Smita Jha's Blog, page 2

Moon, Zoe, and One Conversation

It was the same old sight for the regulars at that bar, Moon was famous (rather infamous) for creating a mess every weekend. It was almost monotonous how she would enter the bar at sharp nine, flaunting a brand new dress from an expensive label each time, and occupy the centremost table of the bar, alone. Her first order was always a plate of chicken wings with a glass of whisky sour. Despite a sexy dress and flawlessly done makeup and hair, and a pair of heels easily worth half a lakh, there was an undisguised pain on her face, so tangible that one could simply feel it by a semi-touch of her skin. 

Like many people, Moon, too, found relief in dim lights, loud music and a dozen strangers by her side. The feeling of being “unseen” was a temporary relief from the world where she was rejected, rejected so mercilessly. Yet, after drowning herself in a pool of alcohol, Moon became an attention magnet. 

Some men and almost all women hated Moon for grabbing all the attention, she was even called names — bitch, slut, psychotic and outlandish surely made their place in the list. To be not found out by her parents, Moon never drove her own car to these so-called secret hidings, and hence, men happily volunteered to help her with a ride. Moon never remembered what happened after that, without a surprise. 

Talking about that particular night, everything was mundane as if someone was playing the same clip of the movie from every weekend, except for one uncanny thing. Moon was not offered a ride by any greedy man this time. Yes, a complete stranger, dressed in a white dress, nude heels and a beautiful gold necklace, a gorgeous woman named Zoe pressed the brakes on her car looking at Moon almost losing her grip on the floor, lost alone in a bustling crowd of judgmental people.

Miss you each day. Your absence is more painful than death. #Loveyoupapa

Miss you each day. Your absence is more painful than death. #Loveyoupapa

Eight in the evening (a short story)

With the view of the sea and the sky — wearing the same color and mood, the sound of birds singing their favorite song on loop, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee serving as the most beautiful wakeup call, Sid’s mornings were no less than a dream for people his age. At just 27, he was living a high life. He had built a beautiful nest in the heart of South Delhi, owned a four-storey office in Saket and switched between a shiny black BMW and a newly bought Ferrari F60 to commute. 

On weekdays, Sid spent his time at work, captivating people with his charisma. He was loved by many and envied by even more. Even the people who met him for a few minutes would think about him for hours and weeks. His presence was powerful — he was considered as addictive as morning coffee. Weekends weren’t different either, except, he would be spreading his magic in the most hep bars in the capital. He was popular for his handsome looks, agreeable personality, and great humor. With many credit cards in his wallet and a charming smile on his face, whenever he was around, both men and women would silently compete to win his attention. Wherever Sid would go, whoever Sid would meet, he was the sun, the moon, and the star. The shiniest star. 

At eight in the evening, every day, Sid would return home, divorced from the world. He would head straight to the washroom to switch to reality. There was a huge gold-framed mirror in his Pinterest-y washroom. The mirror was a contrast to the outside world. It was different from all the people he met. All of Sid’s charm and charisma, his million-dollar smile and his soaring shares in the market would fail to impress that mirror. And in front of that mirror, each evening, Sid would introspect, sometimes for a few minutes, and sometimes for over an hour. Sometimes he would feel numb. And sometimes a tear or two would fall down his cheeks. 

I’m a Brave Woman Scared of Men in the Dark

Disclaimer: This isn’t a harangue; this is a true story inspired by hundreds of dingy experiences that we, women, have to go through continuously. We deserve safety, we deserve equality.

Mostly when I am writing something, congeries of old memories pass through my mind. And today, too, I am reminded of many incidents in my and my friends’ lives that are nothing short of horror for any girl.

Our (women’s) lives are designed like a special hell where whatever we do, we draw flak. If we step out fully covered, we are tagged as backward or underpowered, and if we show the slightest of our waistline in our favourite crop top, we are blamed for exciting men to rape us. If we want to reach back home before the sun settles down, often, our guy friends would call us coward and question us, “When will you start living your life to the fullest, ya?” And if we wish to express our desire to stay out in the night and have a little fun, we often hear, “Are you mad or what, why do you want to look cool by risking your life?” You see what I mean, don’t you?

I (like million other girls) have experienced molestation in many forms since my childhood. From men starting at me to death even before I had hit the “magical age” of puberty to being followed, stalked, abused, threatened, stereotyped and harassed till today, I have faced a lot (like my million other girls). Though I take pride in my parents’ upbringing which always reinforced that it’s NOT my fault and I should always fight back, there have been numerous occasions where my parents (mostly my father) have panicked the hell of out of this world and taken out their angst at me for making late night entries to home. I have debated with him with all my spirits, but at the end, I have always understood that it’s not his backward mindset but his fear that in the world that we are living in, there can be a day, when I will not make it home, like so many girls we read about in the newspapers. His fear and insecurities make him scold me for being late, because who else will he go and scream at? Sure, NOT ALL MEN! But how do we know, which one of them exactly NOT? 

(Note: I am in no way endorsing families who have conservative streak and chain the legs of women in their house because they BELIEVE women should stay indoors. I have only decoded the mindset of my father who I understand very well, inside out.)

I am a confident woman who TRIES to live her life progressively but is scared at the very sight of a man in a deserted dark lane. Don’t worry, this fear hasn’t stemmed from my hate towards men but a series of traumatic experiences forced upon me by men I never wronged. A recent example follows.

A month ago, I was walking my dog for his last round of peeing for the day. It must have been around 9:00 pm and we were moving from the front door of our society to the back. 100 metres into the walk, I felt someone stalking me and I turned around in panic. I noticed a man, probably in his 30s, driving a luxurious car at snail’s speed. He asked me for directions. Sensing something fishy, I guided him in a hurry, but then, sensed him continuing to follow me, moving his car at the slowest possible speed. It was a dark, deserted lane with hardly an insect in sight. I won’t lie, I was scared for my life. By God’s grace, I was just 10 steps away from my back gate and hurried my steps at the speed of light. When he couldn’t do anything else he might have planned for, he asked me, “How much do you charge for a night, 10k?” and started puking abuses like I have killed his son.

Countless such instances have taken place and at all times (when I do scream and answer them back and when I stay quiet and rush to a safe place) I feel threatened — for my life and for my parents who would be waiting for me to come back home.

I am a brave woman who is scared of men in the dark.