I was six when he came to stay with us. He was a relative, close & trustworthy enough to be allowed to share my bedroom. He was sixteen, an age when hormones are usually playing havoc with a male's sanity. But that does not absolve him of his heinous actions.
He was fond of me, quite affectionate in fact. He would buy me candies & would never hesitate to give me piggyback rides. (In retrospect, my mum should have got suspicious right then. You see, I was almost double the normal weight for a six year old :P). Whenever my mum would leave us home alone, while she ran out for an errand, his favourite game was "tickle-you-tickle-me-everywhere". This game would be played only when no one was around, mind you.
The first night I remember, was a hot & muggy one. I was a sound sleeper then, I am one still. I was jolted out of my slumber by a particularly unpleasant nightmare of being piggybacked on a horsie that had a prickly saddle. "Night"-"mares" have had a different meaning altogether for me since then.
I drifted back to sleep only to be woken up by a searing pain. I lay awake & aware of him lying next to me, his cold hands seeking crevices in my body. I did not know what he was trying to do. He was hurting me. He knew I was awake. He tried to lull me back to sleep. I did not go back to sleep that night.
The next time he woke up, I ran crying to my parents' room, but stood sniffling at their door, not knowing what to tell them. I walked back to my room, hesitated at the door. I knew he lay awake, his prying fingers intact. I went back to my parents' door.
I was six when I had my first bad secret. Though I did not know that I'd been sexually abused, I knew that something bad had happened to me. I did not tell my mother anything, except for vehemently protesting against sleeping in my own bedroom. My mother never prodded any further. She did not know any better. I was just six after all.
I was six, too young to have stood up for myself. Too young to have brought into open his actions.
But I'm twenty-six today, in fact writing this just after cutting my delicious chocolate-snickers birthday cake. I know that 53.22 per cent of all the Indian children face one or the other kind of sexual abuse. I know that 79 per cent of these children choose to keep quiet. I know that 50% abusers are persons known to the child or in a position of trust and responsibility.
I might not have stood up back then,but I stand up today for all young six year old children, girls & boys; boys too. I want parents to face this elephant in the room. Sexual abuse of children is prevalent, maliciously so.
I watch my nieces, six & two years old,like a hawk. I know that there are dirty old men and women lurking around, I have clearly spelt out to the elder niece the difference between a bad touch & a good touch. She knows she can come to me & share anything that makes her uncomfortable.
He thinks I was too young when he did what he did. He knows he left no proof. He's right. There are no tell-tale fingerprints & the likes left all over me. To that, add the fact that I kept quiet all these years - it was the perfect crime.Welcome to the world of sexual abuse.
He may or may not stumble upon what I've written. But this is not for him. I'm writing this to let those who read this know that in a room of twenty people, ten would have been sexually abused in their childhood by close relatives or friendly uncles or lascivious teachers. Teach your children, nephews, nieces, younger siblings to speak up, to stand up & raise their voice if they feel they're being exploited in any manner.
Writing this for catharsis & as a part of the "I Stood Up" Blogathon by Women's Web.
He was fond of me, quite affectionate in fact. He would buy me candies & would never hesitate to give me piggyback rides. (In retrospect, my mum should have got suspicious right then. You see, I was almost double the normal weight for a six year old :P). Whenever my mum would leave us home alone, while she ran out for an errand, his favourite game was "tickle-you-tickle-me-everywhere". This game would be played only when no one was around, mind you.
The first night I remember, was a hot & muggy one. I was a sound sleeper then, I am one still. I was jolted out of my slumber by a particularly unpleasant nightmare of being piggybacked on a horsie that had a prickly saddle. "Night"-"mares" have had a different meaning altogether for me since then.
I drifted back to sleep only to be woken up by a searing pain. I lay awake & aware of him lying next to me, his cold hands seeking crevices in my body. I did not know what he was trying to do. He was hurting me. He knew I was awake. He tried to lull me back to sleep. I did not go back to sleep that night.
The next time he woke up, I ran crying to my parents' room, but stood sniffling at their door, not knowing what to tell them. I walked back to my room, hesitated at the door. I knew he lay awake, his prying fingers intact. I went back to my parents' door.
I was six when I had my first bad secret. Though I did not know that I'd been sexually abused, I knew that something bad had happened to me. I did not tell my mother anything, except for vehemently protesting against sleeping in my own bedroom. My mother never prodded any further. She did not know any better. I was just six after all.
I was six, too young to have stood up for myself. Too young to have brought into open his actions.
But I'm twenty-six today, in fact writing this just after cutting my delicious chocolate-snickers birthday cake. I know that 53.22 per cent of all the Indian children face one or the other kind of sexual abuse. I know that 79 per cent of these children choose to keep quiet. I know that 50% abusers are persons known to the child or in a position of trust and responsibility.
I might not have stood up back then,but I stand up today for all young six year old children, girls & boys; boys too. I want parents to face this elephant in the room. Sexual abuse of children is prevalent, maliciously so.
I watch my nieces, six & two years old,like a hawk. I know that there are dirty old men and women lurking around, I have clearly spelt out to the elder niece the difference between a bad touch & a good touch. She knows she can come to me & share anything that makes her uncomfortable.
He thinks I was too young when he did what he did. He knows he left no proof. He's right. There are no tell-tale fingerprints & the likes left all over me. To that, add the fact that I kept quiet all these years - it was the perfect crime.Welcome to the world of sexual abuse.
He may or may not stumble upon what I've written. But this is not for him. I'm writing this to let those who read this know that in a room of twenty people, ten would have been sexually abused in their childhood by close relatives or friendly uncles or lascivious teachers. Teach your children, nephews, nieces, younger siblings to speak up, to stand up & raise their voice if they feel they're being exploited in any manner.
Writing this for catharsis & as a part of the "I Stood Up" Blogathon by Women's Web.
