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When I was a little girl, my school was big on India love, we were taught to love our country and were full of national honour. Us “girls in green” (our uniform was a peppy green with white polka dots number) were supposed to be chock full of national pride. You know the spiel every convent school feeds you; Jesus loves girls who love their country …

Independence Day and Republic Day eves were celebrated with pomp and ceremony and we even got candy.

We were told stories of little boys and girls who had done patriotic deeds, not for India but for their own countries – from all around the world. Dutch, French, British, American, Eskimo, whatever. And I think our convent had a few movies in their stores that were aired at every such occasion. We were shown those movies time and again. If we were lucky, we got to see “Sounds of Music” for the 100^th time, or a movie called Boot Polish. But mostly it was Jagriti. Sister Lydia, our chief tormentor was a patriotic Indian and she loved it and we were forced to overdose on it. I think we, her captive audience, saw it 10 times a year, for at least ten years. Yes, I still remember the song “Hum Laye Hain Toofan Se …” and “Aaj hai do October ka din”

Yeah yeah, Jesus loves little girls who love their country …

We had leaders to look up to, Mr. Nehru and his cabinet genuinely wanted to do things for the country. In hindsight we may think that his policy of socialism was flawed – but he tried. He was patriotic and wanted to do things for India

The shadow of Mr. M. K. Gandhi still loomed heavy on the national consciousness. And that frail old man cast a huge shadow. Papa told us that he was killed not by a villain but by another deeply patriotic person from another school of thought. Papa loved to play devil’s advocate. It was his thing, you know, to confuse us totally. So he told us to remember when we heard propaganda trying to demonize his killer, Nathuram Godse, that Godse himself was not a traitor, just another lover of India who was from a different school of thought.

Dharamsankat … he would tell us.

These days we do not have Dharam – and that is the sankat!

Scams happen – it is matter of course. We even rationalize corruption by calling it dhanda or oopar ki kamai, when it is not earning, it is downright thieving.

Little girls get raped and politicians blame this party or that, instead of hauling up our police for not doing their job, and the judiciary for not letting justice be delayed.

There is a leadership vacuum.

No one is responsible for anything …

Citizens take to the streets to protest, Police beats them up

Police protects leaders, not the taxpayers who pay its salary

Our soldiers get beheaded or mutilated – we beat our breasts

China comes in – Foreign Affairs Minister calls it “acne”

Sajjan Kumar scott free – Shrug and say – Law takes its own course.

Sarabjeet killed – Put on a sad face and say “Unfortunate.”

Anything more ?

The recent Delhi rape of a minor reminded me of what happened in December, both in Delhi and also close to my house when Damini was struggling for her life ….

A six year old was gangraped and left in our neighboring colony – left to die. Some good Samaritans from our area collected whatever was left of her, a bleeding scrap of womanhood, torn from cunt to ass, stomach badly injured (yes, I will not gloss over facts), and deposited that pitiful heap at the hospital.

Then the tamasha started …

The girl came from a very poor family – surprise surprise!

The boys were from a village close by, and they were unpleasantly shocked that the girl still clung to life. Why did she not oblige them and die? Worse – she recognized them.

They were even more intimidated that citizens, the educated and comparatively well off ones cared.

So they looked around and got some local neta (belonging to their caste) into the picture.

The neta tried to bully the doctors into listing the child as a patient who was 22 years old. Apparently child protection laws are not as lax as the woman protection laws. The doctors (it was a government hospital) refused, stating that they could not justify the treatment that they were providing the child as the same they would have given a 22 year old in this case.

The neta bullied …

The doctor went on leave rather than argue with the politician.

The child fought for her life, clung on to it grimly, though even a small movement from her made her pee, though some of the intravenous meant to feed her oozed out of her stomach.

Women activists that I had contacted wanted to start a morcha – create a noise.

Backdoor negotiations were going on to hush up the case. A price was being settled upon. A price for the life of that abused girl child. I even heard someone say, “What is left of her, anyway?”

Within a few days of her being taken to the hospital … she was found in the hospital dustbin, dead.

Her parents, migrant labour, were nowhere to be seen.

A janitor told me with a shrug: “She would have required constant medical help as long as she lived. Gareeb aadmi, (poor people), how can they afford it?” I opened my mouth to say something nasty and saw that stony look in his eyes. How many times had he faced the tyranny of the rich or well connected? And how many times had he been forced to cut his losses in a similar way?

I went out, sat in the car trying to come to terms with what I had seen, just been a part of. The cold December morning seemed colder, dead, horribly so, like that small thing that had once been a six year old girl playing in the colony… before she was raped. There was nothing left to do but ring the women activists who had planned a dharna. There was nothing left to fight for.

It jolted me out of my upper middle class complacency. We take our safety for granted, we girls/women who belong to the upper classes. I know we are not safe – but we are much safer than our poor sisters, who have no recourse to “political connections” and the law.

I talked to a cousin who is a family counselor, a psychiatrist, trying to come to terms with something so grim. She explained that to some men, women are objects. I knew that!

But did I? I knew it, like every woman in this country knows it – but we somehow do not want to admit it. An artist’s representation of what men view women as – yes even a six year old child ….

Bitter

What was done to that child and the child who was found recently in Delhi is complete objectification. Use, abuse, throw. If the girl survives, bad luck. It will cost some money – which can be paid, and the abusers walk away with impunity.

The police will try to hush up the case – even slap a woman if she protests. And why should they not? They have been brought up to think of us as stupid cunts. How dare a woman raise her voice? How dare she look me in the eye and challenge me? If she does, she deserves to be slapped and shown her proper place in the society!

Scene from the protest in Delhi in December