Spark a change

With the increasing number of rapes, murders, kidnappings and child trafficking, the only thing I can wish for is, like the title says, a spark, a miracle, a magical support and a super power. It cannot be a temporary solution; it has to mark the beginning of a revolution; a revolution for peace, safety and security; or, at least a small step towards it.

What lead to the inception of this thought was a normal bus journey that started from college to home.

Buses near colleges are mostly filled with boys and girls around the age of 18, the youth, to be precise. They are fast-paced, naive, rebellious and light-hearted. For an onlooker,  they seem unconquerable. Maybe that is what makes it challenging for a pervert. In the bus full of young college girls, there was one big man. He was tall, large in size and looked decently dressed. He wore neatly ironed trousers with a crisp shirt and a tie. While he remained unnoticed, the excitement and the hurried whispers among the girls was high and eye-catching. There was a sudden drop in the chattering and the laughs. Yes, the 'decent' man had made his 'move'. He was either trying to squeeze a girl's waist or grab her breasts. The girls lashed out at him, stamped his foot, even tried to push him off. It just did not seem to work. The man did not budge. The girls soon realized that they were too weak for him and moved away. Other girls began to fall prey to the same torture.

I began to wonder what I would've done. Would I call for help? Who could or who would lend a hand? Would I call the police? But what about the trauma? Would I ever feel safe again?

Miracles happen. Super powers exist. But, sometimes there is just the need for more super humans who can take care of things till the miracles come for rescue. Here, I mean the real super heroes, heroes who can face it without fear, who are nothing but a sense of hope to the others. I wish every woman can be strong physically, maybe through martial arts or any other form of self defense. When one is strong physically, it is not hard to face the big bad world full of dirty minded men, who take advantage of their physical self. I am taking lessons on martial arts and self defense and I often tell my friends and family the same story. I hope for a tomorrow full of 'strong' women sparking a change in the world of male dominance.

"It is true that a victim who fights back may suffer for it, but one who does not almost certainly will suffer for it."
                                                                                                          Jeff Cooper (1920–2006)
                                                                                             "Principles of Personal Defense", 1989

Bajji theft

Saturdays are official happy days to me. The sunny mornings, the lazy afternoons, the 'chaat'-n-chatty evenings, the dinner with movie and the rosy-cosy sleeps. It is the time to relax, stretch, yoga and rejuvenate. Or, to idle at one place and watch mommy-dearest prepare some delicacies and then, spend the next hour, munching on them.

Well, this time, after my evening 'chaat', I had to go over to Golu's house. Golu is a round and plump guy with a never-dying energy and an ever-hungry tummy. He is a loving friend from a long while. His dad is an amazing cook. Maybe, that is why he has been my friend for so long.

Today, Golu's eyes were filled with excitement and impatience. His dad was making his favourite potato 'bajjis' and onion 'pakodas'. While the delicious smell from the kitchen was killing him, his dad's order to stay outside was ripping his soul apart. He was, indeed, a sight to see.

Rhea, his little niece, has always had a soft corner for him. Every time I have joked about his mad urge for eating, she has been there to make her rude remarks. Now, she was looking at me, scornfully, while I was laughing at Golu's plight. He was dancing on the tips of his toes, complaining about how hungry he was.

It was around 6.30 in the evening and the lights went out. Golu's dad came out of the kitchen, handed us each a 'bajji' and warned us not to go into kitchen because the cooking pan was hot. He repeatedly told Golu to wait with patience and stop acting like a glutton. Minutes seemed like hours as we sat there, staring into darkness. Golu seemed to have gone off to sleep with Rhea lying on his lap.

The taste of the 'bajji', still lingering in my head, was making me restless. I thought I can sneak into the kitchen, quietly, for a quick bite, without making a sound. I managed all of it well, except for the last bit. A tin or something fell to the floor with a bang and like a wonder, the lights were back, that very instant. I quickly turned around to hurry back. Three pairs of eyes were looking at me. Rhea was looking at me with folded hands. 'You too?!' was all Golu's dad could say.