k i s k a J i s m / w h o s e b o d y?

Another chapter to the harrowing Blank Noise experience. Under the Label ‘w o m a n’.
February 22, 2007, 1:55 pm
Filed under: Screen Sifar

I went to a park. A park is a private/public space. I’ve had enough. I don’t want to speak about violatory experiences. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t like being stared at. Where do I go to clean myself? I feel like I’ve been raped a thousand times already.

Stand your ground.Stand your ground. Feels like you are not of this earth if you stand your ground.

It feels like there’s no respite.

10 minutes on a park bench. Me and my space and my world. Along comes a man. Brandishing his masculinity. Sits on the next bench. I get a dirty grimy sexual air. I hate that feeling. I never want it again. Makes me feel like giving it back. That’s what I hate about it. That it makes me one of them. Not the person I am.I hold my ground. Soon another man joins him. It was the watch-man of the park. What business has a lone young woman got sitting here? She’s asking, definitely. Two to one. I try. Exerting resistance. Doesn’t work. I feel like my body’s a bundle of frustrated pain.Disturbance.Jasmeen said it. “Blank Noise”. I feel helpless. Screech Screech. Your body’s a battle-ground.

I get up and go. I can feel their triumph.

A French guy I made friends with in Diu with had to be told again and again, “No!” He just wouldn’t get it. I was asking for it from both sides. From him by thinking and believing and pushing him to think that a platonic friendship is possible.Battling him, “No!”. And the people around, “Yes, we’re together. We’re friends”.

Sorry my friend, I may be your friend but I had to say this.

My Arabic teacher’s treatment of me is harassment. So what if I’m a lone woman living away from home. I’m not available. I am your student. And I maybe your student but I will not take this. I didn’t need to go through this. I was asking to be taught. And you’re wise enough to imagine what I may be going through. And strong enough to hold yourself. But I don’t respect you enough to keep this within me. You asked for it. I’m as helpless as you.

When you get it from one man and another and then ten men in a row, then you begin to be like them.

I’m sorry but I’m as helpless as you. You asked for it. You’re my teacher.

I walk around.400 women were raped here 5 years ago. Brutally .Some were burnt in heaps right after. The same anger. I dwell on it. Hatred fuelled by lust. Rape, kill, or vice versa. Some of the rapes were shot on camera and shown in shakhas. The ultimate in all violence. I wonder what the lives of the surviving women feel like. More rage than compassion. I want to give it back.

I can’t appreciate the flowers. Although I look at them.

Alone in a cave in Diu. A man walks in, and looks at me, thinks for a while. Then goes and jerks off a distance away. Doesn’t really bother to hide himself. Comes back to look at me once more. I ask him what his problem is. “I have no problem” he says. He’s actually angry. It’s not like I wasn’t warned about going alone. But if some wasted creep chooses to **************then it’s not my problem. Or fault.Sorry about my language but, he asked for it.

Violence breeds violence. Try coming any closer.Any woman who chooses to come out in a public place confronts male desire.And has to deal with it. Try coming any closer.

I walk around. A couple.Upper Middle Class Gujratis. Sitting close together. The man undresses me with his eyes. And I’m wearing flattering clothes. What I think are nice clothes for me because I usually don’t dress like this. They’re the sort of clothes you’d wear to a park though. But I don’t want to be seen like this. I don’t even want to be seen. I could feel his eyes on my breasts. I’ve been violated for the thousandth time and like never before. Down to my bones.But these are just words. I was thinking about how it felt to have the eyes of someone on me. Now I’m immune to the feeling. Thanks to some…..

Come, be a part of my harrowing experience.

To be empowered means this. Today I pushed myself over the edge. I come back with another one on my check-list of worst experiences.

I remember how the cactus looked against the lamp in the park though.

I travel alone all the time. The latest of pain tales is a bus journey to Diu, where I got violence from bus driver to conductor to co-passengers. The whole night I felt like the men around me were going to do something to me. No, a lone woman does not have the right to bus it to an island.’
Kisi ko saat leke jaane ka!’
When was the last time you frustrated creeps did something for adventure? Other than harass some poor unsuspecting woman who has to bear the brunt of your wasted masculinity. You’re not men.You’re not even human.

This is my experience, like that of a rape victim, only I have claim over it. Take that world; I’m spitting it back at you. Aagh Thoo. So much more mature .Agh thoo Child no more, Aagh thoo.

So, how will I begin to heal? I want to take a sword and cut them all to pieces. I feel like it.

I will not scream. I will shout. I will roar. I’m going hunting. I’m a hunter.I continue my walk, and don’t avoid where these asses are sitting. I get the same shitty feeling around them. This time I stare back,I can see the lust in their eyes. “Kya dekh rahe ho?” .They mumble something, angrily. They’re actually angry, “tumhe kya lagta hai , tumhe dekh rahein hai?” says the watchman. I address the younger fool. “Zyaada baat mat karo, Tab se dekh rahi hun tum ghoor rahe ho” They mumble something more. I walk away angrily. I don’t like sticking around where they can look at me.

Next time I’m going to stand my ground. No *********** is going to get the better of me.They’re asking for it. I’m going where and when I feel like. Sorry but you who think yourselves to be men will just have to behave. I promise I will.

I don’t want anymore of this.

No more B L A N K N O I S E in my head.


Written also for the BLANKNOISE BLOGATHON 2007, but was unreported on the community blog.

3 Comments so far
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[…] Another chapter to the harrowing Blank Noise experience. Under the Label ‘w o m a n’. […]

Pingback by k i s k a J i s m / w h o s e b o d y?

I think you are paranoid. No one but you determines your feelings. You seem to judge other people by attributing your own imagined feelings to them.

Comment by Hamid Akhtar

its all in my imagination.I’m not being looked at as the sex-object, I imagine you to be imagining me to be the sex-object, so I lead myself on to feeling harassed.
I must be mad!

Comment by Screen Sifar

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