The Safety Pin

*SPOILER ALERT- THUDAKKAM

(NOT A REVIEW BUT CONTAINS MY STORY BASED ON THE STORY IN THE MOVIE)

I watched Thudakkam yesterday. This is not a review, it’s about my life experience; but contains the story line. So if you haven’t watched the movie, please stop reading this blog!

This is not just my story, but the story of almost every girl or woman who has studied in Kerala, even for a short period of time!

Not every girl is brave enough to slay dragons. They might be mentally strong, but not physically. Or some might have the capability to fight predators but are scared of confrontation.

I wish I could tell you that I was the girl who turned around and confronted the men who followed her.

That I slapped away the hands that touched me without permission.

That I screamed when a man violated me on a bus.

But I wasn't that girl.

I froze.

I looked away.I made myself smaller.I waited for it to end.

I was just 15

I remember one bus ride in particular.

A man kept pressing himself against my body. I knew what he was doing. I knew it wasn't accidental. But I didn't know how to make him stop.

So I sat there.

Frozen.

By the time I got off that bus, there was his semen on my school uniform.

Even writing that sentence now makes something inside me ache for the girl I was.

Because she didn't get off that bus angry.

She got off carrying the evidence of what a man had done to her, and she went to her best friend and cried.

And do you know what my friend told me?

Carry a safety pin.

Hold it in your hand when you're on the bus. If a man sitting behind you reaches through the gap between the seats and touches you, poke him with it.

A safety pin.

That was our solution.

Not “tell someone”.

Not “the adults will protect you”. (I was living with my grandparents then. My parents were in Saudi Arabia. This was my choice. Because I wasn’t allowed to be myself there. I had to wear a hijab and wasn’t allowed to sing and dance. There is nothing wrong with women wearing hijabs... Until it’s their personal choice!)

Not “Men shouldn't be doing this to girls”.

A safety pin.

Something tiny enough to hide inside the palm of a frightened girl so that maybe, the next time a man's hand found its way through the gap between two bus seats, she could quietly hurt him enough to make him stop.

There is something devastating to me about that now.

We were learning how to protect ourselves before we had even learned that none of this was ours to be ashamed of.

And there were other moments.

Men followed me.

Men made sexual comments.

Men touched me without my consent.

And so often, I froze.

For years, I've imagined another version of myself in those memories.

A stronger girl.

She turns around.

"Why are you following me?"

She knocks the hand away.

"Don't touch me."

She stands up on that bus and screams so loudly that everyone turns around.

"This man is touching me."

God, I wish I had been her.

But I wasn't.

And if I'm truthful, I'm still not the fearless, strong-minded woman I sometimes wish I were. I still second-guess myself. Fear can still silence me. Sometimes the words I desperately want to say arrive only after the moment has passed.

But there is something I know now that the girl clutching that safety pin didn't know.

Freezing is not consent.

Silence is not permission.

Fear is not weakness.

And the shame of what happened on that bus never belonged to the girl who walked off it crying.

It belonged to him.

Every bit of it belonged to him.

So perhaps this is me finally turning around.

Perhaps writing these words is me finally making the scene I couldn't make then.

And I'm writing them for another woman, too.

The woman who remembers the hand she couldn't push away.

The woman who remembers walking faster because someone was following her.

The woman who remembers pretending not to hear the filthy comment.

The woman who got home and cried.

The woman who still tortures herself with the question:

Why didn't I do something?

You survived that moment the way you knew how.

But if you can find your voice now, use it.

Use it for yourself.

Use it for the girl you used to be.

Use it so another frightened girl doesn't grow up believing she needs to carry a safety pin just to exist safely in the world.

I couldn't speak then.

I can now.

And this time, I refuse to carry his shame for him.