Skip to main content

A Tale of an Urban Nepali Woman

PC: gaderinge.com


It was a Sunday on a cold February evening. I was returning home on a public bus after meeting a friend. The busses which cater to my part of the city ( or lets be honest, ANY part of Kathmandu) in the evenings are quite crowded. I hadn't even gotten on the bus but had already started to hate the journey seeing the horde of people who were waiting along with me. When the bus came to sight, I ran towards the bus. But my fairly long legs fell short because I couldn't grab a seat and was left standing towards the back end.
If you haven't been on a public bus in Kathmandu in the evenings, there's something you should know: they are so crowded that you can barely breathe freely. So as I got on the bus, I had a moment of irrefutable regret. Because walking all the way home would have been easier than what I was going through (it was only 8km anyway! sigh).
 Another thing you should know about public transport in Kathmandu: Most of the conductors on busses are douchebags who think busses are magical vessels which can carry infinite passengers at a time as long as they fit through the door.
So as more and more people got on the bus, my standing space shrinked so much so that I could barely manage to stand upright. There was a guy standing behind me, who was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans, struggling just as much as I was. He was courteous enough to put a hand across my back so that I could steady myself. After a while, I just let myself go and even without any spoken agreement between us, he supported my full weight. He got off the bus a few stations before my stop and as the bus was super packed, I couldn't even thank him....or see his face for that matter. I was so thankful to that stranger for his random act of kindness that day because especially in Nepal, it is admissibly rare to come across a guy on a public bus that is NOT a pervert.

In my 20 years of life in Kathmandu, I've actually never met a girl who frequents public busses, that hasn't been sexually harassed. Take this: 100% of urban Nepali women go through such mental turmoil day in and day out. I've known stories where girls have been groped by creepy men in broad daylight. I've heard about women that have been touched inappropriately by men twice, sometimes thrice their age. Perverted men who somehow make way to get their hands on a woman's breast like it's their birthright and a zillion other stories that I cannot recollect right now.

A common question in all these occurrences is why don't the women speak up? But the thing is they do speak. Sometimes with their panicked eyes, jumpy body languages and in some cases with actual words. But somehow, the blame is always on women and their choice of clothes or their "slutty" behavior. Honestly, being a woman, there is no winning. You might gently ask him not to do it or shout at the freak, but the blame will always be on the woman. "She is too forward being a girl" they'll say.

I have been fairly lucky as opposed to an average Nepali woman regarding such incidents. I have my own ride now which means I don't need to frequently travel on public busses. And  I've only ever had men brush their fingers against my chest "lightly", had men try to feel my back with their scrawny little fingers and the common occurrence where men have mentally undressed me with their filthy eyes. Like I said, I've been quite lucky.

As I hear more and more stories from other women about what they've gone though, my mind always goes back to the stranger with black leather jacket, who helped me out that day. He not only helped me stand my ground that day but also restored my faith in mankind with his random act of kindness. And for that I'll be forever grateful.

Thank you stranger!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Blank Canvas

Clarissa stared at the blank Canvas. It was the umpteenth time she had tried drawing that day and every time she had failed miserably. Heaps of scrunched white paper laid beneath her feet but even so, she wasn't done with the assignment yet. Art class that afternoon had been immensely enlightening. "Art comes from you heart and not your head. It unfolds the mystery of your sub-conscious. You may pretend things to be otherwise, but always remember that a piece of art is the window to your soul. It never lies", he'd said. And She had nodded, to herself more than anyone else. At the end of the class he had told everyone to draw something that made them smile, without reason and in the most turbulent of times. The pencil she'd been holding fell from her grasp and she bounced back from her reverie. She brainstormed again and again. She picked up the pencil and thought of various ways it could go. What was the thing she lived for ? She thought of the place sh...

Things and Places- II

Photo credit: Tumblr.com This is the second part of the story I wrote a couple months back. You can click on this link " Things and Places- I " to read the first part. Also, these stories are based on a real events. I'm kidding! Maybe :P Sameer It'd been two weeks since I'd been talking to Sneha over the email. And our conversations had only gotten more amusing. Like a few days back they had argued over their least favorite/favorite Book-to-Movie adaptation and I hadn't laughed like that in ages. Dear Sneha, Don't judge me. But my least favorite book-to-movie adaptation is ....... Twilight series. Yes, I've read them.  And watched ALL the movies. Yes, all five of them. Sue me. -Sameer Dear Sameer, Judge you ? what ? I respect you more because It takes guts to accept you've read Twilight series in today's world. :D Let me let you in on a secret, I've read Twilight series twice. lol -Sneha Dear Sneha, Haha, For Real?...

The Knowing

Hey folks,, What's up with you guys? As of me I'm super busy with the assignments and home-works !! No matter how much effort I put....there's always another pile of assignments to complete! (sighs) Anyways.....this time I'm going to post a story I wrote ....Immature you may tell me but I seriously am improving day by day... :) ....Here's goes the story... Aryaa looked stunning in the red gown. Her face was gleaming. He couldn’t help watching her. She was moving so abruptly and graciously towards him that he nearly fainted. She looked ravishing and the pretty girl was now standing by his side. She looked at him with her big sparkly eyes. Her alluring fragrance was lifting him off his feet. She gestured him to tell him something in his ear. He absent-mindedly moved towards her. “Wake Up, Rahul” was what she said. For once he couldn’t make out what she was referring to and the next moment he opened his eyes. Rahul was already so late for college yet his mom insi...

