Well, almost for half an hour I have been staring at this blank page on my laptop. I know that I want to write, that something is knocking at my mind’s door to come out and expose itself, but somehow I feel so helpless as if I have lost the key to let it out. So I decided to simply type. Simply type and listen to the clicking sounds made by the keys that I press down. I love this sound. And now I feel like writing down something, something that I was too shy to tell anyone even though it makes itself impossible to be forgotten.
The incident takes place in a petrol pump where I went to fill in the fuel for my two-wheeler…there was only one pump in working condition and all the customers were clustered around it. Most of them were on bikes and a few in their cars, anyway all of them were men, men in forties and above. I remember so evidently only because all of them stared at me as I too attached myself and my deo (two-wheeler) to that cluster. They were not actually staring, they were accusing me. It did not bother me much as I am pretty used to this accusing glare by senior men for no reason. God knows why men do that!! ATM centers, petrol stations and all other places where the customers are made to wait are the main locations where men accusingly glare at women, girls. Sometimes I find it funny but today I wanted to rip them all in rage.
The station employer was grumbling about working extra time while all others were having their lunch. He was so engrossed into grumbling (more to himself) that he hardly heard what the customers said. Somebody asked the guy for a litre of petrol and the guy shouted at him saying something which made no sense at all. A few angry exchanges of words and it turned physical. The customer started shaking that man by his collar, literally shaking that feeble fellow. Then the others among the cluster involved and created peace. All this took just 5 minutes. The customer was too angry that he walked out of the station with an empty bottle looking for a station where employees were taught how to behave. Who is the loser?
Anyway, I was still the last person attached to the cluster. People from nowhere came and made their way in so easily. When the next guy also did the same I reacted. I asked him to move back. Obviously he didn’t. He totally ignored me. I had no idea of how to win the situation without causing any trouble. Hoping for the best I walked towards him and spoke directly on his face. He told me to stand behind his vehicle so that he can help me out in proceeding my way in. Somebody from the cluster mentioned about me waiting for a long time and that if somebody did not help, I would be waiting there forever. Now they even started teasing me, the accusation was better. I again pressed onto my point by asking that guy to move back. But again he laughed; now looking at the other men. Suddenly it was only me and the grumbling employ who weren’t laughing. I could feel myself boiling inside with all the feelings one would hate to feel. I realized that at any moment my eyes would let go of the tears that I was struggling to hold back. I pinched myself hard to get control over my emotions. I wanted to glare at all the laughing men, but I am sure my face must have looked so pitiable and the glare would have turned to a pitiable plead.
Then I decided to focus on that one person who now I wanted to move back and managed to glare at him. He must have found me so helpless; nobody would otherwise give in for my glare so easily, anyway he moved back. I was so satisfied with winning that battle. I was so happy that I wanted to slap that person right next to me for no specific reason other than him passing comments continuously about me. The comments were not direct that I couldn’t say anything than glare, but my glares were not getting any notice from those annoying men. I had to wait for some more time before getting some petrol. Meanwhile the standard of the comments and the number of commentators had decreased and increased respectively. They weren’t bothered of what I said or did. They just wanted to entertain each other and see who would create more laughter. I was just a subject they chose. A toy.
The filling of fuel was done, the comments and laughter subsided, I felt like shouting at them something, anything at all before leaving but I did not want to. That would just be another reason for them to laugh their horrid laughter. So I started my deo and soared out to the main road wishing not to see them ever again. Wishing to be invisible wherever these kinds of men were present.
I could have actually showed a little more power there, may be. But what can make those ****head losers to keep their blabbering mouths shut? I do not know.
I really have no clue. They have no limit to what extent they can go immorally.
Being stranded in such helpless situations leaves you disturbed for more than a while, even though you managed to wiggle out of it without letting anyone know. I am sure that the men who caused me so much trouble would have completely forgotten about me, their toy.
I ride all the way home with the sound of their laughter ringing in my ears. I ring the bell at home. My mother presents herself at the door with her most loving smile, and their, that washes of all those horrifying embarrassing fifteen minutes I went through. I am back into that safe heaven called home again. Away from the embarrassments, away from the fights and away from all the feelings one would hate to feel.
The next day I again go out, out into the battle field, returns home, sometimes triumphant, sometimes satisfied, sometimes proud, sometimes happy, sometimes tired, sometimes angry, sometimes disturbed. No matter how I enter home, those few loving faces that greet me home at the end of the day brings back the best in me.
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