It was mid-December. He was coming back to Delhi after 6 months. It was the longest he’d been away. He was very excited, as he loved the city. It was an extension of his personality, he felt. Meeting with family and friends was the only thing on his mind. Well, not the only. He was happy and sad about meeting her. Things had changed between them lately. Changed a lot. Still, with hope in his heart, he landed on his favorite place on earth – New Delhi.
This time was different. Delhi had changed. It had earned the rare disgrace of being the rape capital of the country. People were angry. They were out on streets. An incident shook their conscience. Like always, there was Facebook activism of which he had grown increasingly skeptical. But this time it was real. His real friends – unlike FB friends – were part of mass demonstrations. What was happening here? As he consumed television debates, twitter feeds, FB posts, and conversed with his friends, he couldn’t help but feel saddened and agitated for his country. It made him feel worse that he may have to engage in defending the indefensible in his globally diverse MBA class, upon return.
He couldn’t help but abhor that we call our country ‘mother’ India. We then garb HER in her feminine dignity and stalk her in HER streets, exploit her in HER workplaces, and rape her in HER colleges. If she speaks, she is liberal; if she has a tongue, she is loose. Women make good symposiums, nice commemorative dates, and neat flooring materials over whom we walk everyday. That’s how we treat our women; or rather don’t!