I am a 31-year-old Nepali Woman and I have been harassed once every two years. Here’s my Story. [Trigger Warning]

Day 4 in the hospital

(Writing from the hospital bed)

Since I have been admitted to the hospital for a few days now, you might feel like I have had enough time to move my head around and reflect on my life. No early or late night classes, no consultations with teachers, parents, students all around the day, no zoom meetings. All in all, no teaching or learning inside the boundaries. However, my hospital stay is turning out nothing less than what I could learn via books or teachers, or my daily work. The real stories that I am getting to hear are not just heartbreaking but also nerve-wracking and unimaginable. Most of them are about sexual harassment, all of them on women. When I will get some air after I come out of this hospital, I might want to share my reflections on them but for now, let me focus on my life and my reflections.

I turned 31 years last August. If I just go with the life span, an average Nepali lives, then I have already lived half of my life. So, a question popped up in my head how many times have I been sexually harassed? Generally, in any kind of survey or research, we have been asking if a woman has ever been sexually harassed. The answer most of the time is positive, “yes” with the option ‘at least once’ being ticked. But this time, I want to go back as far as I can remember and count the times I have been harassed. Let me see, how many have left a mark on me.

1. I was so young maybe in my nursery or in UKG. I had skipped LKG. I was considered a ‘smart’ kid. I was the only child then. My parents might have thought of something as they used to usually dress me up like a boy. Short hair, baggy t-shirt, and jeans pant. That was my signature look. Nobody could figure out I was a girl. Even I was fond of those clothes. I never loved wearing dresses then. And that was that it gave the liberty to my relatives and the so-called ‘adults’ to always bully me asking if I was a boy or a girl. Or if my parents were confused whether they had given birth to a boy so they were dressing me up like a boy. Some of them used to go the extra mile and wanted to see if I had a penis or a vagina. This used to happen every time whenever someone used to come to our house or we used to go to them. It was uncomfortable for me as a child. One day I was so frustrated that in one of my relatives’ houses, I pulled down my pants and showed them my vagina, and shouted “Now stop teasing me”. Others started laughing. I ran outside and started crying. That seems like my first experience of sexual harassment as I understand now.

2. The second one was by my teacher when I was maybe in grade two or three. He used to move around rubbing his beard on our cheeks. I don’t know how others felt but that was the first time I realized it was an uncomfortable touch and I remember saying “Nai, Nagarnu” (Please don’t do it). But the teacher used to keep smiling and do it even in front of my mom and other teachers. I don’t know about his intentions because I can’t justify his actions even after so many years, I get the flashes of it. I am extra vigilant when I see a man with stubble playing with a child.

3. The third one was again by my teacher when I was in around grade three or four. I was young enough to comprehend what was happening with me but old enough to understand that the teacher was making fun out of me through his sadistic act. Now I know it also falls under sexual harassment. We used to have different competitions on the school ground. That day was our spelling contest day. Since I was one of the contestants, I was staying under the sun for quite a while. Using the English language to communicate had been made mandatory. I was just learning English and didn’t know other sentences apart from asking “May I go out?” and “May I come in?”. I waited for a long time for every program to end and then rush to the toilet. But since I couldn’t hold for a long time, I just woke up and looked out for some teachers fearing if they would see me, I would have to ask them using English which I didn’t know what to say. When I figured, no one was around, I rushed but was interrupted by one of the teachers who was passing by. He made me stand and asked where I was running. I just pointed to the toilet. I could see that the teacher understood what I was going through my posture that I had been holding my urine for a long time. But he had no mercy; he smiled slyly and asked me to say that in English. He said, “You weren’t good at spelling contests as well. So you need to work on your English. Tell me whatever you are going through in English.” I tried, tried a lot in my broken English but everything went down the drain. The teacher continued, “If you can’t say that in English, I shall make you pee in front of everyone.” I was afraid. I already had pressure to keep up the reputation of a good student being the daughter of a teacher and all this, my little brain couldn’t handle. Neither my bladder could handle my pee. I started leaking in front of the teacher. He kept on watching. He smiled and then shouted, “ you naughty girl, rush to the toilet.” I cried in the toilet. I promised myself. I shall work on my English so much that I will get a Ph.D. in it so that I don’t have to pee in front of any man. Ph.D. just came to my mind because once my father had told me that was the highest degree and once you get that you will be known as an expert in that subject. As I look back, though unconscious so much of my decisions were guided by that incident. I hadn’t shared this incident with anyone till last year until in one similar conversation it just came out in front of my husband and his friends. That was a good release.

