A personal account of how to best punish a molester

"Trust me, the entire womanhood - suffering ever since your chromosome in your sperm chose to be X and not Y"

When a 27-year  year old columnist was molested by a 70- year old man, she like many other women could have just kept quite and let it pass as another bad experience. However, Shubhrastha Shikha, chose not to do so. In a Facebook post that went viral, she delivered a strong message against all traits that constitute manliness and the way it has hindered a woman’s phsychological, emotional and economical growth.

Inuth.com got in touch with her. She tells us why she didn’t let the molestor to escape and how she made him pay for his crime.

Here’s her story in her own words. (Source: Facebook post)

No man is a man enough if he touches a woman against her will or uses force or violence on her.

So, I slapped this 70 something man, of my father’s age, looking dapper in his neat and clean clothes. I took out my rubber chappals (I had gone out of home for a small errand) and gave at least 10 tight ones on his face because he failed to acknowledge that he did anything at all. I egged the crowd to beat him to pulp, if they were men enough. I implored the women and the ladies to let out their frustration of all the abuses they have suffered by far, on this shameless liar.

By then, he had fallen to the ground and touched my feet. I made him spit and lick and explain what exactly he did in his own words. I was sure that I did not want him to get away by a mere apology under public pressure. I wanted him to own up to his shameless deed and verbally explain to the public what he dared to do. And he did. If he would not have, I publicly confess, I would have killed him by kicking him hard on his now grown vestigial and weak organ against the natural presence on his body which made him feel invincible and powerful and I don’t know what.

The women and girls I met were the only ones who came forward to beat this man, to hug and comfort me and to offer me to take me home. You men, as usual either watched or left or asked me to calm down or told me that ‘aisa to hota rehta hai.’

And I asked them to fuck off. Because all of you men out there, not necessarily in your individual capacity but as collective manhood, have failed us.

Yes, I had a secure and safe family but not all my sisters and friends have been lucky. I have the privilege of becoming a part of a household where my prospective mother-in-law made it amply clear to me that I must not suffer in silence, come what may. She has told me that she would not award me a certificate of honour if I suffer any kind of violence, anywhere, at anyone’s expense.

She clarified that I must not feel alone because it is a long, tiring journey just being a woman. She has assured me, time and again, that she stands with me in all my struggles. But I know, she is one among rare, exemplary exceptions.

I know that most of the women are the front runners in asking their daughters and daughter-in-laws to shut up. I know my friends who have been cornered into believing that it is always the woman’s fault, even if the husband is cheating on her or is being violent on her or forcing her – emotionally or physically or sexually. I know my sisters who have been made to suffer because they spoke up.

I know cases where women gave up their careers because their husbands earned enough, or because they were asked to not work, or because they sensed that it was better for the family’s happiness that she suppressed her desire to go out and expand beyond the four-walls of the house.

And we are emotional, because our suppressed desires, ambitions, capabilities and dreams find a release in anger, grief, tears, intense love, withdrawal symptoms, long bouts of depression, garrulous behaviour, volatile nature.

Because trust me, the entire womanhood – suffering ever since your chromosome in your sperm chose to be X and not Y – has become psychologically vulnerable, brittle, fragile, scared, angry, emotional, teary-eyed, moved easily, manipulative, calculative, craving for acceptance, approval and attention, in dire need of basic human dignity and respect, because your little organ on which you focus your pride has failed the womankind.

Neither your manliness is concentrated in your crotch and nor my dignity lies tucked between my legs.

So, get off my timeline if you have to preach me to be less angry and less calm. Preach in your locker rooms, your whatsApp groups, your stag parties, your collective boys-only fun-sessions to those millions of vestigial organs that are submissive and helpless and grovelling out of manly control because of well, women.