A true story of a little girl, who did not know she was physically abused till she was no longer a little girl - reason enough why kids should be imparted sex education.
She walked down the imaginary ramp she had created for herself, her mum's shawl tied around her neck like a sash - the family's very own Miss World!! Everybody applauded, shy and blushing she ran to her mother. Good in academics and a cute and helpful child, she was the apple of her parent's eye. Dad's favorite, mum's sweet daughter, brother's cute sis, teacher's pet - her life was complete. Then the little girl started growing up, under the protective shield of her loving parents. It was time her mother explained to her what growing up for a girl was. As she bloomed into her teenage, her body started changing. A little girl as she was, she had problems wearing the normal clothes she did. She dint want to turn into a young lady, she loved being the girl she was. Later she would laugh at her feelings and be amazed how she had turned into a graceful lady from that tom boyish girl.
So when crayons got replaced with water paints and she no longer walked her imaginary ramp, all concerns were towards her studies. She liked talking, kept chirping all the time. So when it was time for a debate competition in her school, she geared up for it. Democracy - as she read book after book to understand the topic (Google wasn't really so readily available then, at least not in her town) she knew she'd need help. A teatime aunty told her about a professor who could help her. As she headed towards his place, she was not ready for what was to come. Her son opened the door, a gentleman by what people had told her about the professor's son, she enquired about his father. He said he was away, but he would be glad to help. He invited her over. Harmless as he looked, she stepped in.
As they discussed about the Indian democracy, she understood that everybody had their say but dint know it would be of this form. As she got up to leave, he shook hands with her and as she smiled her sunlight smile, he caught her by the waist, dragging her to him. She knew it was wrong, dint really like it but his grip was strong. As he advanced and crushed her innocent bosom, she dropped an innocent tear. He touched her lips, that lousy bastard. She immediately ran out , he smiled wickedly and told her , he was always available for her. When she came back home, she was more silent than usual. Her parents asked her, but she dint know what to tell them.
Today the little and innocent girl is not little anymore. She has seen life and now knows that she was physically abused. She loves the graceful lady she sees in herself. She loves the way her hair curls over her neck and the way her eyes blink with that radiance. But when she sits back and thinks over about that day, she knows she should have raised an alarm, at least confided with her lovely and understanding parents. There is this thin line between normal touch and physical abuse - the Laxmanrekha that every concerned male makes for the women in his life. Though it is not visible, but other men shouldn't really cross it. Taking advantage when you know the victim does not really understand or is helpless is too lame and immodest. What is lamer though is the victims are not aware till long about the wrong they have been subject to, and even if they do, they are afraid of the society, they don’t know whom to confide in… Strange but true!
Time for education and awareness! Time to kill every Ravan who crosses the Laxmanrekha...