The Five Tricks to Survival: Or How Not to Get Raped

A humble attempt to share with my fellow Na'vis some tricks to help them safeguard their Izzat and yes in some cases their lives as well.

1)  Dress PROPERLY

Now that's the classic excuse after a rape. Or a good enough reason if you HAVE to believe the lechers. “When women are willing to show their bodies to us and invite us, why shouldn't we rape them? Or even better “If you show food to a hungry man, he will eat”. Umm...I thought all men and women evolved from apes into humans. I never realized that women evolved from apes to giant sized McDonalds Cheese Burgers (nice figure = extra mayo and cheese). Its pretty humbling to know that we are considered food. But dressing this burger is dicey grounds. Rapist (or soon-to-be s) say that women should dress like ideal Indian women in Indian clothes. Hooligan groups like RSS/AVBP  lay down the dress code for the proper Hindustani aurat.

Here are a few Guidelines:

*Only plain Indian clothes like sari and salwar kameez - starched, ironed and pinned.

But if you define PROPER by the amount of bare skin that the garment reveals, then there is a basic problem here- a sari exposes the back of your neck, the midriff, the hands, a large portion of the chest unless you team it with a windcheater as a blouse (and land up in hospital due to suffocation and Hyperthermia given the general climate in India).And what if you decide to wear a beige Indian chiffon sari Aka Raveena Tandon in Mohra and it starts to rain?Well although RSS/ moral police laid no guideline on color and the material of the sari, this could be a dangerous experiment. 

Ditto with salwar kameez and duppatas .God save you if the winds blow up your duppata aka most Yash raj Movie. Raj (ah not Shahrukh you hopeless romantics), Raj the local banarasi pan wala  would be on you in a jiffy.

*Wear a Ghunghat. Carry a first aid box with you because you may end up bumping into people and worse - other people’s cars if you are driving. If they are minorly injured, offer the first aid box. If they are majorly injured or dead, keep ghunghat in place and flee to avoid being identified ( you can use this tactic to become a pickpocket and supplement some extra cash in addition to your three figure miserable salary check)

Logically the most effective remedy would be to go and buy yourself a burkha. It’s not exactly..umm.HINDUSTANI but then , whatever. Contact Ramsay brothers and ask them about the dealer that provided them glow-in-the-dark fake eyeballs for the chudails in the movie. Wear the black burkha and the glow eyeballs.Have fun scaring people in the dark.

2) Get a Makeover

Dump those stockings and make up kit. Oh yes! Just do it. Spend your next month’s salary on a cotton, nehru-jacket style Salwar Kameez, and stock up your dressing table with all the coconut oil you find in the neighborhood department store. Download episodes from the popular sitcom “ Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahi” . You can save some bucks by usurping great grandpa’s old black thick frames round glasses, and tear up granma’s old saree to tie up your hair in banana plates. Don’t worry. Even with so much of banana and coconut oil on you will avoid looking like food served on a platter to those hungry men. Yes the one’s who blame us women of adapting to the west, more specifically Amrika, them don’t likes the Banana Chips, only MacD burgers yes please. Also going by their animal instinct it is advisable to avoid any sort of fragrance (or odor for that matter) or they might get ideas that its mating season and you are trying to lure them into finding you by leaving your scent trail.

3) If You Go To A Bar- You Are A Bar Girl

Yeah so what if you are an independent  educated and responsible daughter and have been working like a maniac at work to buy your parents their first car or you are single mother and take care of your kid all by yourself. A glass of anti-oxidant filled red wine helps you de-stress. Are you outta your mind!! Rum is only to make yummy plum cakes at Christmas and beer is a wonderful conditioner for your hair after a shampoo ( ensure that you wear a cap when you go out or they might just rape you cause your hair smells like some teen spirit ;-p). Remember you are a woman and you need to head home straight to cook dinner. Not a drop of alcohol should touch your pious lips. Smoking??? Haw!!! Have you forgotten your values, morals and ethics? Write a mail to ITC asking them to change the warning sign on all cigarettes packets to “Smoking causes rape and fallout in the general character in a woman.” Fuck the doctors and their gyan about bad lungs. Who cares about lung cancer when the morality of the nation is at stake?

