The Language of Rape

Tahiba Khan

Picasso:The Rape of Sabine Women

The language of Rape,

Is invading forcefully

Not conquering!

Symbol of alienation,

It is frustration

Becomes Communal

It is violence

Subject of Power

It is racist

With patriarchy

It is a norm

With Marriage

It is subtle

In home

It is hiding lust

With caste system

It is Doli Pratha

In Occupation

It is never questioned!

Lost in the history

Slave had no agency!!

In wars, 

It was abduction!

At high level

It is trade...

With Masculinity

it is liberating!

The language of Rape, 

Is the language of  worst oppression!

It is cowardice 

which needs resistance!! 

Who is Responsible?

     
On December 13( Three days after which The Delhi Rape happened), a teenage girl had been raped by 16 boys, of whom nine were minor, six were 18 and one was 19 years old in Meghalaya. Meghalaya is one of the seven sisters in the Indian Territory. I didn’t hear about the incident earlier and read about this in a story titled ‘A cry in the dark’[i] (The Indian Express, 7 April, 2013). On the night when she walked, her Vagina was mutilated, her body was attacked, and her thoughts were harmed. Who is responsible? Was she responsible when she asked her parents to visit the show supposed to end by 8:30pm, which she wanted to see with her two friends? Was she responsible when she decided to walk without any her male relatives? On  19th April a five years old girl was raped, and the neighbour who raped her inserted objects into her body. Who is responsible? A poem in dialogue form sprouted out my hand, to ask, who is responsible?   

He raped her,

They raped her,

Who was responsible?

Who was guilty?

The teenage who raped?

Or the adults who tried to escape?

Or walking in the night raped her?[ii]

Or walking without a veil raped her?

Or questioning to your authority raped her?

Or did saying NO rape her?

Or did saying hey!! stop beating my friend rape her?

Who is responsible?

They say,

Be ‘NOT ‘adventurous to walk at night,

It might have saved her…

Be ‘NOT’ modest in her dress

It might have saved her…

Oh seriously, here is where the problem lies?

But I do have a question,

Who is responsible then,

When a five years old is raped?

I have another question,

Are they watching and waiting, and lusting

When She will be out at night

Or alone at her house,

Or trapped in a non-consensual marriage

Or will be unveiled…

Seriously I’m asking who is responsible,

You pathetic man minded feudal world?

Then who is to Culture and who is to Nature?

Who is responsible for the death of a bird?

Flying in her world of skies and clouds…

The hunter or the bird?

Who is responsible?

When a man excretes urine on the road,

And a woman waits for the same to reach her home!

Is it man’s anatomy or his privilege to express himself.

Who is responsible 

When FIR is not made?

Who is responsible,

When protesters against rape culture are detained?

Who was responsible, 

When Asiya-Nilophar was raped?
Who was responsible 

When Soni Sori went through custodial rape?

Who is responsible?

---

[i] The Indian Express: A Cry in the Dark: http://www.indianexpress.com/news/a-cry-in-the-dark/1098688/0

[ii] http://kafila.org/2012/12/23/rape-cultures-in-india-pratiksha-baxi/

It Was Dream or Hallucination?

Tahiba Khan

In a deep dream, in a half sleep

I hallucinated

A man with a bald head,

With a light beard

Came to me, lying perpendicular to my body’s position.

Don’t remember what he was wearing

He began showering his love,smiling,winking

And then he vanished…

"Where is he?"

He came again

And scared me,

With his long scary teeth

Feeling scared I closed my eyes…

And tried hard to let him go….

After a while I realized it was in dream…

It was a dream… only dream.

After a while, with my half opened eyes

I saw another man in a white lungi,

Running to the kitchen,

I saw his half naked leg and the fluttering of his lungi

I stood up to look for this intruder

Arey! Nobody was here? The gate was closed..

"How he made his way into my house…"

Again I lied down…

After a while I watched some kids coming and going out

Laughing and chatting…

What?

I again got up…and looked... 

Nobody was there.

I lied down again…

Then I thought I'd get up and study…

I went to the bathroom and felt something in my hand

A soap case, with soap in it…

"How did it come to my hand..?"

Oh! I was still in my bed... lying…

"Oh shit! What the hell is happening!" I thought

I thought to get up

But left with no energy

I pulled myself while holding the bed side table.

I didn’t make it…Not even inch of me was shifted

Though I tried hard…

Uff… It was still not real… It was in dream..!

