One afternoon on a cycle.

Sanjana
Ahmedabad

I tried to make this heartfelt and scary. I wanted my readers to feel as disgusted as me when it actually happened. But I worry, that won't happen. Being objectified and molested isn't as impactful as it once was. Recounting an experience like this invokes a soft sigh, a sympathetic shake of the head. But that's just about it. And that scares me more. Getting molested isn't as scary as people not getting bothered for it. It's almost like getting objectified is an occupational hazard of being a woman.

I was 13. With a flat chest and clad in a cotton tshirt and jeans I was cycling on a sunny afternoon morning. Ahmedabad summers are painful and you would imagine cycling to Sanskrit tuitions at 3 in the afternoon is no fun. I wasn't even too far from home, I was cycling carefully, almost next to the pavement because of the roads being too busy. Huffing and puffing, I was going at a steady pace. I had just taught myself not to panic when a vehicle would rush past me. After many a wobbly turns, I had learnt to not let the loud sounds fluster me and went on pedaling at a steady pace. Before I knew what was happening I felt my butt being squeezed, almost immediately rough hands slid under my tshirt and rubbed my bare waist and tummy. I stopped and turned. Two men in their late 40s were on a motorbike right next to me. They grinned at me and zoomed off. I stood there with more traffic streaming past me. After 5 minutes of staring at the ground, I climbed back on my yellow bicycle and pedalled on.

The 13 year old girl is now a 23 year old woman and the days of being shell shocked are gone, being groped sadly no.

I was wearing Jeans and a top when the incident happened



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