The spirit of Mumbai featuring heroines
Now I've stayed in Mumbai long enough to have heard all the adjectives Mumbai has ever been associated with, and among the most used, one has always been - The Spirit of Mumbai. Whether the city is water logged or under terrorist attacks, it is said the the spirit of Mumbai never dies. But today I would like to introduce you to the heroes heroines who keep this spirit alive. This article is not flying the flag of the undying spirit of the city, this article is about eve teasing. So if you are allergic to these problems or just not in the mood for a reality check, I suggest you stop right here.
If you are still reading here are two incidents.
Two's company, three's crowd
I was on the street after a long tiring day, enjoying a glass of nimbu pani when someone felt my ass. I turned around out of horror but the street was so crowded that I couldn't really spot the person. I stood there looking at my regular nimbu pani wala, wondering if he witnessed what happened, wondering if anyone on this street witnessed my embarrassment. I left in tears of shame, constantly plotting a scenario where I run behind the culprit and catch him and teach him a lesson so bad he would never even think of touching his own wife again. But along with my tears I suppressed my anger as well and history knows that women can't live with suppressed emotions too well. Trust me I thought about it most mornings and somedays I also sat the culprit down in a cafe and asked him what his problem was (all in my head of course). Then one fine day I was in the same area walking with a heavy bag in one hand and busy on the phone with the other and the same thing happened, someone felt my ass, but this time my reflexes were at its best and I grabbed his hand right in the act and man did he face my years and years of surpassed anger? I always imagined myself in a fight punching like Salman Khan but IRL it is not so easy to aim for the face you know. He realised I am a maniac and tried to run away but I wouldn't let him go, I yelled every abuse I've ever learned until I shivered with rage. Two women joined me in my fight and punched him some more, until he ran away with whatever dignity and strength was left and I sat there still shivering with my belongings all over the place. The women collected it all for me, gave me my phone, some water and dropped me safely to the building I was supposed to be in 10 mins ago. To give you a clearer picture of the scene, that street was filled with office going men but not even a single man came to help me. All of them passed by starring at the scene, saving their masochism for the weekend drunk tu-mera-bhai-hai night.
The handicapped coach
Yes I climbed into the handicapped coach (without a handicap pass) for crossing just one station. I stood at the edge wearing glasses and like me there many other passengers obviously without the pass. A man standing right in front of me started singing Kala Chasma, then he said that I was too posh to be in this compartment and to teach me a lesson he would do things to me (I can't repeat). I realised he was mental and telling him anything would bring me down to his level. So again I stood mute, crying out of sheer shame, waiting for my station, when a very old maushi, who was half my height, stood between that man and me and told me, 'zau dya' (ignore). Again not even a single man (and there were so many there) came to my rescue or even uttered a single word to shut that filth. Aren't men born with the knight-in-shining-armour syndrome? Aren't they made of pure testosterone? What are the men of Mumbai saving this for?
Men of Mumbai are helpful if you are stuck in traffic or if a thief runs away with your purse or the cliche - if the city is water logged or under terrorist attacks, but why are they so frozen and mute with matters of eve teasing? Is it because they relate to those men or is it because they are afraid of the woman or is it simply because they cannot decide who the real culprit is? I am just glad that I've got the heroines to always come to my rescue. Not all of them wear capes but they are super never the less.
If you are still reading here are two incidents.
Two's company, three's crowd
I was on the street after a long tiring day, enjoying a glass of nimbu pani when someone felt my ass. I turned around out of horror but the street was so crowded that I couldn't really spot the person. I stood there looking at my regular nimbu pani wala, wondering if he witnessed what happened, wondering if anyone on this street witnessed my embarrassment. I left in tears of shame, constantly plotting a scenario where I run behind the culprit and catch him and teach him a lesson so bad he would never even think of touching his own wife again. But along with my tears I suppressed my anger as well and history knows that women can't live with suppressed emotions too well. Trust me I thought about it most mornings and somedays I also sat the culprit down in a cafe and asked him what his problem was (all in my head of course). Then one fine day I was in the same area walking with a heavy bag in one hand and busy on the phone with the other and the same thing happened, someone felt my ass, but this time my reflexes were at its best and I grabbed his hand right in the act and man did he face my years and years of surpassed anger? I always imagined myself in a fight punching like Salman Khan but IRL it is not so easy to aim for the face you know. He realised I am a maniac and tried to run away but I wouldn't let him go, I yelled every abuse I've ever learned until I shivered with rage. Two women joined me in my fight and punched him some more, until he ran away with whatever dignity and strength was left and I sat there still shivering with my belongings all over the place. The women collected it all for me, gave me my phone, some water and dropped me safely to the building I was supposed to be in 10 mins ago. To give you a clearer picture of the scene, that street was filled with office going men but not even a single man came to help me. All of them passed by starring at the scene, saving their masochism for the weekend drunk tu-mera-bhai-hai night.
The handicapped coach
Yes I climbed into the handicapped coach (without a handicap pass) for crossing just one station. I stood at the edge wearing glasses and like me there many other passengers obviously without the pass. A man standing right in front of me started singing Kala Chasma, then he said that I was too posh to be in this compartment and to teach me a lesson he would do things to me (I can't repeat). I realised he was mental and telling him anything would bring me down to his level. So again I stood mute, crying out of sheer shame, waiting for my station, when a very old maushi, who was half my height, stood between that man and me and told me, 'zau dya' (ignore). Again not even a single man (and there were so many there) came to my rescue or even uttered a single word to shut that filth. Aren't men born with the knight-in-shining-armour syndrome? Aren't they made of pure testosterone? What are the men of Mumbai saving this for?
Men of Mumbai are helpful if you are stuck in traffic or if a thief runs away with your purse or the cliche - if the city is water logged or under terrorist attacks, but why are they so frozen and mute with matters of eve teasing? Is it because they relate to those men or is it because they are afraid of the woman or is it simply because they cannot decide who the real culprit is? I am just glad that I've got the heroines to always come to my rescue. Not all of them wear capes but they are super never the less.
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