As women, we’ve all had similar experiences that make us feel claustrophobic: trying to walk in-between two men, who have their elbows outward trying to cop a feel, trying to board a bus only to be showed past by men, or at a restaurant where one has to place the order first at the billing counter (where you are pushed violently) and then pass on the receipt to the food counter. Or what happened last week at the Lincoln Memorial — a man accused of taking photos of women’s “private areas” had charges dropped against him after a judge ruled that he did not do anything illegal and that police did not have a probable cause to investigate him.
The one I’m talking about is what happens inside an elevator. I recently entered the parking lot of a shopping mall, thankfully found myself space to park my vehicle at a sneaky corner and finally rushed my way to the elevator. My friends and I were watching a movie which was about to start in exactly 20 minutes. I was desperately hoping for one of the four elevators to have place so that I could reach the fourth floor as quickly as possible.
To my surprise, when the elevator opened at basement 2, it was empty. After I entered, four middle-aged men entered right after I did. The destination was just about 2-3 minutes away. The elevator stopped at the basement 1 and three more men entered. I looked at my phone to distract myself but from the corner of my eye, I noticed four men staring at me in an odd and obscene manner. While they murmured and giggled amongst themselves, I chose to ignore it.
In an elevator that's probably 5-feet-by-5-feet, we were eight of us. The smells of smoke, traces of alcohol and paan masala suffocated me, and I hoped for the doors to open soon. That’s when the two men standing close to me peeked into my phone, and one of them brushed his hand against my handbag (thankfully my handbag was between him and me). Minutes felt like ages in the elevator.
When the doors of the elevator finally opened, I hurriedly stepped out; I felt relief and could actually feel my body trembling out of scorn, disgust, and fear.
This happens often to all the women I know — young and old. The two minutes of disgust, uneasiness and fear troubled me quite a bit. For a few minutes in that elevator I felt extremely helpless, but for a small mutter of prayer that kept me strong.
I wonder why some men do this; why do they make us feel so helpless? Why do we then blame the girl for what happened? “Oh she wasn’t dressed in a 'decent' manner.” When will we break free from this disgust? While I have many unanswered questions, the fear I faced for those few minutes is yet another question I don’t have an answer to.