4) Be Zena – The Warrior Princess

Yes you are dad’s and big bro’s princess but the men in the street don’t know your dad. 

 Leverage technologies like torrent to download any possible action filled chick flick. Lara Croft, Zena, Uma Thurman and Halle Berry should be your ideal role models. Forget Mother Teresa and Kalpana Chawla. Why care about selfless social service or aeronautics, when your life is at stake? Arm yourself with any object that has sharp and wound inflicting edges, tazer guns or water balloons. Use pepper spray, hair spray, toilet spray. Watch Kung-Fu Panda and decipher the wushi finger hold. Use hairpins, safety pins and soft board pins like rocket launchers. Make dummies out of cloth and newspaper and practice free kicks at home, specifically targeted at the groin and crotch area ( remember to make multiple dummies of various heights). You might end up breaking mum’s antique porcelain vase or end up hitting dad or bro at a place totally unwanted. Don’t be disheartened. Every war suffers collateral damage.

5) Get a Sex Change

I don’t know why the word PENIS never appeared in Darwin's Theory of Evolution-Survival Of The Fittest. That should have been his Prologue: DICKS, DICKS Flying Everywhere. Maybe somewhere is his subconscious the various references to the power of the female- Mother Earth, Mother Nature, Mother Mary was so strong that he omitted the need for any survival strategies for the female. Whatte ass!!!! 

Honestly, I don’t blame him. Till I hit puberty I was reeling under the notion that women just like the Hindu goddesses (that includes the obsolete Greeks and Romans and cultures across the world) were something to be considered sacrosanct enough.

But if having a dick is what can ensure you a life today, well- get a Life! Have a dick, flaunt it in small red underwear aka John Abraham in Dostana, wear your chaddi on your trousers ( aka superman) to ensure that everyone’s attention is directed towards your jaw-dropping, big bulge of majestic manhood. After all, You are the MAN.

Consider these ladies. Now you are officially the superior sex. You don’t have to go through the pain of menstruation every month (and though you have a dick but no naturally occurring male hormones- you don’t have to shave everyday either) . You don’t have to carry a 7 pound flag bearer of the man’s family name in your stomach for nine months. You can drink, smoke ,dope and yes even rape if you feel like having some fun,  you can bathe in your undies in public, can urinate anywhere you feel when the pressure builds up ( God knows I will give my life to be able to do that). You can pass sleazy comments at the item number in the movie and have some paisa wasool, you can come home late or not come at all and your character is still unquestionable. You are not obliged to cook, clean and maintain the budget for the house.

( My figures hurt of  listing advantages of being a man- now infact I can understand the reason behind their claim to fame of being the better if not stronger sex )

Issue in Public Interest: All of the points above are mere suggestions of the author and don’t incorporate inputs by rapists or soon-to-bes. Hence safety is not guaranteed. Valuables at owner’s risk. Neither the law, nor the police, the human rights association or the author will be responsible for loss of valuables like dignity,self respect or IZZAT.

There are some kinds of death that dont end up in funerals- deaths you cannot smell- Haruki Murakami