How I Met Your Mother vs Friends

Photo:Pinterest I watched How I Met Your Mother for the first time when I was in 7 th  grade. At that time, the jokes most likely went right over my head and I probably didn’t understand the context to many things but still something about Ted Mosby resonated with me, even then. I have always struggled with keeping my love in check like him which has led to various failings throughout the years but Ted’s always had my back by being one step ahead. For these reasons and more, I whole-heartedly love the show. On the other hand, I watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S. a couple years later and thought it was mostly nice. I’d all but forgotten about it until last year when, for some reason, everyone started talking about it. I, by no means, thought it was a bad show but I couldn’t fathom why everyone liked it  so much . People started labelling it superior to HIMYM which didn’t sit well with me. So I decided to re-watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S to gain perspective which led me to the conclusio...

Things and Places - I

Hello everyone, This month I've decided to do a series kind of thing. This is the first part of the story. And I'll be completing the story in the months to come. I might post something else in between but I'll definitely finish this one. Hope you like it :) Sameer She was browsing through the fiction section at a book store. She looked thoroughly engrossed yet was consciously glancing sideways. I suddenly looked away, embarrassed. As I glanced back at her general direction after a while, she was nervously taking out 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' from the shelf. I smiled. After that she disappeared once more  into the stacks and stacks of books. I picked up the book I was looking for and lazily made my way to the counter. Just when I handed over the money, she came along carrying 'The Great Gatsby', a Sidney Sheldon book  along with Harry Potter which was on the bottom of the bunch. Taking a cue from the universe about her meticulous timing...

Romanticism

I wanted to hold your hand Amidst the crashing waves But I never seemed to understand the conditions to our affection Why could we fall apart onto each other sometimes, blind to everything else; Other times, I couldn’t even ask you to hold me, Why was I so afraid of rejection?   Did I romanticize your flimsy behavior? Or was I just a liar; Making up scenarios to downplay the extent of my emotions Because I keep choosing hurt over emptiness Delusion over reality; It does make me sometimes wonder Do I want affection or an excuse to not go seeking it?  

Purple.

it all began one august day as the sky bled into hues of purple, a coy smile from me, some words spoken in the dark from you and with the silent heat of our barely there touches, the yearning turned to longing. and come september, the longing will turn to love.  and all it will take is an epiphany,  an unintelligible distant symphony, a moment of chance miracle and you will know, that answers were never outside but within. you’d expect it to be earth shattering  but it is a mere revelation it’s a switch you flick in your own mind  that surrenders your soul. no matter what other say,  it was a choice then and it will continue to remain so. 

about love

When I was 10, love was Familiarity. Love was big eyes and sweet smile, coming over to give me his share of chocolates that he got for someone's birthday. Love was getting picked to play with him first. Love was random calls to my house that my mom picked up. Love was waiting for his silly emails over long summer breaks. Love was knowing I was his best friend. When I was 14, love was a Secret. Love was staring at his pretty eyes from far away. Love was the music in my ears whenever I heard him call my name. However, love was also sly. Love was accidentally brushing against his skin while walking beside him. Love was catching him looking at me and at once looking away. Love was the crescendo of heartbeats that came after. Love was... finding out it was love. When I was 17, love was All-knowing. Love was thinking pretty eyes wasn't love at all. Love was realizing I hadn't met love yet but knowing exactly what he looked like. Love will.... definitely be taller than me....

Our story :)

Hey people! So, this story is here because of the special request from a few special people (Apee Regmi and Aayushma Khadka and so on..).I wrote this story some 2 years ago on Valentines day....so it revolves around the same thing. When people read this story they ALWAYS ask me if it happened for real and I say 'no'. It would be fun to have a guy like him with me but NO.  This story is NOT... I'll say it one more time... It is NOT based on my experience so you can stop whatever you are planning on questioning me based on the story. Hope I'm clear about this. (sighs) So here goes the story: Young people are very excited as V-day turns up. Some are happy while others are anxious. on 2005 V-day, I also belonged to the anxious group because I was going to ask someone out on that very day, for the very first time in my life. I am Samaira. I normally didn’t believe in love but after meeting him the feeling isn’t peculiar anymore. Aryan made me believe in love, in...

Book Review: Kafka on the Shore

I love reading. And most of the time I go through books like a termite on wood. After I sit down with a book, the book only gets closed after I get done with it. However, this was not the case here. It's safe to say that Kafka on the Shore is the strangest book I've ever laid my hands on. Haruki Murakami, for me, was always one of those writers, holding whose book made you a serious reader.  So, as I venture into adulthood, I wanted to jump into more thought-provoking, serious-people books unlike my usual YA genre around which my interests circle. Looking back, I could never have fathomed what was ahead of me. Because this book tested me. It tested my patience. It tested my humanity. And most of all, it tested my ability to do something that I absolutely despised. In this case, it was finishing this godforsaken book. This book has two main protagonists. We get to see inside the head of a barely 15-year-old Kafka Tamura who has run away from home to escape his f...