Confessions of an anonymous woman: The voices in my head won’t stop

A man in his late forties interrupted us. He shouted at me for degrading the value of Malayali women. He called me “loose” and was about to even hit my friend.

“Never again wear vulgar dresses to school. You will face the consequences if you do,” a rough voice spoke at the other end of the telephone line. And she slammed the phone down. I was shivering — too numb to react.

I was just 14 and according to the owner of the voice I had committed the grave mistake of wearing a skirt to school for my birthday. In Malappuram, a girl walking down the streets without a dupatta is considered indecent. So, by those standards I had committed a blasphemous act. I should have known.

The lady never called again. My parents came to hear about it and asked me to relax, saying it was just a hoax and that I did not have to worry over it. But it was hard to forget that voice. The incident left a mark on me. I was terrified to go to school.  I started to see the horrible face of that anonymous caller in every teacher or senior I met. I began to loath stepping out of the house. This was violence to me.

Years later, I was travelling on a train, with my friends, to my college in Hyderabad. My friend and I were sitting together on one berth and we were listening to music together on ear phones. He was my batch mate and a close friend.

A man in his late forties interrupted us. He shouted at me for degrading the value of Malayali women. He called me “loose” and was about to even hit my friend. He created a huge scene, accusing us of bad moral conduct. He said we were setting a bad example for the children in the coach.  I was 18 then and much more aware of my rights and far bolder. I argued with him saying that it was perverse of him to read just one meaning into a man-woman relationship. This angered him further. He called us many more names.  I soon realised I was talking to a wall. He belonged to a totally different mindset and continued accusing us of immoral behaviour.

I had failed this battle too. I was intimidated by the aggressive voice of the man as much as I was terrorised by that faceless voice on my birthday. I asked my friend to sober down, and continue listening to the music. All by himself, this time.

 I am 24 now. Time has flown. But still these memories of moral policing flood my mind every night. Even now, when I close my eyes to sleep, I see the blurred face and hear the cruel voice. On sleepless nights, I try to give a face to the voice. Who could that be? A sadist? A pervert? Or someone I knew?