It happened when I was 18.

I was returning from a pooja at a family friend's place and I was wearing saree for the first time and hence a very big day. It was two in the afternoon on a Saturday. The street that I was walking down was not crowded but not deserted either. I had walked down that street for years so I was not thinking anything but about the day. Suddenly an auto pulled up next to me, three men were inside apart from the driver, they tapped on my shoulder and I turned around assuming they were looking for some address. One of the men inside asked me "barteeya" as in "will you come?" It made no sense to me. What does he mean "will you come?" then he pulled out some money from his pocket and grinned. I was so ashamed, scared and shocked all at once. Somehow managed to shout at him and they sped off. My home was a good half kilometer form that place and I was shivering with fear and was doddering along and the auto reappears at the next curve and the guy tries to grab me inside. I use all my strength and try to slap the guy. He laughs and auto goes away. All the while the other two men in the auto are looking away and the auto driver is looking ahead as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. This happened in front of a shop where I went to buy groceries every single day since I was 6 or 7. Not one guy there budged even as I walked on with my hand bleeding (I had a cut when I my glass bangles broke trying to slap the guy).

The story doesn't end there. I go home and mom freaks at the site of me. Entire neighbourhood gathers around and my dad's called from office and I tell him lets go to the police station because I had noted the auto number plate. But that never happened because everyone convinces my parents that going to the police will spell doom on my future(!!!). Nobody would listen to me. Everyone talks how bad the city is getting and goes back home.

I came down with fever didn't dare to go out for the next week and jumped every time an auto slowed down near me for a long time after that. I also convinced myself that I had somehow managed to look inviting that day and brought it on myself. I dreaded wearing sarees for a very long time after that and thought ten times before I wore anything else.

Then may be about two years later when the incident didn't hurt as much to think about I realised that it was not my fault, I didn't ask for it. It was a big moment and since then I have not taken such things lying down. I carry a paper knife / screwdriver with me all the time and haven't hesitated to pull it out when just shouting hasn't helped. And at times just Bisleri water bottles have come in handy.

I have even stepped into police stations and lodged complaints without male company. (It's a different matter that nothing has come off it)

It was a big lesson learnt that people don't have the time to help other people and it is up to you to take care of yourself!

ACTION HERO ABHIPRIYA

Posted 9th March 2007

ALISTAIR D'SOUZA KNOWS AN ACTION HERO

Story 1: Walk the Night

This happened during my early engineering days, when I used to stay in a place with a lot of relatives around. We own this huge area with houses all around and a squarish ground in the centre. I have played on that ground since my childhood and at night we would sometimes have bonfires late into the night. Basically what I want to convey is that my sense of security was within that entire enclosure and not just within my home.

My mom would sometimes go for her walks even if it was late in the evening. Along the border of this enclosure there was some construction work going on and some workers were making merry and in high spirits. One of them threw a bottle from the top and it landed about 20-30 meters away from him, with the intention to startle or target my mother. My mother came home and told me about what had taken place; my dad was not at home at that moment. I then decided to confront them armed in a short pant, a baniyan, rubber chappals; with a baseball bat in hand. We climbed up to the second floor where the workers were and finally I stood face to face with them; about 7-8 lean, well-built men. The reality of the situation then hit us, with my mother standing behind me, and we froze. They didn't have weapons but there were rods/bricks lying around which could serve the purpose. They could have easily over powered us if the need arose and then through the fear in my throat, words started to flow, trying to make them realize their wrong doing and bring some sense to their actions. They listened while I spoke, the baseball bat ready for any eventuality.

But then things went out of hand. A third person who was living in that building came to the terrace and tried to get involved, having a previous history of friction with those workers. 'SPLAT!!!!' he slapped one of them across the face. Realizing that the situation was now out of hand I took my mom home and then people, relatives started to turn up from everywhere. In the minutes that followed three groups were formed; the other group on our side against those drunken workers and their friends. People phoned people and the crowd started to increase and after a bit of shouting and yelling, people decided to beat up a few people. We were arguing about the bottle, the workers were arguing about the 'SLAP' and the third party was also arguing for something. In the heat of the moment, things happened :-) as you didn't know some of the people who were on your side. Finally the contractor in charge of those workers arrived and we spoke to him and things were settled, our sense of security still stretched to the limits of that entire enclosure and not just our homes.

