Don’t you dare talk to me about Asifa
I don’t want any further details about the 8-year-old who was brutally raped and murdered. I was at the office when I first read a news report about the horrific incident. Immediately, my head hung loose. I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my forehead. I felt sick in the stomach. Like my intestines had turned into giant silkworms, and they were violently exfoliating my rib-cage from within. My blood turned to crimson curd, and my toes twitched as I jack-hammered the base of my heel against a dull grey floor carpet.
When my eyes started to brim, I decided to grab a lungful of fresh air. I walked outside, with my fists clenched.
Standing in a corner, I thought about the human capacity for evil. To create it, to tolerate it, and to fight it. Angry and powerless, I ached to do something about it. But, I was unsure about the extent I wanted to go to. I was unable to measure just how much I cared.
And I felt sick again.
I still do.
At this point, though, I don’t need to know about Asifa.
Don’t ask me to join your social media campaigns to raise awareness about the Asifa. Don’t invite me to a platform in which public dialogues have taken precedence over personal actions. We have already been through this several times. With Nirabhaya, Soni Sori, and the women of Vachathi and Kashmir. The abused in our own families, and the muffled voices of the homeless strangers in our cities. Yet, nothing seems to have changed.
Every rape in India continues to be sponsored by its patriarchal laws that we, the citizens, follow on a daily basis. We ignore the impact of these rules under the pretext of staying true to their intent. It happens everywhere. From common households and corporate premises to play-schools, and chief minister offices.
Nobody is blameless — callous politicians, cruel profiteers, deviant criminals and irresponsible citizens alike.
The blood of these victims may not be on our hands. The dagger may not be within our grasp. But, this seething rage in our hearts. We should put it to better use. We must be less nuanced about demanding justice. Louder, angrier, and more action-oriented about making the world a safer place. At least for children in whose delicate palms rests all hope for the future of humanity.
It is as much our duty to keep the monsters away from under their beds as it is to ensure that they don’t turn into monsters themselves.
Until then, don’t you fucking dare talk to me about Asifa.
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