I suppose we have all felt helpless at least a few times in our life. Fear does that to you.
An instance that comes to mind is what happened in late October or mid-November in 2009. I was returning to my room in Noida where I had been staying for the past one and half year as a paying guest (basically a hostel). I was stale from a 26 hour train journey from Kolkata to the New Delhi train station. The time was around 11 pm, the night was neither moonless nor bright, and the air was quite nippy.
I could have taken a bus or an auto to my cousins’ place in Mehrauli. That would have taken me less than 25 mins at that point in the night. But sometimes you make instant decisions in your head while simultaneously asking yourself what the fuck you’re doing.
In the hustle and bustle of the station, I found an autowallah who was willing to go all the way to Noida. He was a bulky looking man and wearing the faded blue uniform assigned to all autowallahs in Delhi.
So I hauled my black bag and plonked myself into the auto. Now the autos in New Delhi are not like the ones in Kolkata. The Delhi ones just flyyyyyyy. And the wind can really hit you and make you shiver even if it is just a 10 minute ride. I can recall plenty of times when I was jerked awake in autos during winter time classes. My PG (I don’t remember why we called our rooms PGs but yeah, that’s what we did) was about an hour away. And the Delhi-Noida highway is long, dark and could be quite empty. Noida was still an up-and-coming city then so there were long stretches of land that were just empty fields, big boulders and looming trees near the roads.
Delhi has long carried this unwelcome title of the ‘rape capital’. Even then there were news pieces almost every week about women being raped, assaulted and murdered. And girls who looked like me were easy constant targets, regardless of the time of the day. I spent a weekend at my cousins’ in Mehrauli one summer. On early Monday morning, I joined office goers, college students and daily wage earners to await buses to ferry us to our location for the day. This old drunk man came up to me and asked me how much I would cost him. I have been felt up numerous times – in buses, metros, when standing in public places and even while walking. Men have stopped their bikes to kindly offer me a lift – in crowded streets and lonely roads. I have always been wary of strangers and these incidents further taught me to never smile at strangers and avoid eye contact, especially if they were men.
But let me get back to that night. The autowallah was not a chatty type for which I was thankful. Another thing living in India had taught me was to not talk to strange men. My older sister has always been one to initiate conversations or just extend friendly hellos and indulge in banter. I remember stopping her from talking to rickshaw pullers, autowallas and taxi drivers because I was afraid they would assume ‘we are prostitutes’. That was the level of paranoia I was living with. On hindsight, it seems like a funny phase in my life when I remember shushing her for ‘talking to strange men’ when she was just casually asking them ‘bhaiya, aap ne …….’. One friendly taxi driver simply wanted to pass the time between the route from Esplanade bus station to our flat in Jadavpur. He spoke about moving to Delhi for a couple of years but missing the Bengali food and the spirit of the city, he returned home. I recall being torn between not wanting to appear rude, being curious about his life in Delhi and also being extremely sceptical about his reason for sharing his life story with me. I tried to act disinterested by grunting a few answers and looking outside the window. I had good reasons to fear chatty taxi drivers. A friend of mine was felt up by a taxi driver in Bangalore while her parents were in the backseat. Another friend told me how a taxi driver masturbated next to her even though she had three more girl friends in the back.
Again, here I am rambling! So this autowallah was not in the mood for talking. If it was during the day, I would have been grateful for this luck. But the miles of road seemed that much longer and daunting as we travelled on high speed in silence. There were only a few distant lights as we started to leave Delhi behind and entered the NCR. All the news articles blazed across my mind. A BPO employee raped by her company driver as she was being driven home at night. Autowallahs who stopped on lonely NCR highways where their criminal friends jumped out of the buses to ravage innocent women. Taxi drivers who took their customers to different locations to rape and kill.
Time seemed to fly and go treacherously slow all at the same time. The moon was distant and undistinguishable. The autowallah’s back was broad and strong. I held on to the sides of the auto – whether to steady myself from the auto’s speed or to calm myself, I didn’t know. Every bush, boulder and tree was the replica of the ones we had just left behind. Didn’t we just turn this corner? Were those three trees not the same ones I saw just a minute ago? Why the fuck is my phone not ringing? Someone call me. Please. ARE THOSE LIGHTS FROM HOUSES, SETTLEMENTS?
So there went miles upon miles while I dithered between full blown panic and scolding myself for being paranoid. Calm down. He probably just wants to go home and sleep. He must have a family waiting for him. Surely he lives in Noida and that’s why he agreed to take you. No, he doesn’t look threatening. Not all men.
I prayed.
I also looked at the watch.
I prayed.
I don’t remember why I didn’t call anyone.
I prayed.
Then the familiar edges of Noida sector 127 started coming to my view. There was the cluster of rickshaws my friend and I passed by every week. The big overhead bridge that we ran across during weekends. The swanky malls we went to for the AC. The colony of houses. I couldn’t have loved any view more at that moment. I slowly sank a bit more comfortably in my seat.
My heart felt lighter. I still felt a bit light headed, though. Then the auto stopped right under my building and I quickly fell to my knees on the pavement, thanking the autowallah profusely.
No, I didn’t. Of course. Hehe. But I did thank him profusely and even gave him 10rs extra. The amount might seem meagre but I was also a poor student with a strict monthly budget.
Afterwards I ran all the three flights of stairs, carrying my bag, feeling light as a feather and very giggly. Somehow those stairs didn’t bother me that day at all.