Story 2: Flash Light
I was out for a late night movie with friends at Symphony Theatre in Bangalore; three guys, including me and a girl. We were coming out of the movie and crossing the road heading towards our vehicle; myself and the girl behind the others. A car that was parked was heading home and he slowly moved towards the road as we passed in front of him. Then out of the blue that guy in the car increased the intensity of his headlights as the girl passed in front of him. I didn't realize what was happening... in fact I only thought about it when I saw her angrily stare at the guy in the car and the smirk he had on his face... she was wearing an ankle length skirt, made of cotton material. It took me sometime to figure out what had happened but by then we had already moved ahead. The incident took just 2-3 seconds, the others never noticed anything and the girl also chose not to mention anything to us.

Posted 21st March 2007

Guys, It’s not all that ‘friendly’

As a brother I am not of a very over protective kind, at least that is what I try to be in front of my sister. I’ve always wanted her to tackle things on her own and I am glad to say that she’s never disappointed me at that. One over protective dad is enough for her, I guess. ;-)
I have always hated going to pick her up from some place or having to drop her to some place, just because she is a girl. However, despite hating it I have always done it considering the dangerous society we live in. Don’t get me wrong, I can do any thing for my sis but doing something for her which she should ideally be able to do on her own, but for the fear of ‘unsafe’ streets of our cities is something that puts me off a great deal. I hate having to live in this society which makes it compulsory for my sis to be dependent on me for even the smallest of the things.

I consider her to be a strong person as well, as she’s never come back to me crying and complaining about some guy or some event. I hope this means that she is capable enough to handling things on her own. So it came to me as a surprise when one fine evening last year she told me about some guy who was following her from the bus stop till the next traffic signal near my house, for past few days.

Having heard any such a thing from her for the first time, I sat straight and started listening with ‘concerned’ written all over my face. So she smiled and said “don’t worry Dada, I have already tackled and settled it.” It made me feel better and also curious, so I asked her to tell me the entire story.

Here is what happened in her own words:

‘There was this guy, perhaps younger than me, who used to be there at the bus stand everyday when I came back from my classes, and then used to follow me from bus stand to the next traffic signal. I always ignored him. Yesterday he gained courage to talk to me and asked me to become his ‘friend’. Even when I did not respond to him, he kept talking to me. I then told him very nicely that I do not make friends with strangers and that I am not interested, but he kept walking by my side and kept trying… then he wrote his phone number on a piece of paper and tried to pass it on to me, saying take my number and call me. By this time I had started to lose it, so I stopped walking, stared at him and shouted, “don’t you understand that I am not interested, you better walk away or I’ll beat the hell out of you and call police.”
To which he apologetically replied “but I am only asking for your friendship, what’s the harm… “
“NO” I interrupted him, this time in a voice even more stern.
“OK. fine.. but why are you shouting?” he said lamely and went away from there… ‘

I felt relieved, and I told my sister to call me up if she sees him again so that I can take care of him. But she smiled and assured me, “Don’t worry Dada, after yesterday’s dose he would not dare to come again”. There was something special about her smile, she was ‘An Action Hero‘.

——–

I am glad that perhaps this chap was a not so threatening guy, who could perhaps also be given a benefit of doubt that he genuinely wanted to be ‘friends‘ with my sister, not realizing that his friendship offer was actually harassing the girl he wanted to be friends with. I hope that this incident made him realize that what he was trying to do was wrong, however noble(?) his intentions might have been.

If you are a guy and reading this, please keep in mind that your behavior towards women which you consider ‘normal’ or ‘fun’, like whistling, winking, singing, touching or trying to be friends is something which harasses them to a great deal. If you need a proof go ask your sister, mother, wife or girl friend, they go through this harassment every single day.

If you are a girl and you never gave it back to the harasser, know that most of the eve-teasers will just step back as soon as you retaliate. If they don’t get it themselves, it’s your job to make them realize that they are wrong. And then (unfortunately so) you’ll also find some criminal minded ones who don’t understand mere words, for such people keep your kicks, punches and pepper sprays ready.

Posted 21st March 2007

ACTION HERO ANASUYA

The Blank Noise Project asked for a blog-a-thon on March 8th; a way of celebrating the strengths of those who resist, in some way, street level harassment. A great idea. Yet the words ‘Action Hero’ somehow constrain me: what is Action, and who is a Hero? This March 8th, I was in the middle of a workshop with a group of police officers from States across South India and reiterating - many times over, in different ways - that women are *not* women’s worst enemies (yes, a treatise on that soon). Was that being an Action Hero? I work with men, with law enforcers, with some of the most patriarchal structures in the world, and I do not abuse, I do not indignify, I do not violate. Perhaps more honestly, I do my best not to (there are times when I bite my tongue, hard. It hurts). But certainly I describe, I analyse, I provoke, I persuade. I challenge. Is that being an Action Hero?