4. The fourth one again from a teacher when I was in grade nine. He had the habit of caressing our backs while walking. While doing so, not just to me but he used to touch our back and then slowly move his hands towards our bra and sometimes even unhook them. I used to see some of the girls rushing to the toilet in the middle of the class and he used to act as if nothing had happened. I don’t know if the boys used to be caressed too but we girls were fearful to sit near the aisle. Luckily, my bra wasn’t unhooked. It might be because I started using a bra with a hook very late in my life. But yeah, he did feel my back.

5. Grade 10, a senior who was already in grade 11 started following me. From sending letters with sexual contents to making few sexual moves through unwanted touch, he used to come across as a roadside Romeo. Rather than it being a romantic act, it was more of harassment. It heightened when one evening when I was returning from my tuition to my home, he blocked my road and made me fall from my bicycle, and tried to drag me to the nearby fields continuously saying that he loved me. Then, the houses were very thin and I had to cycle around 45 minutes from my tuition center to my home. I managed to escape but a lingering fear was always there. I couldn’t cycle freely like before which I loved doing. I asked one of my male friends to just come along every evening. I knew I was asking a huge favor from him. But then at that time, I thought I had no other options. I didn’t want to share that with my parents, as I feared given the risks they would get me married; and my dream of getting a Ph.D. would all go in vain. My friend agreed. He started dropping me off. That continued for few days but others started teasing us as boyfriend and girlfriend. So I stopped talking to him. He never knew why I asked him to accompany me in the first place and then stopped talking to him altogether later until last year when I called him and shared what had happened. He was shocked and told he would have done something if he had known earlier. But you know, a teenage brain. The hide and seek game with the perpetrator continued. Not walking in the evening to changing routes. I graduated from school and reached grade 11. I wanted to come to Kathmandu. Out of many reasons, one of the reasons was that but we couldn’t afford then so I continued my high school in my hometown itself because I couldn’t share what I was going through with anyone. I was so frustrated that I called one of my friends whom I had recently known through my school friend and asked him to act like my boyfriend in front of that person. And surprisingly, that worked. Wow!

6. Next one, I had gone to one of my relatives. I didn’t usually use to go outside. Not sure why I always used to feel out of place when I used to go to my relatives. It might be because of my childhood experiences. But this place felt different. I had got a very friendly sister who was only a few years older than me. So I could relate to her. We used to roam around the market, talk about different dresses we liked. Since I had just started high school, I was excited to learn more about her new college life. I was so inspired by her. I wanted to go to college like her and wanted to visit her frequently. So when my mom asked if I wanted to stay there, I readily said “yes”. So we stayed. The next day one of her cousins visited. He was handsome. He talked smart. He was already in his third year of his BBA and was a very talented student. I was prompted to talk to him more. So we started talking. He used to ask me so many questions. I guess I had more questions for him regarding what it feels like growing up. I was in a hurry of growing up. I guess he understood a little more than needed. In one of our conversations, we were sitting on the same bed, his hands slowly started caressing my back. I knew that kind of touch; it was the same one as my grade nine teacher. I went numb. He went beyond. His hands slowly went behind my t-shirt and slowly started caressing my bareback. I started palpitating because what my teacher had touched over the t-shirt, he was now doing the same under it. Then he also touched my hook-less bra. I was numb but right at the moment my sister entered the room and he reflexively took out his hands. She didn’t notice what her entrance had done but I just rushed with her and shared that I wanted to go with her. The next day, we returned. I have never met that guy after that.

My head and heart both have gone heavy. I need some rest will continue sharing further after I take some rest.

Day 1 Back at Home

(Writing from the Living Room)

I see a photograph of me and my husband hugging and smiling at each other. It was a picture clicked by one of our colleagues during our wedding. When there’s a trend going on social media on clicking lavish pictures of the wedding, we opted to go for a small one without hiring any photographer. My husband was totally into the idea given we wanted to go for a minimal wedding but I had other reasons too.

