1997
11.00 hrs, CST platform 3.
It was a sweltering day on a busy platform in Mumbai. I was then a twelve- year-old on her way to a big fat birthday party in my new dress. It was a lovely sky blue frilly sleeveless ensemble, complete with a satin belt and a matching headband. I strutted head like a haughty peacock, as my exasperated Aii for the umpteenth time asked me to get my head out of the clouds.
And then it happened.
I winced in pain and shock, my pretty dress suddenly feeling dirty. A hairy hand had creeped up my body and had groped me. Aii looked down and somehow she understood on seeing my pale face. She asked me to stand along the bench, held her folds of paithani in her left hand and charged after a scurrying mouse of a man she saw walking away from the crowd. She jostled and pushed, unabashed as some of them hurled angry abuses at her. I watched in awe. Was the prim and proper, practical, God fearing Aii I knew capable of this frenzy? As the onlookers peeked and murmured, she reached, grabbed his shirt from behind as he struggled to escape and brought down her Bata chappal on his neck with a satisfying whack. Then she dusted her hands and came back for me and made sure I was okay and we left. The people on the platform continued to mutter.
2024
1800 h CST Platform 3
The built in ACs in the swanky Metros may have partially migitated the Mumbai heat, but the mumbai locals still basked in their glory. The platform was as stuffy and crowded as it was was twenty-seven years ago. I was rushing towards the finishing line like a true blue Mumbaikar, anxious to make it inside the 06.43 Thane local when I heard it and turned around. A hesitant whelp that quickly turned to a stiffled snob. She was a teen dressed in noodle straps and jeans, looking like a deer caught in headlights, her hands crossed over her chests.
A paunchy man threw her a lewd look as he walked away to the escalator and I knew instinctively that he had groped her.
My meeting lay forgotten and I ran. A buzzing sound filled my ears as my left shoe made its way to my hand and on his back.
„Twank“.
He looked shocked and raised a hand to threaten me.
“Call the police I dare you.” I said. “I have a video.” I lied.
The onlookers peeked, like they always do. Some took photos.
A security constable approached us, but the man decided not to risk it and ran away. Some women approached to ask what happened. My left foot throbbed. My shoe was scratched.
I looked at the teen. She grinned back fiercely and nodded.
An 12 year old me nodded back at her. The aunties continued to gossip.
The train arrived and we went our ways.