Whatever the ways in which Jasmeen, Mangs, Chinmayee and Annie conceived of it, philosophical flimsies are not going to cut it. So let me remind myself - and tell others - of a couple of lessons I learnt early. One was when I was in college in Delhi. Being in the hostel, any kind of travel involved painful hours in a sweaty bus or painfully expensive moments in an auto. The choice was simple, and I learnt more about harassment on DTC (Delhi Transport Corporation) buses than any hi-falutin’ economics. Perhaps (says the philosopher), I did get somewhere after all.

I learnt that anger is not always strategic. It’s a peculiar Delhi phenomenon - and I find it slowly spreading to other cities, including Bangalore - that if you raise your voice in anger against someone who’s harassing you, very few people are likely to support you. However obvious the harassment, however gruesome the details. Someone who’s not just touching you, but who’s conveniently using the lack of interstitial space to slam against every bit of you and rub himself up in perverse joy. What works? Shame. And humour. Humour, you ask in horror? Was it funny, what he was doing? No, it wasn’t. Far from. But what worked was this: I would say loudly, so that as many people around could hear me, in as bored a clarion call as possible, ‘Kya bhaiya, yeh sab aap ghar me nahi kar sakthe, kya? [Why, brother, can’t you do all this at home?]’. There would be titters, some loud guffaws and the slammer-against-body (whose face I couldn’t even see, considering the position I was in) would suddenly ease himself up, and leave the bus at the next convenient moment. Or at least move himself from the parking spot that was my body.

Another moment of self-preservation epiphany. I was travelling from Karwar to Raichur via Hubli (all in north Karnataka). I ended up being in a bus that landed up in Raichur at 2 in the morning [Note to self: try not to travel alone to unknown destinations at odd hours of the night. As far as possible]. On the bus, I had made ample and effective use of a loaded water bottle to preserve my bums from groping fingers and toes belonging to the person sitting in the seat behind me. When I got down at the bus stop, I found the place strewn with sleeping bodies and bags. Luckily for single women, very few public places in India are ‘deserted’. The trouble is, those who are temporarily inhabiting that space may not (as mentioned before) support you in a moment of crisis. Anyhow, no one was awake at the Raichur bus stop; it was deathly quiet and with only one tube light that cast a pool of light over a limited area. Some instinctual common sense made me clamber over the bodies and bags, shift a few of those around gently, and settle into a position right in the middle of the light. Not a moment too soon. A burly man, probably in his mid thirties, came up out of the shadows, and watched me for a while. He circled around the bus stop, over and over again, waiting, I feel with hindsight, for me to move out of the light. I didn’t. I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to run. So lesson number 2: running isn’t always the solution. Stay in the light, and be prepared to scream.

After about what felt like a few hours (but was probably closer to 45 minutes), he realised I wasn’t going to budge. And he left. I stayed awake, clutching my bag, clutching myself, thanking my surprisingly sharp instincts that I hadn’t done something unbearably foolish. Lesson number 3: trust that gut of yours. It is seldom wrong. ‘Rationality’ is judged by outcome.

Posted 21st March 2007

ACTION HERO AMODINI

Last year when BNP called out for Bloggers to put down their thoughts on this phenomenon we call "eve-teasing", but which actually is serious, ongoing, harassment, I did. And the experiences I read that day, via links on BNP, left me horrified , but unsurprised. It happens, oh yes, it does. Thank God we are actually talking about it now.
 

This year when they called out again to put down your experiences of fighting back, I was unsure of my contribution. I haven't done anything which you could term "heroic" - I haven't walked into police stations, I have never fought back physically. I have however tried to protect myself, in crowded buses, by turning around and questioning men grinding into my rear, using umbrellas, and elbows, and keys, and zippered, metal-studded handbags. And I remember once, as a school girl, walking home in my white blouse and navy skirt, of being followed by two men on a motor-cycle, and veering off from the road, climbing onto a large pile of sand, and grabbing fist-fulls of it. The men circled the sand-pile a couple of times, leering and reaching out their hands, trying to grab at me, but then went away, when they spied traffic.

