Freaky Friday

     So this was the night that the sleepover was supposed to happen and I was not very excited. In fact, I was far from it. Well, sleepovers are supposed to be fun. So why was I not excited? Well,  because I was going to a sleepover organised by a 60 odd year old tailor bhaiyya.

     It had started out with a general hi-hello….It is not easy to remain anonymous in a small town, is it? And it is almost impossible if you are in a village. I stay in a village. I have been staying for the last year and a half. And people know me. I know people… Anyway, the hi-hellos Progressed to small visits on occasional free times. Slowly, it became a ritual (lets just say that after a while I began going to just to keep his heart).  And then he got my phone number. He began calling me to his shop every evening. Eventually, he said that very soon I will be gone and he will not get to meet me or talk to me. So, he proposed that I sleep over at his place one night. As usual, I could not refuse his request and, so, I obliged. What I haven't mentioned so far is that he does all the meeting in a sort of secrecy. He is a widower. He stays with his son but his son hardly ever speaks to him. His son stays upstairs and he stays in the tiny room which functions as a shop in the day time and doubles up as the bedroom at night. I find it rather awkward to be secretive, but then I have a heart to keep.

     Anyway, so the day of the sleepover arrives and I am told that once his son goes to sleep, he will call me and I am to come. He calls at around 9 to confirm and then says that his son has not yet retired for the day and so I am to wait for a while. After waiting for about half an hour, I call him back and he says that it might take a while longer. Eventually, at around 10:15, he calls me. He gives me specific instructions to not come from the front side. He asks me to stick to the walls as I approach the door to his room. I am a little anxious to get it done with. He quickly lets me in and I see that there is only one blanket spread on the floor. I assume that we are to share the tiny space. I am not that worried, yet. Quickly, we settle down and get ready to sleep. As I said, I am anxious to get it done with. I try making small talks so as to not sound disinterested in the sleepover. He does not respond much and says, "chalo so jaatey hain. (okay, let us go to sleep)" I am only too happy to refuse . I quickly assume a sleeping pose that will ensure maximum comfort as I am aware of the fact that there is almost no space between us and that it will be tough to move around at night. We have officially begun the sleepover. And that is when it starts.

     I initially feel his elbow touch my tummy. I assume that I am just imagining and there is no need to push the panic buttons… But you see, the media has made it almost impossible to not imagine what is coming next. I am sure you are guessing it as well. The elbow is removed. I relax. But, almost immediately, he turns towards my side and almost as if it is out of habit, he places his arms across my stomach. I freeze. This is the right time to push the panic button, I tell myself. But, somehow I remain frozen. I pretend like as if I have fallen asleep. About a minute passes and his arms remain stationary. Slowly, I calm myself down and I feel the muscles in my body relax. I have not been aware that they have stiffened so much. After a while, he removes his hands. I quickly turn my back towards him and try my best to fall asleep. But, sleep plays hide and seek and I am shuffling between sleep and wakefulness every two minutes. To add on, there are tiny insects that are irritating me. What else is irritating? My sleeping posture. I want to turn the other way, but there is not way in hell that I will sleep facing him. So, I return to my initial position and sleep on my back. And before even I can pray that he does not place his hands over my stomach again, he does it. Once again, I freeze. I remain frozen for a minute. In my mind I am begging him to not do anything else. But, slowly, I feel that his palms are moving lower. I shout, in my head, of course, "DO NOT MOVE LOWER! I DON’T WANT TO WALK OUT! FOR YOUR SAKE, DO NOT MOVE!"

     His hand twitches and it comes to a halt almost near my abdomen. Abruptly, he removes his hand and turns his back (He is a religious man. I have observed).  I remain frozen for a while more and then again feel the muscles in my body relax. After that, I think he fell asleep (or was he torn by guilt?) and he only placed his arms over me once more…. before i eventually, at around 3, wake him up, tell him that insects are biting me and take his leave. I head to my home, go to my room and sleep.

     What had happened? Why had I not said anything to him? Why had I not just walked off the moment I felt his palms move downwards? Was I a coward? Maybe. Or maybe I was just too scared (there is a difference between being a coward and being scared, right?). If so, I try imagining the plight of women who get felt up like this (and worse). If I was not able to utter a single word, how can they?

     And then I also ask myself about the twitch before he abruptly removed his palms. What was that? Was that disappointment? In himself? Or in my lack of response?

     But it could also be that I empathised with him. He is a widower. He has been a widower for quite some time, now; I am not sure how long. His son barely talks to him. He barely talks to anyone. From morning, till late evening, all day long, he sits at his sewing machine, sewing clothes for others. Watching people and vehicles and dogs and cows and goats walk the road. I once saw him crying to himself. He was not aware that I had arrived and the moment he saw me, he put back the smile on his face, although the tear trails were still there. So, as I lay there, frozen, I asked myself, "is he trying to feel me up or is he just trying to feel human contact, once again? How much loneliness can one bear?" Maybe that is why I did not say anything. Maybe that is why I just remained frozen.  Maybe because I know how lonely lonely can get.

     Anyway, now that I think about the incident, I can't help but feel a sense of hatred for that man. I still go around showing my face to him. I somehow feel that it is still my duty to go up to him and make him feel assured that I am neither avoiding him nor have I judged him.  But, I don’t think I can ever look at him again, like I did, before that night, without feeling a sense of repulsion. 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of, what was, The Freaky Friday.