The Maze

She closed the door, and latched it from the inside. She was finally alone, in the safety of her own room. All she needed was a hot shower, and she could get a good night’s sleep. She kept her bag on the shelf and stood in front of the mirror. She removed her earrings and placed them in their box. She took off her bindi and stuck it on the mirror. She took a piece of cotton, added a drop of baby oil, and removed her kajal.

The first pang of unease started when she took off the clip holding up her hair. As she watched it tumble down her shoulders, she felt a pair of eyes piercing into her neck, watching her hair, leaning in just enough to get a whiff. She could almost feel someone breathing down her neck, when she looked into the mirror. Of course there was no one else. He would probably be home, with his wife and children. He certainly looked like a respectable man, what with his vibhudi and expensive smartphone. She hadn’t even noticed his presence in the bus, two days ago, till she turned around to buy a ticket and caught him staring. He wouldn’t stop staring at her even when she stared right back. She felt his gaze on her neck. It was almost physical. She felt it, as though he was running his finger along her neck. She wanted to slap it away. But no matter how much she adjusted her position, how much she squirmed, it wouldn’t move.

She quickly moved away from the mirror and sat down. She was being paranoid, she told herself. People stare, and if it bothered her this much, she can cover herself with a dupatta, she told herself. A tiny voice spoke back “You knew what he was thinking when he was staring at you. You knew that a stranger had access to images of you in ways that you don’t want, in his head. You knew that you could not do anything about it.” No, she told herself, everyone fantasizes. It is human nature. Its not like he had groped her. “But the way he continued staring at you, the way he didn’t deter even after knowing it made you uncomfortable, the way he established the fact that you are powerless against his imagination, is that any better than actually being groped?” , the voice asked. She didn’t respond. The feeling of unease started spreading in her stomach.

“You feel vulnerable and exposed, and painfully conscious of how ashamed you are, in the ‘safety’ of your room, don’t you?” the voice asked. Shut up, she said. Stop exaggerating and overreacting. “But you are lying to yourself by forcing yourself to believe that this is an exaggeration. For hell’s sake, your heart is racing. There is no one else except you. No is going to judge you or criticise you, or tell you that you are attracting attention. Others say that to you, and you lap it up because then they will stop. But you can’t do that to yourself. How hard is it for you to admit it to yourself? Who are you trying to prove a point to? How long before you take off that mask? How long before you just let yourself be?” The voice was growing louder in her head. She was angry because she knew the voice was right.

She wanted to move away from the mirror. She took one last look at her reflection- she couldn’t figure out what her face meant. She struggled there for another half a minute, trying to look into her eyes, and miserably failing. At this point, exasperation took over the reins from whatever it was gnawing on the edges of her heart. She walked away from the mirror, wondering when she would have the courage to meet her own gaze. You are too sensitive, she told herself. “You know the reason behind that too. You know. Are you going to fold that also away into the darkness?” She ignored the voice and stepped into the bathroom.

As soon as she felt the cold tile under her feet, the unease sprung back to life, this time below her ribs. She decided to ignore it, and stood under the shower. She was still fully dressed. Just as she was about to remove her kurti, her hands froze. The unease flared up, shooting upwards into her chest, turning into panic. “Someone’s watching you”. She did not turn back, because she knew there was no one. Yet she felt heat on her back, trailing across her spine. “Someone’s watching you”. She swallowed that voice, and proceeded to remove her kurti. She felt goosebumps on her back. With every inch of skin exposed, the panic grew stronger. Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears. She was quite literally uncomfortable in her own skin. She closed her eyes and quickly removed her kurti, and threw it into the laundry bag with all the anger she could muster. “Someone is watching. Always.”. For a second, she felt exhausted. “How many more years are you going to let him watch?”, the voice asked. She felt the exhaustion in her core. She was fed up. Tired. Tired of fighting against something she didn’t know. Tired of resisting the urge to give in. Tired of the voice. Tired of the guilt, the pain and everything in between. Tired of the lies, tired of the hidden truth, tired of helplessness, tired of the burden. I’m done, she told herself. I’m done.

Her eyes began to prick from the inside as she removed her remaining clothes. She turned on the shower and let the hot water soothe the storm that was wrecking her inside out. The hot water flowed down her face, covering her ears. She closed her eyes and let the memory take control of her.