7 Then, just as soon as she arose, the man obnoxiously grabbed her buttocks, slapping her lower back. 'Don't keep me waiting,' he winked suggestively, adding loudly, enough for the waiter who had poured them a glass of water to turn and glance at the woman, 'bhishon kheede peyeche (I am very hungry).' In the past and in my twenties, I was scared of men. Even the men who were and expressed any kind of interest in me. I was petrified of my body. How I would feel. To touch. To taste. To pervade. To hold. Growing up obese and having battled body issues, and never having been told I was beautiful in my childhood and adolescence, where most of the trajectory around my physicality, hovered precariously around my bulging waistline- exercise, diet, PCOD, facial hair, big breasts, upper lip, protruding belly. The fact that every boy I showed any remote affection towards also rejected me, made me something of a burning symbol of unrequited love and longing. But, looking back now, and, a month and a half away from my 42nd birthday, I think, a lot of my inner turmoil and latent anxiety stemmed from the lack of a voice. My own. I let my first boyfriend grope me on our first date. I was nineteen. I had lost a lot of weight. We were watching Titanic. I hated the feeling of his oil slicked fingers slip inside my silk top. I craved love. Instead, I overcompensated, lust. I wanted desperately to fit in. And so, I confused the lines, in-between. At twenty-three, I lost my virginity, having unprotected sex in a seedy Goa motel with a man who promised marriage and kids. I dreamt of being a mother, and, a wife. Being a part of the majority of girls, my age, growing up middle class, seeing a widowed mother move in her with her ageing parents, wanting a different reality, and to bring joy and acceptance to her family. And so, I kept numb even as he refused to use protection. Telling myself that he was good for me. Because he loved me. Recently, a man I was dating briefly made a comment, along the same lines, and finally, I mustered up courage to say. 'I am sorry. I will not risk pregnancy, for your pleasure.' A lot of women I know and I feel, after these two back to back experiences, witnessed firsthand, especially young women in India, silently play along or don't have the courage to put down their foot, firmly, allowing men, even those they love and care for, and are in committed relationship with, to take their bodies, for granted. Being with a man doesn't automatically guarantee him rights to touch, grope, kiss, tantalise, talk dirty, or, kiss and flirty, openly, outrageously. Unless the woman expresses her tacit consent with the above, in public, as much, in private. It is a woman's fundamental and first right.
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