards my destination. I lived in the city of Mumbai with two friends. The sight of them at times made me sick. My empty house at night depressed me though. I am sure there must be times I depressed them too. Their families were too far away, too old fashioned and not with much money. Same as mine. We shared a one room kitchen, the only space we could afford. None of us spoke much. We didn’t need to. 

I had a boyfriend. He lived in Delhi. A long distance relationship is the most relieving thing really. You don’t worry about being single and hence unattractive, you don’t have to forever juggle between friends and boyfriend, you can eat, sleep, think, read what you wish, no questions asked. I loved him. I really did. He allowed me the freedom to paint his image the way I liked. Of course, we spoke and I saw the cracks in that image, but still. At least he was not near enough to completely destroy my perfect man. I could deal with some cracking’s once in a while. Anyway, most of the times that we spoke, we talked about what each of us had for breakfast, lunch and dinner, about our families, some common friends punctuated by long pauses and love you. It was a tiring conversation most of the times but necessary. We had to keep the connection alive after all. So talk we did.

That year though I was completely obsessed with rape.