7. Again, this incident happened in grade 11. I guess it was around the final terms. Digital cameras still weren’t easily available then. We had to go to photo studios and being a female going to photo studios wasn’t that easy. We had to really convince our parents. It was quite expensive for students like us as well. But then my friend and I had a dream to go on a photoshoot as there was a kind of trend going on; to click pictures on ethnic dresses. I and one of my friends excitedly went to the photo studio, took the photograph and were really happy about it. After the photo shoot, the photographer asked us to fill a sheet that asked for our details, I was so naive that I thought it was mandatory. So, I filled in my name, address, and landline number. Since we had gone to the photo studio on our college uniform, he could figure out the college I was studying in. Nothing suspicious happened for a week. I got the first call with the information that our pictures were ready, excitedly I went there, took the pictures, and handed him the money but then the photographer asked he would give me a discount if I click another picture. I didn’t think much I just agreed to click the picture. I never suspected his intentions. I just loved the idea of having few more pictures of myself. So, I clicked some. Then the trouble started. The guy started calling on my landline randomly; lots and lots of blank calls. He started inviting and luring me for other pictures. He started strolling around my college gates, on the streets, and sometimes even nearby computer cafes where I used to visit weekly. I was petrified. Slowly he started handing me envelopes with letters and my pictures. Surprisingly each time I used to get the pictures; I would be wearing different dresses. I had never known before that picture could be edited/morphed/photoshopped. Slowly I could see him strolling around my house. I stopped coming outside of my house. I was so afraid that my parents or neighbors would know about it. I simply assumed photographers are like that and now I would never ever get myself clicked by a person who calls himself a photographer. I started getting terrified even when I used to see photo studios. For a very long time, I faced that. Again, I thought of using the old tactic and went with a male friend and requested him to scold the photographer. My friend did the same. Again, that worked. But that incident inspired me to learn photoshop. I did a whole course on it after my grade 12 just with the thinking that if a man morphs my picture, I would morph his too. Though I have used that skill in other places, I haven’t used it so far to fulfill the initial goal of learning it in the first place.

8. Photoshop reminds me of another horrendous incident. Since an advanced course on photoshop wasn’t available in my hometown, I had to travel to another city which was about half an hour bus ride from my place. Up until then, I had never traveled alone. My parents were reluctant at first but later they had allowed me given the context that I just had to take one bus and even the training center was just a few minutes walk from the bus station. It was going just as planned. The world of computer and photos were so fascinating. I used to practice a lot. Since I didn’t have a computer at home by then I used to spend hours working there. I had a dream of creating a replica of a Magazine that used to come then ‘Voice of Women’. Okay, let me keep that aside, one day as I was returning home after my training, I took the bus, then found the window seat. So happily, sat there. A middle-aged man came and sat next to me. I didn’t think through much. The bus started to move. After about 15 minutes, I could feel his hands slowly trying to touch my hands. I thought it was by mistake at first but then it happened again confirming that whatever he was trying to do was intentional. I placed my bag between us. How could my mini bag stop his gigantic hands, right? His hands did not just want to touch my arms but they wanted to go beyond and touch my breast. Even his legs started dancing on my bare feet. I was so scared. I jumped off the seat. The man acted as if he had done nothing. I turned my head around and felt ashamed about whatever was happening. Since I was at the window seat it was difficult for me to stand up and change the seat as well. I kept quiet. The man dropped off in his station. As soon as he dropped off, I started crying. My tears didn’t stop rolling even after I reached home. My mom saw me crying and asked, “kina royeko?” (why are you crying?), I explained everything. She shouted, “Jhappad haninas?” (Didn’t you slap him?). “Oh! Can I slap the ones who do so?” I asked myself. I didn’t know if that was a rhetorical question or an ironic one.

Dizziness lurked in again. My body was asking for some rest.

Day 2 Back at Home

(Writing from the Bed Room)

I know whatever I write, it should be before lunch because after that I have to take my medicines. The medicines are so strong that I don’t remember how fast I fall asleep after having them.

