It's not over yet.

This post isn't about men groping me.

I was 13 and used to come home for lunch from school everyday. A ton of other kids used to do the same. One guy decided to show his organ to me. I had no freaking clue what to do. He wasn't abusing me or saying anything to me. He asked me for the time, dammit! If it wasn't for a worldly-wise classmate of mine who pulled me and ran to school with me, I really don't know what I'd have said or done. No, he didn't touch me.

Nothing changed when I was the independent, empowered woman in Hyderabad. I mean education empowers us, right? And I was earning too! Now that made me absolutely eligible to belong to the group of career minded women. I deserved all the abuse all the more though I thought no one could touch me.

My room mates and I went grocery shopping and while waiting for an auto, at 7.30 PM wearing clothes like a pair of jeans and a tshirt and a salwar kameez outside a fucking mall, 2 men decided to ride past us on their bike and spit paan at us. On our faces. I can't even describe what I felt that day. Or now, when I relive that incident. At least, they didn't touch us.

Of course, the contentious issue of letting women drive on the roads. So much worse than drunk men or road rage, certainly. There was a time when I drove every single day. On my Kinetic Honda. Women are scared, so we stop at red lights. So, we deserve to receive the honking treatment from behind us. And comments on how we can't drive. Or, how stupid we are to stop when there is no other vehicle anyway. But hey, he hasn't touched me.

Or, when they swish around you in bikes. No one touched me. How lucky am I! Or, when they leer at you from the back of the bus and you feel it behind your back but are too scared to turn and check. Why not, you ask? Now if you look at him, that will provoke him further. First lesson we are taught as girls. He hasn't touched you, right?

Or, when the bastard of auto drivers purposely drive on potholes and adjust their mirror just in time to see your chest heave up and down as you focus more on not falling out of the auto. Stop complaining. He hasn't touched you!

Or, when men just refuse to look you in the eye and talk to you. They look elsewhere. I have a strategy. I directly stare at their crotch. What? I didn't touch anyone. Or anything.

I'm a girl who grew up in Bangalore. Middle class to upper middle class family, good schools, good neighbourhoods, parents who listened, a nice father,good uncles, amazing brothers. I'm grateful. (I mean, I should be happy about all this because hey, it's all relative!)

But when I walk out of my house, I still clench my fist and get ready for battle when a guy comes close to me. Someone walks past me as I'm walking from the bus stop to my house, I immediately clench my fist, take stock of everything and everyone around me and I'm ready for the umpteenth fight of my life.

I know exactly what I will do if he touches me.

First, I will yell and make a scene.

Hold him by his collars and question him. Then I will resort to physical violence.

No, no. I should yell and run. What if he has a weapon? Okay, let me carry a weapon.

Shit, he's smart. He attacked me from the front! Fuck, my breasts hurt, but okay, I should just bend my head and walk away. Isn't as bad as rape. Thank God.

Okay no. Don't let them go. This is not a pub no? This is the middle of the road. Yell.

Oh, I take the same road everyday? Hmm. Glare, make some noise, but quickly hope it dissipates and walk away.

Take an auto for the next one month and live in mortal fear. Or, ask the husband/assorted nice men in your life to drop you. Some men are good no? It's okay if they don't really understand what you go through the moment you step out of that door.

Phew. Some strategy, this. Calling the police has become redundant after a policeman told me once to 'adjust.'

"Alla, nimm hathra car idhe alva? Nimmanthavru yaakri bus alli hogtheera?"

("So, you have a car, right? Why do people like you take the bus?")

Correct. Why this tension?

Take the car. Protects you just like not going to pubs will protect you from those lechers. Just to be safe, don't come back home late just because you have a car.

When I sometimes sit down and wonder about the amount of thinking I do everyday on what I have to wear, how I have to walk, how much eye contact I need to have with strangers, with male friends, with male colleagues, how close a guy is standing next to me, or how I shouldn't have worn a white dress in the sweltering summer. The sun makes the dress transparent. Oh, the rain will make it see-through.

I spoke to someone on Twitter about castration. He had a very sane statement to make. Why punish inhumane acts with inhumane punishment? I was tired. Just one more reason to point out how women can adjust. Jail or capital punishment should solve the problem. Let's forget for a minute that it hasn't done what it has to do: teach such men fear of punishment/law/loss of life.

Because, dear friend on Twitter, losing their ability to have an erection is considered significantly more inhumane than losing their life. Or mine.

And that is where things fall fell apart.

P.S. - The someone on Twitter is actually a nice guy. He was making very sane statements considering all of us women were really mad. It was a very genuine question he asked. So no offence to him.