I don't know if anybody else faced this in New Market in Calcutta. 👀
When I was around 7 or 8 years old and till I was almost a teen, I had a very terrifying experience every time I went to New Market. At that time we didn't go shopping unless there was a special occasion, like a Birthday 🎁, Easter 🐤, Christmas 🎄or New Year 🎉. The rest of the year did not require anything other than groceries and stationery which were available in the local market a hop skip and jump away from home.
I remember yearning to go to New Market as a child. It seemed like a treasure trove of all things lovely at that time.... The smell of new clothes, colourful baubles and clips and pretty hair grips, fancy tiffin boxes and water bottles that could make you Queen Bee in class, delicate glass dining sets, heavenly, mouth watering confectionery ( the thought of feasting on them was one of the main reasons of going to the market ), music playing from the huge cassette shops!( yup cassette and records were still sold), wigs and saris and bangles and cosmetics( foreign!! which definitely was not available anywhe else in Cal), luggage and brass decoratives, and Kashmiri shops selling shawls, paper mache and intricate walnut wood products, and candy and bandel cheese and generous bearded old men handing out fistfulls of dry fruit, and the smiling Chinese families selling shoes...and anything and everything you could dream of and would ever need... Walking down the aisles were like walking through wonderland... It never failed to amaze me that we could actually see Filmstars stepping put of a shop there! Grand old ladies went to shop there, stepping out of their black Ambassadors chauffeurs holding the door open for them, Expats from Embassies went there and were wooed by every shop, you took your relatives from overseas there when they visited during the winter holidays... Like I said Wonderland was real, alive and thriving within those red brick walls with a clock tower that I still stop and listen to when it chimes the hour. Needless to say, I love New Market.
But, all was not well always.
Once upon a time, a wicked ogre happened to chance upon a plump lil princess who did not protest when he squeezed her breasts in the crowd. The ogre grew bolder and the lil princess had this horrible dark secret. Somehow she thought it was something too shameful and embarrassing to share with a grown up. Drawing attention to herself was not cool. Strangely, the ogre always seemed to be there whenever the lil princess visited. Or he somehow found his way to her whichever part of the market she was in. He did other horrible things which made her feel worse. He grabbed her butt or tried to shove his hand between her legs from the front. This strange almost ritualistic experience went on for a good 3 to 4 years and the ogre was happy with his temporary cheap thrill making the lil princess feel ashamed and dirty. She felt terrible and her wonderland turned into this dark scary place which she dreaded to visit. Till one day, this lil princess grew bigger and stronger and a wee bit bolder and decided that enough was enough. The next time she was in the market and the wicked ogre drew close, she quietly told her aunt, who she was with, that the "bad man" was trying to do touch her. That was enough for her aunt to raise a huge hue and cry. The shopkeepers nearby all came out and as soon as they knew what the issue was, chased the wicked ogre far far away from the lil princess' beloved wonderland. The gloom lifted and wonderland was a safe and happy place again.
The wicked ogre was a "moote", one of those men in white pathani suits who used to sit around the main entrance with their cane baskets waiting for a visitor to hire them to help carry their shopping bags around. He was a tall moustachioed man and I was paranoid of him. I still remember what he looked like and where I was in the market when I saw him for the last time coming towards me through the crowd. It was an afternoon trip to the market after a visit to the Indian Museum and not the height of shopping season so it was practically empty. Maybe that was why I had had the guts, because there wouldn't be too many people to stare at me.
This experience must've left some kind of a psychological impression on me but, this was just a minimal physical abuse that I faced. I'm not even considering the ones on the crowded buses over the years, which I had thought I was immuned to and beyond these kind of advances, now that I'm older, not so attractive, nicely rotund AND a mommy but no. It still happens in a crowded bus which I found out on my way back from work about two years ago. But that's for another day. My heart goes out to the girls / women who face worse aggression and attrocities. I can't begin to imagine what they go through and how they ever recover. I just pray that they heal and can lead a normal wholesome life again.
This was my story...what's your's?