9. The harassment on buses started to become rampant. So here I am grouping all of them as one which continued for over three years of my undergrad days. I started traveling via bus every day for my undergrad. The problem was that the conductors didn’t use to let the students enter the bus early as they had to provide us discounts. So we had to keep on waiting till the bus was jam-packed. Once the bus was full they used to allow us a mini space where we could barely stand. But we had no other option than to accept that. And that was the reason we could neither shout nor slap the harassers like my mother said because everyone’s justification used to be that whatever had happened was by mistake or it was unintentional and just because of the packed bus. If I and my friends raised our voices they would threaten us saying that they won’t allow us to travel from the next day. Those were one hell of years. Oh yeah! how can I forget the harassment on the night bus when I share about harassment on the bus. It is on another level. I have been in a major one. It was so scary that I have never traveled via night bus since then. I couldn’t act upon what my mom had asked for, that is to slap the guy who shows similar kind of behavior on the bus. By the way, I did revolt back and slapped a man remembering my mom’s advice once but very late in my life. I could gather that courage only in 2017. Here’s the full story.

10. I started working. Interestingly, as a television journalist. That asked me to travel more. A shy introverted girl was now on the television in the mornings and evenings and in the report field during the days. That was my dream job. So wanted to give my heart and soul. I thought through my job I could do something for the girls and women like me through my work because journalists’ voices were/are considered powerful. I started running a program that talked about harassment, bullying, rape. To find the stories for my program, I started going to different places. In some places, I was welcomed while in most of the places, people, especially the victims were fearful of sharing their stories. Till then, I realized that it wasn’t just me who was harassed but several others and some of the others’ story was worse than mine. I don’t know what started giving me confidence and courage but I started becoming more vocal; angrier about everything going on. I wanted everything to change; change drastically. During this phase, I used to get several calls of rape threats about publishing the story. Apart from one colleague who was close to me nobody knew what was going on because I knew if my parents knew about it, they would ask me to quit my job. Changing phone numbers to changing routes; both seemed easier options than sharing it with anyone. I don’t remember how many sim cards I had then. Out of several other stories, there’s one story that just shattered me which I don’t want to share here. I had to go through both the rape and the death threat. I wonder if my male colleagues would have shared the same stories, they too would be threatened to get raped. That particular report was one of the reasons I came to Kathmandu.

11. Finding jobs in Kathmandu for someone who has just arrived from out of the valley was in itself a difficult job. Up until that point, I just had an undergraduate degree at hand and a three-year work experience in local television. I used to think there’s nothing I can do or know how to do other than working on a television. So I had dropped my CVs in almost all the television channels I knew or I could research apart from ‘Kantipur’ because for me ‘Kantipur’ was the biggest of all and I wasn’t ready enough to be there. Some local television channels called and asked me to run shows that were to sell products that were completely different than what I was looking for. So I had kind of lost hopes when I got a call from one of the mainstream television channels as an interviewee for the position of a news anchor. You know that my happiness knew no bounds. But that interview became the reason I left my dream of working in the media. The interviewer (might be the then news head) checked me out at first, asked me my experiences, what I can do and what I can’t do. Then he started talking about how small my breasts are and how that is making me look like a child, hence unsuitable for the job. But since he was the news head, he can help me get the job if I spend a night with him. That was the first time, someone had said that on my face that too for a job position. I had seen those things happening in movies but I didn’t know it actually happens in real life too. I left the office numb deciding never to work in the media industry.

12. A man came into my life after sending a direct marriage proposal to my parents after going through my Facebook profile. My parents checked his background and found him ‘thikthak’ (okay) for marriage and said ‘yes’ but because I was so adamant about my studies they asked him to wait for the marriage till I complete my Masters. The man agreed. I don’t know what gave him the liberty but he started acting as if he already was my husband. The worse of it all started when he started noticing that I had friends who were boys. The slut-shaming, the bullying, giving me names on my choices, and the way I dress up were so frequent. Slowly it turned into a physical assault. It continued for a year and I didn’t have the courage to share that with anyone, even my parents. Given that both my parents were going through some serious health issues I wasn’t sure how would that news land up to them. However, it slowly started affecting my work. I love working and when something starts affecting my work, that is the time I feel a strong urge to do something for myself. I know sometimes that is too late but that is how I function basically. So I started fighting against him. One day I just said, “I can’t carry onto this further”. He was in a rage but I left everything, took the next bus to my home and shared everything with my parents. They were shocked and broke everything off. Since then I haven’t met the man. I had to give up a whole year of my life to understand what kind of person I don’t want as a husband.

