They Notice

They notice. They notice your fat arms and the paunch that sticks out. They notice your breasts as they move when you walk. They notice your hips when they sway and sometimes they notice your face but rarely does that happen. They look at you with their eyes as you feel yourself shiver from your head to your toes. They do not notice your discomfort. They do not notice your dignity being stripped away from you. They blame the looks on the clothes you wear and the make up you have on your face. They blame it on you. "She was calling it on herself", they will say when you object. They will never see the truth.

The looks will turn into more. Touches here and there, a brush of a hand on your back, an arm on your shoulder on the bus. The touched may scream and shout, they may protest but then again they will say "She was calling it on her self."

How? How was she calling it on herself? Was it because she wore jeans or was it because she wore a salwaar? Was it because she wore a crop top or was it because she wore kurti? What was it?

Then one day, she was pulled into an empty alleyway. She was made to beg for her dignity, made to feel horrible for being herself. She gave up that day. She gave up on humanity and on people. She gave up. The lingering looks made her give up, the touches made her give up and finally the brutality made her give up but she never gave up on herself. They made her give up but yet they again said "She was calling it on herself."

She never called it on herself. She didn’t make him pull her into an alleyway, she never asked for it.