I remember, while living in a sea-side town attempting to take solitary walks along the beach, because it was so beautiful, and I loved the feel of sun-warmed sand on my toes. However, I gave up trying because the couple of times I tried it, some moron on a moped or a cycle would follow me down to the beach, and baleful glares, and choice epithets, even when uttered by me, spoilt the experience.

Refusing men their offers of "friendship" while standing at bus-stops can get pretty tiring after a while. So does refusing lifts from well-dressed young men, who know where you live, and profess a familiarity with your acquaintances. No, You don't live there, and no, you don't want to get into their car. However, more tiring than that is acting like eve-teasing doesn't exist. Pretending that when you step out into public spaces, in streets, you don't guard your actions, and you don't use your handbag like armor. Pretending that in polite, middle-class society, women aren't pawed and groped and humiliated. Pretending that you're above this abomination happening to you everyday, when you're not.

We never have conversations about eve-teasing in our living-rooms, in our homes. We never acknowledge the problem - such is life, and women must lump it? It can seem futile to fight this battle because it's never ending, and you know that once you've had chided the molester in this bus, there will be another lecher in the next. But, if we don't acknowledge this harassment, don't speak about it, and complain (loudly), no one will ever comprehend it for the crime it is. Women who speak up are not weaklings. They aren't refusing to take on "life's problems". They aren't refusing to be practical. Eve-teasing should not be a part of "life". It should not be the norm, because invasion of our private space, our bodies cannot be the norm. Ever.

Bravo, BNP !

Posted 21st March 2007 by J

ACTION HERO ANNIE ZAIDI

A quiet kind of heroism

Once you've put into writing the truths that have hammered your life - your commutes, your streets, your nights, your finances - into a spreadsheet of fear, you're changed.

You take a solitary walk all around a PVR complex, and you get a cup of coffee on a night so cold that the mists rising from your lips and the cup mingle and waft into a drizzle, and you look for an empty bench and when you find it, you sit and gaze into the hazy throngs of young people - up and down, arm in arm - knowing that curious stares are hemming you in, but you sit, hands wrapped around a toosweet-toohot cup, unhurried, because you'll be damned if you can't do this; a stranger with big moustaches heads towards your bench but when you fix your eyes on him, he changes direction - for you sit bang in the centre of the bench, feet stretched, head at rest, in a wet bubble of falling night-sky - and you go on sitting there, looking at nothing, spotting a familiar boy hurry past with an unfamiliar girl clinging onto his arm, and when the coffee is gone and the sky is still, you get up, toss the cup in the trash-can, breathe deep, and walk away.

Posted 21st March 2007

Second-hand virgin

I don’t know if this qualifies for a heroic deed on my part, but it happened a few years ago and I’m still mulling over the underlying issues that were raised that day. It was an argument with a former colleague, and like all arguments it was quite silly to begin with and quite pointless, too.

My former colleague... well, let’s give him a name, shall we?... perhaps, Rudolph would sound better because that way no one will be able to guess his real identity. Anyway, Rudy and I were talking about long-term relationships and marriage because he thought he needed to talk about these issues with me since I happen to be single and he happens to be married, and well, he thought, I needed to do something to change my single status.

Why my single-status should be a source of concern to a colleague at work is something that I’ll never understand, but hey, that’s a digression.

Anyway, I told Ruddy that I don’t plan on remaining single forever but will only marry if and when I meet someone I want to grow old with, and someone with whom I can talk and not get bored. I thought that was a reasonably good explanation even if it’s me saying so, but Ruddy had to ask another question.

“Will you marry a girl who is not a virgin,” he asked, “or will you even consider a woman who had a serious boyfriend in the past?”

I didn’t think of this as a serious issue, and so I told him, “a woman’s past really doesn’t bother me unless she is still pining for her lost love, but if she is not, then, it shouldn’t matter.”

Ruddy couldn’t believe his ears. He thought I had lost it completely, and he became increasingly aggressive as I explained my position. And finally he questioned my manhood because I refused to take a firm stand against women with previous relationships.

I felt this argument was getting to be quite pointless, and wanted to look for an escape hatch and leave my colleague alone with his regressive views. But no, it didn’t end up that way at all because he had to explain his position and that made matters even worse.

He told me that a wife has to be a virgin because a real man must marry a woman who is untainted either physically or emotionally. And if any man does marry a woman with a past it’ll be like purchasing second-hand goods.

