It is mid-December already. The hours in the morning and evening are cold and harsh. But I like cold. I love winter. I, however, can’t say the same for that day.

I didn’t have a jacket with me and I couldn’t tell if it was the winter chill or the anger bubbling inside me that made me shiver.

I sat there and looked around. I took in every little detail of the unfamiliar place, knowing all too well inside me that I wouldn’t want to go back in again.

People in uniform asked me a lot of questions. I answered all of them. It was almost as if I was reading out from a script. But it was a script that I didn’t want another soul to ever have to read again. I didn’t want anyone to go through what I went through that day. 

It was 5:40 pm. I had just headed out from work when a young man shoved him into me from behind, inappropriately touched me, and dashed away after whispering into the air, “Sorry, Malai hataar chha,” claiming he was in hurry.

I stayed there frozen for a moment and then watched him rush through the footpath. I noticed that he was pushing his way through people as he walked. I convinced myself that this man was actually in a rush and whatever happened was possibly an ‘uncalled for’ accident. But a few steps ahead I saw two girls walking in the direction opposite to me with the same frozen expression, which was on my face only a few moments ago.

That was when it hit me that the person wasn’t in a rush. That was when I realised that I had actually been harrassed in the middle of the road. My body and my personal space had been invaded.

That was when it all came to me—at first I was scared, and then I became angry.  Yet, I decided to look how far the person would go, how fast he would walk. Because, deep inside, I wanted to believe that the person was in a hurry. That he didn’t mean to do what he did. That I wasn’t a victim of sexual harassment. I wanted to believe that the girls had just stopped on the pathway because they realised they forgot something, not because they had been mistreated.

I wanted to know that what I felt was not the truth, instead what he whispered to me as he walked by was true. But that wasn’t the case.

Disclosure: He crossed the road, walked into an alley, and hid behind a wall. Why did he have to hide? Did he suddenly not have to reach where he was earlier in a hurry to reach? He probably realised that I was following him, so he stayed behind the wall and sneaked a peek at me.

As I took out my phone to call my co-workers for help, I saw him walk again, he was striding faster, and he was trying to run away.

If I was scared of running after him, I was too angry to let him go. We, my colleague and I, finally got hold of him and the police was quick to come in for support.

We then headed to the police station, where my harasser sat across me and confessed to his offense. The police took turn asking us, my harasser and me, a set of questions to file the report. I repeated my story over and over again as I felt the chill run down my spines.

I have always liked winter, but the cold I felt that evening was different; it made me shiver from head to toe.

When it was his turn, I listened closely as they interrogated him.

“What is your name?”

“...”

“Where is your home?”

“...”

“Where do you live here?”

“...”

“What do you do?”

“I am a student.”

“Where do you study?”

“Law Campus”

When I heard ‘law’ I was taken aback and I felt even more vulnerable and offended. He was a student of law. What happens when people like him are responsible for justice in my country? What happens when people like him become a part of the law-making and implementing process? What happens when we allow men like him to walk around with their heads held high as they brush their arms on a woman’s body, press their fingers over her breasts, and run away with a casual excuse?

My heart ached and my blood boiled. It hurt more when I thought of the two girls who stood frozen for half a second and then walked away without a backward glance, without taking a stand, and without seeing if they should have fought back.

I don’t want anyone to be in the situation that I and those two girls on the street went through that evening. But, god forbid, if something like that were to happen to any woman anywhere in the world, I don’t want her to do nothing about it. I want women to believe they are strong enough to stand for what is right and what is important. I want people to have faith in themselves to see through things in a just manner. Because, if we don’t stand for ourselves no one ever will.

Shrestha is a BSc student at St Xavier’s College