I was sitting on the floor. Back pressed to the wall, crammed in between the sofa, clinching my legs and arms to occupy as less space as possible and avoid being seen by anyone from the room. There was I, lying on the bed right in front of me, dressed in my gray pajamas and white T-shirt, my favorite one. A man was bent over me, at an angle that hid his face completely from me. Not that if I saw him I would recognize him. I don’t think I know him. I tried to concentrate on his movements, trying to employ my intuitive powers and read what he would do next. I could read nothing. I stared into his eyes and could read nothing. Something cold and steel like pierced into me. His stare? No. He has a scissor in his hand. I screamed. Pleaded. For mercy. For life. No, I must help. I must help before all of this gets over. So I extended my hands and reached out. But it doesn’t seem like I can feel a thing. I pulled at the man’s shirt. For a second my hands registered the damp and smooth fabric. Momentarily it reminded me of waking up on a misty November morning. The feeling was akin to the wet feeling you have when you open the window and reaches out to touch the fog. You can feel something cold and wispy . Yet you have touched nothing.   Suddenly he turned and looked straight into my eyes. I recoiled and pulled back my hands. For five seconds he looked straight into my eyes searching for something. And then he got back to work. Cutting me open with the scissor. I realized that I could do nothing to help. So I turned back and shrank behind the chair. Hearing me scream, watching him cutting my skin in a geometric straight line. The cold metal made a creaking sound every time the blades came together. From the neck, in between my breast, my navel, and then further down below. A thin line of blood ran from the center of the bed to the lower right-hand side edge of the bed. I waited and calculated the time each drop of blood took to hang on the hem of my bed sheet, contemplating and then come crashing down on the floor and splash into the small puddle that had accumulated there, perfectly at home. I could see myself scream. I saw the stranger laugh. But the only thing I heard was the sound of the drops falling on the floor. Like someone forgot to close the tap in the bathroom downstairs. Muffled, yet undoubtedly the sound of drops falling. One every 6 seconds.

                                          *******************************

I dragged my poor being into office early morning. Eyes watering, red and laden with sleep. A bad night always translated into a bad next day. I picked up the receiver and dialed a number. I was greeted by the cold tone of an IVR asking me to record my message. 5 pm. And then I disconnected.

                                          *******************************

The psychiatrist looked nothing like a psychiatrist. He looked like any other man on the street. I tried to imagine him as the paperwala, the grocery shop owner, the dentist. He seems a good fit everywhere. I was not quite sure why he called himself a specialist and was he special enough to solve my problem. Nevertheless for the 600 rupees I had already paid for this two hour session, I decided to stay on.

“So you have nightmares?”

I wished I could say something like “No I just like to hop around the town at 1.30 in the night, singing London Bridge is falling down and people think that’s abnormal. So I have come for a second opinion”. Instead I nodded a meek “Yes”.

“Are they that scary?”

‘Aren’t they called nightmares because they are scary? Which school gave you that degree?’

 Another meek “yes”.

This time he looks deep into my eyes with a look as if he is going to detonate an atom bomb, “tell me what all do you dream about?”

So I tell him about rapes- mines and others, murders- gruesome ones, Ghosts and me trapped in large huge empty theaters together, deserted villages with a vulture sitting on a broken pot, having read chemistry and discovering 10 minutes before the final exam that its history paper today. Single child, can’t fail, can’t make friends, frustrated at something, looking for something- drugs, smoke, ethereality, delusions.

The specialist is silent, both thumbs stuck on the sides of the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, thin lips shut tight. I like the silence of the room , but I still expect him to speak up early. I need a coffee.

“The best way to understand why we have nightmares is to think of them as an early warning system or an alarm that alerts us that something is wrong in our lives and is hurting us. Being human, we do not always pay attention to the subtle hints or little nudges that tell us that we need to change something. We keep procrastinating instead of working out the problems, or we are so preoccupied with other matters that we miss the big issues. Drawing references through some parallel incidents that happened in the past or what we thought might have occurred,  our mind seems to put us through a cognitive test that test our abilities and outlook on a given issue, to prepare us for going through a painful lesson in life such as the break-up of a relationship, loss of a loved one, fears of death, loss of health; any number of situations.”

Hmm..It would be nice if I had some coffee.