13. Another incident, again from a media person. Again a similar situation to the previous one. Actually, this time, I had already started working as a faculty in the college. It might have been already one and a half years. One day one of my very close friends called me and asked if I was interested in working again in media. My answer was a straight ‘No’. But she convinced me to at least meet her uncle who was already in a reputable position in this newly established television channel. So I went to meet him. He asked me about what I do, why I left media, and what kinds of programs I would be interested in running. I shared my regular answer that I have shifted my career to education and see my future there. So he started propelling me about how the job that he is offering me is not just limited to running programs but is related to knowledge sharing and more related to works like managing his everyday meetings and being a part of it. He hinted at how we could have fun together and learn together. I didn’t get the exact meaning but I simply shared that I will think about it and left his office. Later, he started messaging me on messenger and asking me about my sexual preferences and how he would like to have sex with me. I was so disappointed to see those kinds of messages given that he was my friend’s uncle and if we go by Nepali culture when we say friend’s uncle/dad/mother, we actually treat like our own, and there he was faking his love for me as his daughter and asking for sex in the messages. I was so infuriated. But this time I wanted to do something, I didn’t know what to do. So I cried few times but then I heard the news that one of the well-known media persons, who I was in touch with was going to be the senior of the same person. So I met him and shared about his deeds. I don’t know what he said or did to him but that person blocked me from his Facebook. I haven’t shared this incident with my friend yet.

14. The people from academia aren’t less too. Because I have been harassed in one of the most unexpected places that too amid other people very smartly. It was a late-night after-conference party. The informal discussion on some papers was still going on. Good food, drinks; everyone was having fun. I too was having a good conversation with friends as well as colleagues. We were joined by a man. For me he was new but one of my friends knew him. I still can’t remember his name. So we were talking about different kinds of stuff and then the conversation on sex started. I am not the one who gets all shy if the conversation on sex starts. I shared my perspective too and usually my views on sex are very liberal and for me, sex shouldn’t be considered taboo. I don’t know what triggered the person but the person slowly started caressing my back and tried to unhook my bra. I don’t know what is up with this ‘bra-thing’ but I can’t comprehend why unhooking a woman’s bra is that sexy. I shouted and he acted as if it was by mistake and shared that he didn’t have bad intentions.

15. Mini harassment on social media goes on for the poems I write, for my identity as a feminist. There are times when my inbox is filled with hate messages about how I am ruining young girls, about the dresses I choose to wear even after marriage. So I have started to ignore them but even today I do face some major harassment. I do have a recent incident fresh in my mind but I am not yet comfortable sharing that. However, when I will feel comfortable, I shall definitely share it.

(Taking a long deep breath)

If you completed reading all this, thank you very much for choosing to be a part of my life story. When you are reading this a sexual predator is already out for a hunt. According to a report, women somewhere in Nepal are raped every 54 minutes. So how do we protect our loved ones? I understand, I am talking about women and how they are being harassed. Men might have been too by women. But if we look at the statistics, the number of women being harassed is higher.

I had never sat down and counted all the incidents of sexual harassment that had happened to me but as I sat down and reflected, I am surprised to see that on average, I myself have been harassed once every two years. I know the times have changed. A lot has been done. But I still fear when I walk at night. I still can become the victim. Reforms have been made but the forms of harassment have changed. Trust me when I say this, even the harassment styles have been changing. The only thing that hasn’t changed is that every time when the victim comes upfront and shares her story she is the one who has to justify. She is the one who has to collect evidence and she is the one who has to make sure that she has a tape recorder tagged along to provide her evidence in case anything happens to her.

P.S. You can definitely text me, inbox me or email me after reading this, but please don’t ask me for more details, and please don’t suggest what I should have done then.

Thank you for being a part of my journey.