Thursday, March 21, 2013

Need to get this off my chest

I was walking home today. It was not too late. My skirt was not too short. The neck of my shirt was not too deep.

I walked inside the little strip off the road that leads up to my building. The road has street lights that were thankfully functioning today.

A man in a red checked shirt on a bike turns around from somewhere and stops at the entrance of the lane. He hollers: "Your legs are too sexy, baby." From the easy way this rolled off his tongue, I can make out it's not the first time.

I tell him to fuck off home.

He says, "I swear! Too sexy."

Because there are street lights, I loudly rattle off the license number of his bike.

He turns around, yells, "That's a fake number, baby!" and drives away.

I take no chances. Call up 100. They ask me where I am, what model the bike was, and finally what number. They tell me a patrol car will be in the area soon.

10 minutes later, a cop calls me up, gives me his name, and even though they may not be able to nab this guy, tells me to note his number and call him whenever it gets bad.

I do that.

Maybe in a sophisticated world, CCTVs will be the order of the day. In a ideal world, a man will not do that. In this world, though, there is much that I could do and escape from, simply because of street lights.


 

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