It took me a while to digest what he said and then, I told him that it was a load of bollocks. Not a good move because it only made him more furious. My point was, if it’s ok for a man to have relationships before marriage, then, why should such a big deal be made about women? His answer was that women are different because once they lose it they lose itforever, but then, I asked him, doesn’t the same apply to a man because once he’s done it, then, he can never do it for the first time ever again.

What really made me mad was this assumption that women were some kind of a product that must be acquired in its pristine form only. And that this product (for want of a better word) must be seen as a baby-making machine because, according to Ruddy, that’s the purpose of marriage anyway.

I felt sad for Ruddy not because he missed the whole point of marriage, which is lifelong companionship with someone you love, but more so, because he failed to recognize that women are, after all, people with feelings, emotional experiences and their own unique perspectives on life. What a sad life, I thought, if one has to live an entire lifetime without being able to relate with women as the human beings that they are.

But the really sad thing is. . . Ruddy is not alone. There are many more Ruddy’s out there who think along the same lines. It is these Ruddy’s who have given ‘men’ a bad name in the eyes of women everywhere. It is these Ruddy’s who seem to define gender equations… and I think it’s about time we say, ENOUGH!!!

ACTION HERO BOO

"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer."

I have not been quiet all the time. I tried not to be a victim all the time. After being harassed a dozen times, you learn. You grow up from a child to an adult pretty fast. It jolts you awake from the sweet innocence of childhood to become a confused adult. I think I learnt to read the signs and be more weary only when I was around 17 and entered college. Every time I caught a bus to go to college, I looked at faces, judged them and hugged my backpack close to my chest. This one time, I was surrounded by men and this one guy kept staring at me. I stared at his hands all the time. As soon as he brought his hand close to me, I shifted and looked straight into his eyes and said in Tamil, "Don't even think about it! You wont know what hit you!" I could see fear and shame in his face and he got down at the next stop. For once, I felt powerful. But of course, for every situation like this one, there were dozens more where I was the victim with fear and shame in my face and tears in my eyes. But I grew stronger. I started looking out for young girls and tried to protect them as much as I could. I swore at the perverts, complained to the bus conductor, called them names but I have nt hit them. I regret it now. I should have slapped at least one of those perverts. It would have made me a little more happier person today and respect myself more.

Today when my 22 months old daughter told me shes afraid to walk on the dark corridor, all I could think about was how was she going to survive the bad, bad world out there if shes afraid to walk in the dark in our own home. I asked her to be brave, held her hand and walked with her. I told her to be strong like me, her mother. I knew I have to be an action hero so that she can be one too. I don't think I was a hero before but I am one now. Like the title quote* of this post, being a mother is my 5 minutes.

Thanks to the Blank Noise Project for reminding me to stop being a victim. 

Posted 21st March 2007 by J

ACTION HERO CEE KAY

The year was 1995 and the movie Karan Arjun had just been released. I got together with two other friends to go see the movie as my favorite actor, Shahrukh Khan (!!!!) was starring in it. We got into the theater quite easily even though there was quite the mad rush for this movie. But as soon as we got in, we got separated by the throngs of crowd. While I was looking around for my seat and for my friends, I felt someone grope my breasts. I wasn't sure but in a few minutes there he was again! I waited. Like a lioness waits for her prey :D The next instant, as "the hand" groped me again, I grabbed a finger and TWISTED it with ALL my might. And I didn't let go when he tried to yank his hand back. I kept twisting and almost broke his finger off - all the while calmly looking around for my friends. Then I hit another person, who was trying to get "too close for comfort" squarely and solidly in the chest with my helmet (I used to ride my BAJAJ SUPER FE Scooter all around town with a Full-Mask helmet!) Quite a few people caught that exchange (well - the exchange of the blow and the "ow") No one bothered me after that! I still get a rush of satisfaction when ever I think about that incidence. I wish I had done something similar to EVERY ONE who ever dared to lay a finger (or even think about it) on me.

Posted 21st March 2007

ACTION HERO CHEEKAY

I'd love to have been able to say that it was a dark and stormy night when I first discovered my latent mutant powers. It would even be so comicbook-worthy if my mutant powers were borne out of some radioactive spider bite or radio active isotopes or anything radio active for that matter. But my trigger was something a tad more mundane than that: a drunken sleazoid.