When I was around 7 or 8 years old and till I was almost a teen, I had a very terrifying experience every time I went to New Market. At that time we didn't go shopping unless there was a special occasion, like a Birthday 🎁, Easter 🐤, Christmas 🎄or New Year 🎉. The rest of the year did not require anything other than groceries and stationery which were available in the local market a hop skip and jump away from home.
I remember yearning to go to New Market as a child. It seemed like a treasure trove of all things lovely at that time.... The smell of new clothes, colourful baubles and clips and pretty hair grips, fancy tiffin boxes and water bottles that could make you Queen Bee in class, delicate glass dining sets, heavenly, mouth watering confectionery ( the thought of feasting on them was one of the main reasons of going to the market ), music playing from the huge cassette shops!( yup cassette and records were still sold), wigs and saris and bangles and cosmetics( foreign!! which definitely was not available anywhe else in Cal), luggage and brass decoratives, and Kashmiri shops selling shawls, paper mache and intricate walnut wood products, and candy and bandel cheese and generous bearded old men handing out fistfulls of dry fruit, and the smiling Chinese families selling shoes...and anything and everything you could dream of and would ever need... Walking down the aisles were like walking through wonderland... It never failed to amaze me that we could actually see Filmstars stepping put of a shop there! Grand old ladies went to shop there, stepping out of their black Ambassadors chauffeurs holding the door open for them, Expats from Embassies went there and were wooed by every shop, you took your relatives from overseas there when they visited during the winter holidays... Like I said Wonderland was real, alive and thriving within those red brick walls with a clock tower that I still stop and listen to when it chimes the hour. Needless to say, I love New Market.
But, all was not well always.
Once upon a time, a wicked ogre happened to chance upon a plump lil princess who did not protest when he squeezed her breasts in the crowd. The ogre grew bolder and the lil princess had this horrible dark secret. Somehow she thought it was something too shameful and embarrassing to share with a grown up. Drawing attention to herself was not cool. Strangely, the ogre always seemed to be there whenever the lil princess visited. Or he somehow found his way to her whichever part of the market she was in. He did other horrible things which made her feel worse. He grabbed her butt or tried to shove his hand between her legs from the front. This strange almost ritualistic experience went on for a good 3 to 4 years and the ogre was happy with his temporary cheap thrill making the lil princess feel ashamed and dirty. She felt terrible and her wonderland turned into this dark scary place which she dreaded to visit. Till one day, this lil princess grew bigger and stronger and a wee bit bolder and decided that enough was enough. The next time she was in the market and the wicked ogre drew close, she quietly told her aunt, who she was with, that the "bad man" was trying to do touch her. That was enough for her aunt to raise a huge hue and cry. The shopkeepers nearby all came out and as soon as they knew what the issue was, chased the wicked ogre far far away from the lil princess' beloved wonderland. The gloom lifted and wonderland was a safe and happy place again.
The wicked ogre was a "moote", one of those men in white pathani suits who used to sit around the main entrance with their cane baskets waiting for a visitor to hire them to help carry their shopping bags around. He was a tall moustachioed man and I was paranoid of him. I still remember what he looked like and where I was in the market when I saw him for the last time coming towards me through the crowd. It was an afternoon trip to the market after a visit to the Indian Museum and not the height of shopping season so it was practically empty. Maybe that was why I had had the guts, because there wouldn't be too many people to stare at me.
This experience must've left some kind of a psychological impression on me but, this was just a minimal physical abuse that I faced. I'm not even considering the ones on the crowded buses over the years, which I had thought I was immuned to and beyond these kind of advances, now that I'm older, not so attractive, nicely rotund AND a mommy but no. It still happens in a crowded bus which I found out on my way back from work about two years ago. But that's for another day. My heart goes out to the girls / women who face worse aggression and attrocities. I can't begin to imagine what they go through and how they ever recover. I just pray that they heal and can lead a normal wholesome life again.
This was my story...what's your's?
We all know of this dark side to nature for some, it still is gripping and disturbing to hear about it.. i feel sorry for you and all those who experience this. Very well written.
ReplyDelete