Cold, biting cold. razing wind, blowing to erase. Hard frozen ground, hurting with every step she took. Yet something kept Shalini returning to the neighborhood park of Jangpura everyday. It wasn't the neatly kept flowerbeds or the half broken tiles of the pavement. It was her asylum, the place where she would come to make sense of her thoughts or get rid of them completely. It was all that was pleasing about the society was to her. The jogging track, where teenage girls and middle aged aunties would come to lose a pound or two and end up gossiping and eating chocobars. The green grass, where old gentlemen play incomprehensible games of cards. The park itself, where the beautiful scenes of children hugging their grandparents or fighting with each over tipi tipi tap unfolded. It was where innocence was all abundant but threatened by the goons who would come to whistle and stare. The park, no more than ordinary was hardly a hundred meters away from her decent two-storey house which she shared with her parents and younger brother. Gupta Residence. It was in every sense, a house of Dilli. Where people would not tend to look meticulously dirty and where they would look- swanky and adorned by the rakshash with the tongue dripping with blood. A house of unfinished voices, be it the press-wali, the maid ot the occasional shani devta guy who somehow surprisingly was to be found only on Saturdays. The sometimes irritating call for dinner or the argument over who brought in the dirty shoes. It wasn't a mistake to be loud, it was the sole purpose. But in ways that no one understands, it was these voices that made the house a home and the absence of these wasn't a mark of a good home.
Shalini Gupta was an assistant manager at a Toronto based software firm- Code.inc, the office of which was located in Pamposh Enclave, a relatively posh locality with an almost equal distribution of offices and housing complexes in the heart of South Delhi. Shalini had forever lived in Delhi, made great friends here. She loved the city for what it was- her home and being a place with a beating heart. Delhi, the mighty city of paradox. The budding metropolitan of shiny crease-less roads on whose pavements the destitute spread their non-existing bed-sheets. The old world city with the modern Metro network whose buttons looked under pressure from the sheer excess of people. It was the city which welcomed openly people of all ethnicities and the city of show-offs. The city where delectable chat and fancy Italian restaurants are found side by side. In it resided the law-making machinery of the country,but also the largest number of rapists in the country. It was the place where the horrendous incident had taken place.
Brutal is a word that cannot even begin to describe the realities of the gangrape of a 23 year-old girl. It was a crime against every good in the world. The girl, who died fighting for her life was no one to Shalini and everything to what the new young India stands for- hope, ambition, courage and will. She just wanted to catch a new movie in the theatre. Some may say she was unfortunately at the wrong place at the wrong time but why should there be a wrong place or time at all? Everyone knows that the only thing wrong was the intention of the monstrous rapists.
Shalini had herself been a victim of almost-rape. She had been dragged down to a shady corner but had miraculously made an escape. What she had went through for those twenty minutes, the horror she had faced had taken away the essence of her- her aspirations, her character and her playful act of being. She could not be in the company of people anymore. She couldn't travel to office in the bus she previously took. She could never trust a man again. The damage was etched on her mind and would stay for the rest of her life. But it was not enough. As the culprits had somehow failed to complete what they had set out to do, it was not enough for the policemen, not enough for the nation to take notice and stand up. She stood up and continued her life like before and let go of the past, but she could never see a happy moment now, for she knew she could be raped just the next moment. Her offenders were roaming about in the same city.
The uprising that had followed the incident had been a hammer on the ice of indifference and inaction of the general public. Women and men united in their will to fight the evils that are so prevalent and deeply rooted in the culture which India prides itself on. Where devis are worshipped in the day and drowned in the night. Youth who could've comfortably been sipping coffee braved the lathi charge and water cannons on the chilly Delhi mornings. Shalini picked up courage to join them. There, in every protesting girl, she could see a victim of teasing or someone who had been visually raped for being a girl, something less than a being. Girls who had gone through this so routinely that they hardly came to think of it as a crime anymore. The event made them realize that it was not okay. It was not something you could or should dismiss as chalta hai, kya karein. The very grassroot of it had to be chopped down. Zero tolerance was echoed.The youth was exhausted of a country a parliament so uncaring, a judiciary so weak and jail bars so supple.
In the protests, Shalini found the voice she had once lost. The spirit of yesterday returned and hope for the future a bit more secured. A new firmness found to take to the neighborhood park.
Shalini Gupta was an assistant manager at a Toronto based software firm- Code.inc, the office of which was located in Pamposh Enclave, a relatively posh locality with an almost equal distribution of offices and housing complexes in the heart of South Delhi. Shalini had forever lived in Delhi, made great friends here. She loved the city for what it was- her home and being a place with a beating heart. Delhi, the mighty city of paradox. The budding metropolitan of shiny crease-less roads on whose pavements the destitute spread their non-existing bed-sheets. The old world city with the modern Metro network whose buttons looked under pressure from the sheer excess of people. It was the city which welcomed openly people of all ethnicities and the city of show-offs. The city where delectable chat and fancy Italian restaurants are found side by side. In it resided the law-making machinery of the country,but also the largest number of rapists in the country. It was the place where the horrendous incident had taken place.
Brutal is a word that cannot even begin to describe the realities of the gangrape of a 23 year-old girl. It was a crime against every good in the world. The girl, who died fighting for her life was no one to Shalini and everything to what the new young India stands for- hope, ambition, courage and will. She just wanted to catch a new movie in the theatre. Some may say she was unfortunately at the wrong place at the wrong time but why should there be a wrong place or time at all? Everyone knows that the only thing wrong was the intention of the monstrous rapists.
Shalini had herself been a victim of almost-rape. She had been dragged down to a shady corner but had miraculously made an escape. What she had went through for those twenty minutes, the horror she had faced had taken away the essence of her- her aspirations, her character and her playful act of being. She could not be in the company of people anymore. She couldn't travel to office in the bus she previously took. She could never trust a man again. The damage was etched on her mind and would stay for the rest of her life. But it was not enough. As the culprits had somehow failed to complete what they had set out to do, it was not enough for the policemen, not enough for the nation to take notice and stand up. She stood up and continued her life like before and let go of the past, but she could never see a happy moment now, for she knew she could be raped just the next moment. Her offenders were roaming about in the same city.
The uprising that had followed the incident had been a hammer on the ice of indifference and inaction of the general public. Women and men united in their will to fight the evils that are so prevalent and deeply rooted in the culture which India prides itself on. Where devis are worshipped in the day and drowned in the night. Youth who could've comfortably been sipping coffee braved the lathi charge and water cannons on the chilly Delhi mornings. Shalini picked up courage to join them. There, in every protesting girl, she could see a victim of teasing or someone who had been visually raped for being a girl, something less than a being. Girls who had gone through this so routinely that they hardly came to think of it as a crime anymore. The event made them realize that it was not okay. It was not something you could or should dismiss as chalta hai, kya karein. The very grassroot of it had to be chopped down. Zero tolerance was echoed.The youth was exhausted of a country a parliament so uncaring, a judiciary so weak and jail bars so supple.
In the protests, Shalini found the voice she had once lost. The spirit of yesterday returned and hope for the future a bit more secured. A new firmness found to take to the neighborhood park.
