. Human Hearts.Not Bravehearts. Please

On 16^th December 2012 she was a 23 year-old, gang-rape victim from Delhi. On 29^th December 2012 she lost her battle for life in Singapore. On 29^th December she also became “Amanat”and “Damini”. In death “Nirbhaya” lived up to the essence of her name. She became “India’s Braveheart”.

Indians are ashamed and outraged. Demands for hanging or castrating the perpetrators are competing with prayers for Nirbhaya’s soul and a complete overhaul of security system in the national capital.

But while the nation vows not to let Nirbhaya’s death go in vain, another gang-rape victim lies at AIIMS in Delhi. Ironically, amid a nation-wide protest against Nirbhaya’s brutal rape, a 42-year-old woman suffered the same persecution three days ago. Worse still, the police initially refused to lodge her complaint accusing her of imposing false charges on the men.

Labelled “Amanat”, “Damini” and “Braveheart”, Nirbhaya today has morphed into a martyr for the unending crimes against Indian women. But what about the being who lies at AIIMS? Is she still in the hospital? What is her condition now? What about her rapists? 

A google search yields three crisp sentences from a three-day-old report: 

"Of the three accused, one- Dilip Verma- was arrested in Agra while the police are on the lookout for the other two". 

"A case of gang-rape under section 376(G) has been registered against the trio"

"The victim is conscious and undergoing treatment at AIMMS". (Yahoo News)

As the media tracks Amanat's journey by the hour an uncanny silence hovers over the case of the nameless victim at AIIMS. 

The silence is eloquent. It reveals a fundamental malaise in our outlook. The woman is either a victim or an icon. She is a martyr for her undeserved suffering. But she is never HUMAN. Why does "Nirbhaya" need tags like "Braveheart" and "Damini" and "Amanat"? Why does she need to be upheld as a symbol of superhuman strength and courage? Why can't she be an ordinary human being -  a nameless woman, even -  who suffered a heinous crime?

In a morbid turn of events "India's braveheart daughter" has drowned out the story of another tortured being.  Will an arduous battle for life alone give voice to the trauma of this woman? Will death alone transform her from an anonymous 42-year-old gang-rape victim into a national icon whose anguish deserves retribution? 

While every protester lights a candle for "Amanat" and screams for hanging her rapists, can someone please ask for a fuller report into the other woman's rape? Can we please hear voices calling for quick and severe action against her rapists as well? 

The 42-year-old may not have been bashed with an iron rod. She may not have to battle for her life in a hospital. But her case demands as fervent a call for action as that of "India's braveheart". Let not Nirbhaya's immortality drown out the mortal sufferings of another "India's daughter"

Crawling Through The Snow

The day after Christmas I hopped on a Meagbus at Union Station, Washington D.C. enroute to Pittsburgh. The weather office predicted heavy snow in Pittsburgh all through 26th to the wee hours of 27 December. As the car rolled into the Megabus station, icy rain poured down on the US capital. I steeled my nerves for what lay ahead in Pittsburgh. The bus entered the highway. Freezing rain changed into a steady snow shower. Flakes turned into glistening shards of water as they lashed against the bus window. Tall trees lined white hillocks on the left. Their bare branches stood stiffly against a grey sky. On the right, dark green pine trees peeked through a dusting of snow. 

Nearly three hours later the bus reached Frederick in Maryland, about 50 miles from Washington. This was the first rest stop. But as the driver pulled into a white parking lot, only transit passengers were let out. The rest were asked to stay on the bus. Close to Breezewood in Pennsylvania, along interstate highway 70, a blizzard broke out. Hissing winds merged with crunching wheels. Snow flakes came down faster than the wipers could flick them away. The bus started inching along. Beyond the windshield lay a white wall with three brown lines in the middle. Only after it started moving did I realize that it was a huge supply truck. 

“It’s comin’ down!” said the man in front, speaking into his cellphone. “This is craezy maen” he remarked in between nervous laughs. The woman in the next seat kept looking up from her book and glancing out. But a huge athlete across the aisle kept his eyes glued to his laptop. His outstretched legs were fitted with bright red sneakers which looked like the over-sized boots of a circus clown. A jutting chin made his yellowish-white face longer. Headphones pasted to his ears,   he glared at scenes from The Godfather. 

A few miles away from the Pennsylvania turnpike our bus came to a complete halt. Phones kept ringing as passengers updated family and friends about the condition. The driver's voice boomed over the microphone. An accident up ahead had halted all traffic.  For forty-five long minutes we sat on interstate highway 70. It was already past 4 p.m., the scheduled arrival time. Gradually we started crawling down the road. At 6.45 p.m. we stopped again. Fifteen minutes later, a new voice sounded over the microphone: "Thank you for your patience, ladies and gentlemen. We stopped to change drivers. Depending on the roads, we should be in Pittsburgh within twenty minutes"

Those twenty minutes stretched to one and a half hours. At 8.15 p.m. the driver cheerfully announced our arrival into the city. On a parting note, he requested a round of applause for Mary, our previous driver. As the vehicle pulled into the city, we all cheered for the brave soul who had borne us through the blizzard. By now the six-hour journey had stretched to ten hours and fifteen minutes. But Megabus had kept its promise. Inching through a blizzard, it had carried us to Pittsburgh in safety.