Sunday Jan 14, 2018
I was eight. He was 25 and my Maths tutor. When it first happened I didn’t know what to make of it. I didn’t know what to do, just how I felt: violated, ashamed and guilty.
Prior to this, he would always sit close to me, but he had never touched me. On days, he would comment on my looks. I didn’t make much of it. It is not uncommon for a child to hear the phrase, ‘Kitna pyara bacha hai’
It took me a really long time, several days of silence before I finally spoke up and told my parents about what had happened.
Even as I narrated the incident, a feeling of guilt kept creeping up. Both my parents listened in silence, before my mother got up. She was furious. “You will never see that man again,” she said before storming out. I never did.
I don’t know what my parents said when they fired him. I wonder if he denied it. I wonder what he said in his defence.
It has been three decades since then. I am a grown man now and yet I remember every little detail. How his hand moved, how my body stiffened and how unsafe I felt in the safety of my home.
After that day, my parents never spoke about the incident again. But even if they did, what could they have said to make me feel better? The shame would have still remained.
As I write this, I choose not to reveal my name. But the horrors in Kasur this past week have given me the strength to at least share my story.
We cannot struggle alone anymore.
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