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21 Oct
2017
It Takes One To Know One.
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A Man Old Enough To Be My Grandfather Touched Me - #MeToo | The Wall and Us

I lay there on his lap and let the man, old enough to be my grandfather, have his way with me. I was 11 years old.

We used to live in North Kolkata back then. Backed up by my father’s debt, we resided in this small dingy apartment.

Times were tough. My mother was the sole earning member of the family and she had to work hard to make ends meet.

As I look back, I thank my lucky stars to have been able to get out of that environment.

Another touched me inappropriately. Favours were exchanged and kids my age placed bets on who would fuck me first.

I know it’s difficult for you to imagine the society I lived in, but, I’ll try my best to paint an accurate picture.

Surrounded by those catering to the lower middle class, the whole place was toxic. I remember this one guy forcibly kissing me on my lips once.

Another touched me inappropriately. Favours were exchanged and kids my age placed bets on who would fuck me first.

Enter this neighbour. This old couple lived in the apartment below us.

My breasts had developed by then and he cupped them initially.

Everyone knew everyone there and my parents trusted us with them and would often leave me and my brother in their care.

Back then we didn’t have a generator. If the lights went out, it went out.

Most of us took a cot, went to the terrace, and waited till electricity came back on.

My parents were home that day. After a sudden power outage, I went with ‘dadu’ and ‘dida’ upstairs.

I lay on ‘dadu’s’ lap. I remember humming this song and looking up at the stars. ‘Dida’ had just gone for a walk.

This man, old enough to be my grandfather, slid his hand down my top. My breasts had developed by then and he cupped them initially.

What did I even do wrong?

Why didn’t you say anything if I did?

I froze. I didn’t even know what he was doing. I didn’t even know why he was doing what he was doing.

So, I just lay there.

‘Dida’ came back from her walk and just stood there. I remember she had these dark glasses on.

I couldn’t see her face and no one stopped him so I thought that maybe this was okay. I just lay there.

His wife’s shroud didn’t stop him. As I lay on his lap he felt my entire body up for a good hour or so.

Just as I was about to leave, ‘Dida’ stopped me.

She pulled my hair and asked me, “Do you have no shame? Why didn’t you stop him? Next time I see something like this, I’m going to slap you.

I was 11. What did I even do wrong?

Why didn’t you say anything if I did?

What just happened?

I remember running home as fast as I could. I sat on my mother’s lap and cried. I never spoke of that day again.

He had done this before and would go on to do it to many other women who would only come forward after he died.

It became one of those skeletons in your closet that come up during drunk conversations.

For years on end, I blamed myself. I thought I did something wrong.

I wasn’t just shamed, I was blamed.

That hurts more.

And his wife? His wife was as guilty as her miserable, pervert husband.

When you don’t stop something like this, you become an enabler. Years later, I heard that this wasn’t new.

He had done this before and would go on to do it to many other women who would only come forward after he died.

I hope you rot in hell, you miserable piece of shit.

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