REVERENCE AND REGRETS
“I know who did this and why,” she says. My maths teacher, Ms. Srija. I sit beside her with my head hung low, tears still brimming in my eyes.
“But I want to know what you feel about all this. Who do you think is the reason?” She looks at me expectantly. Her eyes bore into mine and I feel I need to say something, or she will take offence. But I am still dubious.
“Me. I take responsibility for all this,” I speak in between whimpers. “If I hadn’t started this, it wouldn’t have come this far. Why, I shouldn’t even have misused our lab computer that way. I shouldn’t have searched about all that…” But before I can complete it, she interrupts, “So classic! Women blaming themselves for a mistake they hadn’t done in the first place,” she smirks. And this is the first time I have seen her speak this way. Gentle, confident and knowing.
“So, you think this happened because you were curious about yourself?” She asks. But proceeds to answer it herself, “You thought you were sexually demure and researched it to confirm. And I don’t actually see anything wrong with that. You were curious. You were anxious. You got your answers, and that shouldn’t be anyone’s problem,” she finishes.
“I guess you need to say that to Christy. I don’t know why she would do this. She could have used other ways to get back at me.”
“There you go again. Another classic. Girl blames another girl for her misfortune,” she laughs. I look at her, bewildered. She can tell me what she knows at this point. I don’t get why she has to make me go through this interrogation. I am sure she is getting there. But it’s costing me my patience.
“Sara, listen up. You beat up Christy because of something that only you know. And I have seen her being mean to you. But I won’t rationalise what you did to her. You need to apologise.” She takes a break, sips her coffee, and offers me some. I turn her offer down, though I have second thoughts later.
“But none of this is your fault. And neither is Christy’s. It was some guy. I don’t remember his name. I heard some students gossip. I have no idea why he would have done so. That is for you to sort out. Or maybe not. It shouldn’t affect you at all. Maybe no one else should have a problem, too. But that’s a task to work on. For now, buckle up and move on. Get back with your friend.”
“So, you aren’t mad at me?”
“Should I be?”
“I thought I deserve the hate and anger,”
“You don’t. You are normal. Nobody deserves hate. Especially when you aren’t at fault at all.”
I feel the weight sliding off my body, and suddenly, the room lights up, and the air around me lightens.
“Remember, people will try to put you down, humiliate you, question you, and frighten you. But you need to keep your head high and walk through. That will make them give up eventually,” she smiles, and it clears my head. I feel guilty for having misjudged her all these days. I mistook her sternness for conceitedness. But she turns out to be an angel in disguise. The one I needed in time. I thank her before leaving the room. I walk again into the classroom, this time calm and comfortable. I have work to do. I will start with Christy.
one of those stories that make understanding feminism much easier. The conversation sounds straight from the heart.
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