It happened during my first few months of uni. It took me an hour and a half everyday to get to school, and an hour and a half going back home. The trip going back home was slightly more unpleasant because I had to go across the EDSA highway through the Guadalupe overpass to get from the bus stop to where the jeepneys were. The Guadalupe overpass is not the nicest place on Earth. It's stinky, dirty and teeming with people -- all the time. The dust and grime from vehicle emmissions from the highway have settled permanently on every surface of the underpass. The waist-high walls of the overpass, which was put there to protect people from falling off, was also used as a public urinal by men who can't wait for the nearest bathroom.The sides of the overpass are usually peppered with buskers singing Engel Humperdink and Tom Jones songs, happy clappy folks predicting the end of the world and how god's wrath will come down upon all sinners, people selling pad locks / fake swiss army knives / balut / pots and pans / shoe soles and parts. Add to that the 50 or so people crossing the overpass at any given point during the day, and cringe at the thought of just how being there feels, sounds and smells like.

But since my mother was not very keen on me attending a university known for its political activism and liberal values, I was not provided any of the comforts of travelling to school everyday (i.e., a car, preferably with a driver, or to live in a place closer to the uni). And since I would rather die than go to yet another Catholic school, I swallowed my mother's conditions for allowing me to study in that uni. So I took a 30-minute jeepney ride to Guadalupe, then an hour-long bus ride to Philcoa to get to the uni, then reversed process, traversing the Guadalupe overpass on the way home. Everyday. For about 7 years.

A few months into my first semester of uni, I was on one of my daily trips back home. It was early evening and I had just gotten off the bus stop at Guadalupe and was making my way across the overpass.

As I waited my turn to descend the flight of stairs on the left side of the overpass, I felt a hand from behind between my legs. I stopped for a second to confirm that there was really a hand up my butt then I panicked when the hand made itself comfortable. So I turned around and saw this old dude who looked and smelled like he had been drinking all day. He wiggled his eyebrows at me and gave me a smug smile. And that was it.

The next thing I knew, he was struggling to keep himself from falling off the flight of stairs on the right side, and my right hand was burning. A quick mental flashback showed me that I had, in my panic, placed my hand on his chest and pushed him away. That quick mental flashback cost me because he soon made his way up towards where I was standing in shock. He screams at me, "whaddya do that for?!?". I scream back, "Because you're a fucking pervert!" Then I pushed him again, this time with both hands. Then I ran down the stairs and got on the first jeepney I could find.

I shook all the way home (and I think I may have shed a few tears). I was completely floored by what had happened. There was nothing in my life that had prepared me for such a scene -- or the realisation of just how unsafe Manila is. Not Manila. Not my city. Not where I felt most comfortable in. Not the place I called home. I felt it had betrayed me in some way. In that 30-minute jeepney ride home, everything and anyone looked sinister. Was the man beside me sitting a little bit too close? Did the jeepney driver hold on to my hand a few seconds too long as he was taking my fare? Was that teenage boy sitting in front of me eyeing me with malicious intent?

Paranoia to nth degree is not fun.

But as I walked home from the corner where the jeepney dropped me off to my house, I began to feel a manic sense of accomplishment. The look on that drunken freakazoid's face as he struggled for balance on the stairs. And the look on his face when I screamed at him and pushed him again. So shocked! Probably as shocked as I was at the moment. Like he couldn't believe it was happening. Like he couldn't believe that some girl wouldn't let him get away with his petty, perverse thrills. And that made me laugh so hard, I had to spend an extra five minutes composing myself before I stepped into my house.

It was then that I began to realise my latent mutant powers: I cause serious damage to anyone who physically threatens me.

In the years between that day on the Guadalupe overpass and the writing of this entry, I have come across men in different places who, for reasons known only to them, get a thrill out of making threatening sexual advances to random women. And everytime that has happened, my mutant powers to cause serious damage, to defend myself, has resurfaced. Like the construction worker who walked up to me to tell me that he thinks I have a big pussy. I flicked a lit cigarette on his face and ran off as he screamed in pain. Or the man standing next to me in a crowded bus who stared at my boobs and told me he liked them. I kneed him where it hurts then stepped on his foot so hard there was no way he could walk home without hobbling.

I don't walk around Manila thinking it's a sinister place. Nor do I go around thinking every random dude I come across is out to harass me. I don't have to. I know that if anyone ever tries to come near me with the intent of sexually harassing me, I have my mutant abilities to back me up. I know that my inner mutant would come to save the day.

Hopefully, one encounter with a girl (and her inner mutant) who will fight back would make those men think twice about pulling the same moves on other women. If not, then I hope they meet some other chick with her own latent mutant abilities to teach them a lesson or two.

Posted 21st March 2007