Ode to Molestation

Written for International Women's Day, 2017.

It’s a sordid affair,

A hush-hush tale,

About how someone pawed at her,

For their own selfish, vile thrill,

And how it haunts her still.

Known only by a few friends,

Though never the parents,

Because they’ll only blame her,

Or her choice or wardrobe, or,

“You shouldn’t stay out so late, Beta.”

A fear that follows her,

Into dank alleys and crowded trains,

Every shadow makes her jump,

A tug at her dupatta has her freezing,

A predatory stare has her calculating escape routes.

Those that “defend” her,

Come to arms under a banner of “Mother, Daughter, Sister”.

Don’t.

She might be all or none of those things,

But realize that she’s a person first.

I think it’s safe (ironically) to say:

When an unmolested woman becomes,

The exception and not the rule,

It’s time to take a step back,

And think about what we’re doing wrong.

Until then, I’ll be here,

Wrapping every violated woman,

In my blanket of soothing words,

And drowning every abuser,

In a torrent of furious rants.