It's entirely possible that I'm going mad

I think I’ve become a harder person now that I’ve moved back. The daily act of crossing the street to wait at the bus stop is marked with lecherous drivers who slow down to get a better look. The auto drivers who ask my breasts if I want a ride. The casual blaring of car horns as people head back from their morning jog to say “Hey, I see you.” The reports I hear in the news of women being molested. Of men being set on fire for trying to help them. The decency and the bravery shown by Keshav is wonderful, especially in a country where even educated men think that a single woman is fair game. “If a girl is drunk and is walking half-dressed down a street, of course she asking to get raped.” But I don't want to be grateful to a man for standing up to other men molesting a woman, a mother of two children. I feel guilty, churlish, petty, limited and mean for thinking like this about the one supremely decent thing that I've seen or heard of in a long while.

I know the only thing I can change is my behavior and deciding to be careful about what I wear, keeping my eyes close to the ground, not making eye contact, ignoring the voices around me. Does it make a difference? It doesn’t for me. The Tourrette-esque litany of curse words in my head continues unabated. And then the violation. Someone brushes past, pinches me, elbows me. It happens too fast and all I can shout is “naamard chutiye.” The shocked glances around me. Did a girl actually use these words? And the coward has sped off with a leery grin on his face. I almost wish that he turned back so I can confront him. Shout at him, hit him, bloody his face. Vent the bile that is rising. Shout at the people around me saying "this is what you are helping do. I hope you are proud to be Indian."

Would that help? Wouldn’t it make me just like him?