“Through alteration of what we think and behave like during the day we can understand the issues that are being brought to our attention and change our perception. They are actually sometimes helpful, the same way that pain alerts us that something is wrong with our bodies, nightmares are a helpful warning to alert us that our emotional and mental state has a glitch that needs to be fixed, because it's somehow making our lives harder and more painful Psychologist Ernest Rossi has put forth that one important function of dreaming is integration: the combining of separate psychological structures into a more balanced and comprehensive personality. Renown psychologist Carl Jung observed that portions of our whole personality which we knowingly or unknowingly judge become disowned, and are frequently projected outward in dreams, taking the form of aggressors, devils, monsters, intimidating animals or natural events (e.g. tidal waves), and so on. Jung referred to these symbolic figures as "the shadow". Whether we become aware of such elements of our shadow through nightmares or daymares, re-accepting these judged and disowned portions of ourselves is the message and the awaiting gift.”

Bullshit! I don’t want to give any cognitive tests or know what’s wrong in my life. If I set out to correct every thing that’s wrong I’d spend a life time just praying things got right someday. I just want to be left alone. And right now I need a coffee.

“You need to open up to people. Make friends, go out with them, spend good time with people whom you love, read good books, listen to good music...”

 “I listen to music.”

“Oh thats nice! Whom do you listen to?”

“Led Zep, Pink Floyd, Metallica, Kishore, The Doors.....” I was about to pour in 83 names. He anticipated, overlooked the Kishore, frowned and interrupted me mid-way

“No, no that wouldn’t do”

“Why?” I asked indignantly.

“Its too loud .”

I have decided I don’t like him and I am dying for some coffee.

“But you said good music. You never said anything about the volume,” I protested.

“No no kid you don’t understand. You listen to what I say and do so. You will be fine in a week. Meditate in the morning while listening to soothing music, Make friends, go out and watch a movie, take some.....”

“Cant do”.

“Why? What’s your problem?”

I’m about to spurt out something like ‘yeah If I could tell that I wouldn’t have paid 600 bucks to come to you bugger’. Again I open my mouth meekly and was about to say something when the phone rang in the adjacent chamber, which the doctor used as his office.

“You will excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute. Meanwhile kindly think about the times you were happy, about the things that you wish for in life, think about things that you like, you would like to buy, placesyouwanttogo, boyfreeeiiiiii............”

His voice buzzed through the room and was taken over by whispers from his chamber. I looked around. I was bored and now I needed a coffee.

I left him a note on his desk. The first two lines of my favorite Syd Barrett song

It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here

And I'm much obliged to you for making it clear

That I'm not here.

                                                *****************************

I walked out of office, plugged in my earphones and contemplated the long journey back home. Auto? No, no money. So a walk to the bus stop a kilometer and half away. It’s mid April and the hot summer afternoon hangs heavy around like the smell of the damp clothes at home. I walk out of the main gate and click on Fleetwood Mac. I walk, head down, gaze fixed on nowhere when I hear a scream. It is briefly followed by many people screaming. I look up to see a jet of blood, followed by a hand and then a body crushed. The bus wheezes past by in full speed and I cover my face with my hands. I run like that for over 50 yards and stop. Should I stop to help? Yes. But if I see all that blood and human corpse I might get scarier nightmares? What will I do to help? Can I even lift the corpse? Sure there are other people there.

I pick up the mobile and dial 108. I give them the details and walk away.

The next day morning I read in the newspaper that the man died on the way to the hospital because an ambulance couldn’t arrive in time.

                                     **********************************

I was waiting for my friend Mukhtar at the cafe close to our college.

“ Stupid dumb fool. Must be high on marijuana and drugs and just forgot about handing over the notes. What am I gonna do for tomorrow’s exam?”

Just then I saw Mukhtar’s face and then his form unfold as the rim of my cup lowered. He dumped a pile of xerox papers on table and plummeted into the chair.

“You look sick,” I asked “Been on too much chemicals again?”

“No,” He timidly replied “have had fever and headache since the past two weeks”

“Nothing inside you is working fine. You fall sick so often because everything inside you has stopped working”

“Do you fall sick often?” he raised his head and looked at me.

“No”. I look at him expectantly.

Mukhtar shifts his gaze from my face to the window and said, “Then maybe something inside you has stopped working too,”

                                     ********************************

Since the accident I have not had a nightmare.