In the light of Rape being the most used four letters in the news, stirring the minds (and heart) of every student, boy, girl, not to mention page, column of every daily at the moment; as if it was just discovered and all other crimes were inconsequential in it's critical rise, i add my own face to the mob, pay my own little homage, not a comment on the state of society, but to a mandatory act of foolishness -

mistreatment of the body. 'growing up' is important to know the self, the choices we make may not always be right;  rape has little to do with strangers, or class or country, but what a woman makes of herself, and the lesser sensitivity with which men, the other half of the yin and yang, see or need to see their bodies, which is perhaps at the root of the lone responsibility that comes with being a woman.

(i wouldn't know what men feel about their bodies, i give them the benefit of doubt,always)

Here goes my own little experience, a frightful image of being raped,

Of letting myself in hands that may not respect my body the same way,

either because i did not make them see it, or because, a man never can.

This is in hindi.

kal main ek khwahish thi

aur aaj

kisi ki hansee hoon

tum hanse ho

apni uss chhat ke neeche

iss rooh mein kuch nahi chupane ya dikhane ko,

woh sundar jo saaf hai

kyon jatati hoon mein dosti

bina duniya ko samjhe

kyon rehti hoon mein chhup

samajhne ki koshish mein

joh chahtein hain mujhe,

aur

jo mere layak hi nahi

aur aaj phir jaati hoon wahan

uss rooh ko khojnein

jise choo kar tum chhat ke neeche hanse

kyon?

kya jataoon useh

jiska ek mazaak hoon main

jisne pyaar ki ehmiyat ko cheena

phir bhi jaati hoon main,

tumme ab

uss mazaak ka nyay khojne

mere rooh ko khojne

uss hansi mein

kaun hain mere apne?

aur kaun hain paraye?

main ek mazaak,

aur main woh mazaak phir karoongi

baar baar,

kyonki tum badsoorat ho

aur mein jhooti