I went to an all women police station to give a complaint
against my (ex) husband who had the habit of beating me up black and blue. My
complaint was not taken instead I was given a lecture about the uniqueness of
the station. Their job is not to break up couples but to unite them, I was
told. The frequent visits to the police station and to the court, if I filed a complaint was brought to my notice. It frightened me. I
was in severe pain already and I was emotionally wounded too.
He was called and they talked to him, hearing
out his problems with me (spending money for lipstick, going to the mall
without making dinner for him, going to watch movie alone at night...) All
these made them look at me differently. I don’t blame them because they were
brought up to think like such things are wrong for a woman to do. The day ended
there. We were asked to come the next day. The next day I went there straight
from work. The way I was treated made me feel horrible. A woman in uniform
looked at my accessories and made sarcastic comments. The lady in charge asked me with a smirk “Do you work in a co-ed college?” I was judged by the lipstick and the neck
piece I was wearing!
Had I gone
there with torn clothes and messed up hair may be they would have sympathized
with me. I was calm and composed, not because I was okay, but because I had no
life left in my body or in my mind then. So unknowingly I had given them the
wrong impression of a “modern” woman. They
expected some one uncontrollably weepy or someone who verbally attacks the
husband who has done wrong. But there I was sitting with a heavy heart
listening to the load of shit he was telling them about me.
I had
confused my neighbors too. They hear me crying in pain at night when he attacks
me. The next day they see me leave the house and come back with a big bag of
pizza or something. Modern woman!
I was
expected to sit and cry in darkness for the life that I had. I did that too, but only for a few minutes
right after the attack. Then when the sun rises I see the new day and do my
stuff. After seven years of experiencing
the same thing over and over again I got used to it. I no longer talked back,
or cursed or left the house or cried. At one point nothing he did made me to
react.
This one time after thrashing me, he started abusing me verbally, I was
still quiet and not even a drop of tear
fell from my eye. He spat on me and left. I got up went to the bathroom, washed
my face, and did what I had to do next. I didn’t want him to win. I didn’t want
to crumble down, not at least in front of him. I didn’t want that dark force to
affect me. This could not be understood by all.
Even
now when people come to know that I live alone they tell me that I should have
stayed with him for the sake of my daughter.
Going to
watch a movie, or eating out , or living alone are not signs of showing others
how “modern” I am. Sometimes only those things give me peace!
