Raped in the big Bazaars: The grim story of women in India

“A teenage girl at a bar”, hushes someone in the public.
“Yeah!! But this is not correct”, says the guy to his left.
“This is against our morals and rituals”, shouts a voice from behind.

The low whispers slowly grow into an audible cry. People want to show the woman “her place” in society. She dares to sprout her wings, they say. They have reservations with a girl enjoying her freedom.

“A girl can’t just walk into a bar, and that too, at night time”, the general sentiment of the self-acclaimed moral policemen – the perverts, echo unanimously.

As the night grows darker, the Rowdy Rathores on the shady streets of India gather. And what could possibly be a better feast to their eyes than a teenage girl walking out of a pub.

Delighted, they all seem.
“Ah!! There’s something to hunt for today. A teenage beauty”

They approach her in a group, hold her by her arm, drag her, abuse her, and molest her, in public. Their inner demons take charge. Wow! A live porn show right in the middle of a big bazaar.

And how could our esteemed “fourth pillar”, the media, miss the action, for their crucial TRPs are at stake. Someone calls a local news channel, and they rush to the spot even before the police, faster than the 30-minute pizza delivery boy, to capture the live tamasha.

The journalist, like a director, guides the mob to show the pretty face of the girl to the camera, to get her perfectly into the frame. The sexually aroused men act like obedient make-up dadas in a film studio, following the orders of their director, providing him the perfect shot.

The video footage is then relayed on national television. And it so happens that a cop at a nearby police post, looking out for the perfect movie to pass the night, halts his remote control at the local news channel.

Terrified, not by the gruesome situation of the woman, but by the risk of losing his dear job, he rushes to the location with a group of other havaldars (if you don’t get the term, don’t worry; just have a mental picture of a pot-bellied halvai (sweet seller), it best serves the purpose).

The sound of an approaching police van now echoed in the slender streets of the area.

“But what’s there to be afraid of”, thought the gathering, “It’s a free country and we are doing the right thing, teaching a lesson.”

Thump!! The noise sounded as the Singham – the king of halvais, stepped down the gypsy door. The constitutional law officer was now ready to take charge of the situation, with over an hour of the movie already televised.

He guides the crowd with his laathi, beating their backs, mercilessly. The human-faced dogs now ran for their lives, dispersing from the area.

But wait. The camera is still rolling. The director has aspirations to film a complete one-and-a-half hour movie, so when the scene was over, he starts interviewing the police and the victim, like a documentary. The TRP is now settled. And the news channel now possesses the exclusive “footage” of the “prime time” event.

What about the girl??

Oh..! Her!! Well, once the show was over, no one really cared about about what happened to her.

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