Saturday, July 28, 2012

My body, your body, and the availability of it.

So Medusa was negotiating the crowds and the buses, in front of the busiest railway station of them all. She wasn't looking forward to the long walk home- at a time when everyone was getting out of Calcutta she was trying to walk in, and hence going to be faced with masses of humanity, but still the prospect of the walk made her feel virtuous, because as usual, she had not been exercising, like she ought to, for the benefit of the self and research project.

As she was about to cross the road, a stray hand grabbed her left breast, and then let go. Medusa could not turn around fast enough to conclusively ascertain which balding man it was, but she let out a snarling "fucker" and wondered whether to lash out at the nearest guy, but then decided against it. Instead she crossed the road, hugged one side of the bridge and inched her way forward, thinking about the stray hand.

Its not like she was shocked and exceptionally upset, she was pissed, and also surprised. It had been couple of weeks since she was groped last, and she had managed to not have the thought of being groped upper most in her mind. And also, she was wearing a salwar kameez with a dupatta and the hand did manage to negotiate the dupatta. So much for dressing modestly, appropriately. She was thinking about the dexterity of that stray hand- when did those pair of eyes spot her, when did the hand decide to make a dash for it, and where did the pleasure go to, the loins? If yes, did the man then proceed with an erection? If yes, how long did it last? Longer than the contact with the unknown woman's body, surely?

And then some guy passing her from the opposite side, hit her so hard, she cried out in pain. The small voice in her head chastised her, for once again foolishly walking in the crowd, when she could have easily gotten into a bus. But what about the time when Medusa and her friend were walking on the empty-ish road in front of the university, and a biker hit her friend really hard and zoomed away? Where was the crowd then? And what is the pleasure that people get from hitting unknown women, is it the same pleasure that one gets from grabbing the breast and the bum? Or is it something else? After this pleasure, do the men gloat for the rest of the journey, or do they promptly forget about it, and look for the next person to hit?

Idle questions all. 

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