I finally opened my eyes… 

Felt the real room,

Went to the bathroom 

Washed my troubled face…

And sat down to study…

He Followed The Same Path

Photo by:Abneet Chauhan

Tahiba Khan

Mangu’s house was located on the periphery of the village. Only mud paved roads were the way he used to follow everyday to reach his place of work and to come back to his small two yard spaced home. Mangu was always positive about his work. He always worked hard. But he was very skeptical about rain; he sometimes hated the trouble it caused him. His house was almost wet and cracked whenever rains showed their way to his village. He along with his family had seen many sleepless nights while collecting the rain drops in the small tumbler used for bathing to save his beloved house from further wetting. This was not end to his trouble, whenever rain got finished, he and his wife with their children, spent days and nights rebuilding cracked floor and walls made of mud and cow dung. He doesn't own anything except his labour, he always asked for cow dung hesitatingly to his master in exchange of work done by his wife in their kitchen.

His family resided in one room, cooked on chullah. In that room he, along with his family shared the anger, love, jealousy with the different generation and sexes. It was looked as if there were no concept of the young and old. Sometimes Mangu behaved like a boy and sometimes his children behaved like an old man.

Mangu had three children, among whom first two were the girls and last one was boy. Mangu always wanted to have boy instead of girl similar to the other fellows of his locality. 

When Sabina, his wife was pregnant first time he was sure that he will be blessed with a boy but his desire of a boy was washed away when her wife gave birth to a girl. He walked away from the house, and didn’t even think of seeing the new life sprouted in his house. When he came in the evening he looked at the bud with a side look trying to ignore her partially and at the same time felt thirsty for her glimpse. Days passed he didn't show his affection towards the baby.

One day he, finally broke when he saw the baby smiling on her own, when a squirrel entered from the open window in search of the few grains scattered on the mud floor, inside the room. His wife was out in neighbor’s house. Feel attracted by her smile he automatically drove towards the only cot on which the baby was lying on her small-flat tommy. He went near and sat on the cot for a while and touched her with his index finger, and a tear rolled from his eyes. His dry hands took seconds for the tear to extinct. As if it was never existed.

Mangu's life had never changed after that; he used the same mud paved roads to his work and hated rain for the trouble it caused him. He worked from morning to evening, for the money to keep him and his family alive for the next day labour. 

Mangu’s wife was again blessed with the God’s gift. That time Mangu was hopeful towards his destiny. But it was again a girl. A girl, whose featured were so beautiful that her mother immediately planted a kiss on her tiny-soft forehead, and forgot her post delivery pain.

Mangu was in distress.  But he again involved in his work as always, using the same mud paved roads.

His wife was in labour pain surrounded by the locality women. He was not concerned when his wife was pregnant third time, and was not expecting anything. But it was a boy. Everybody was happy, there was celebration. Mangu was overwhelmed by this desire of which he was expecting since the first birth to his wife. He took loan from his Malik to celebrate his son’s birth. He distributed boondi ki ladoo. He went again and again to his wife and pressed his kiss on the head of an infant, and in return his body felt the dreams he was expecting in future. 

He again involved in his work as always, he children grew more, with time. His son was pampered one, his daughters were also loved partially. In their limited resources, his son was given the first option to have anything. His daughters started working in the fields along with their mother, and helped in accumulating some income. That accumulated income never actually accumulated. Their extra labour adjusted with the rising prices. His son was involved in the habit on drinking. He all the day roamed with his friends, and whenver came back fought with his sisters on petty issues like why they were standing out, or staring at some boys in locality, or not wearing dupatta etc...He also shouted on her mother, when she not fulfilled his wish to cook of his choices. He never understood his family conditions. 

His father was on doubt about his drinking and intoxication, but one night he was confirmed when his son didn't come to home. He searched for him around the fields and village. Occupied with weird thoughts, Mangu didn't sleep that night. Next morning some men took him on their shoulders, from the distant place to his home. He was drenched in mud. He was unable to stand on his feet. It was last night hangover which was not passed away. When his father was called off from fields, he saw him lying on cot, his wife was crying, and her daughters were standing silent. He was heartbroken and remembered the day he wished for a boy. He went to her daughters, hugged both of them, and said "I'm lucky that you were blessed on me.... "

Mangu followed the same path, mud paved roads...he was always cynical about the rain, despite it flourished harvest he worked on master's fields.