On foot again

A week ago, something bad and wrong happened to me. People told me I took a “brave” step, did something right. Many came up to me and told me I had done something that many couldn't. They told me I had done something they hadn't. They told me they are proud of me. I was scared. I was terrified by what had happened and also I was hoping something positive would come out of the step I had taken. But above all that, I still hadn't been able to be proud of myself. I still hadn't been able to say it out loud that I was brave. But I walked home today. All the way from Gyaneswor to Kalanki.

It’s 5:40 PM I have my sweatshirt on and I am ready to leave work. A week ago, I was wearing the same sweatshirt and had left work at around this time. That day, I had planned to walk home. Today, I hadn’t. Today, it was an impromptu decision. Last week, I was harassed as I walked a few steps away from work. That is another story. I remember the police officers’ wide eyed expression when I told him I walked from work to home often. “Gyaneswor baata Kalanki samma hidera?,” he had asked and I had nodded my head and said yes. But since that day, I hadn’t been able to walk around on my own. I was too scared.

I was still a coward even if people called me brave. I hadn’t been able to say I was proud of myself when many told me that they were. But my impromptu decision to walk home today made me feel better. Somehow.

Of course I was uncertain and scared- up until the moment that I carried my backpack and walked out from work. I had also asked two people off-handedly if they wanted to walk out with me. I didn’t tell them I was asking that because I was scared. They had prior commitments made. I was a lone soldier now. But as I was about to leave, I saw Rupesh and his friend Saras walking a mere few steps ahead of me. Rupesh asked where was I headed. “Ratnapark,” I answered. And after he said they were headed the same way, I was not just happy, I felt safe and protected. Thank you, Rupesh.

As the two friends walked and talked, I listened to bits and pieces of what they were saying. I was more focused on looking at all the other faces that walked past. I noticed every movement, every slight detail of everyone around me. As they spoke fondly of their not chubby at all but nicknamed “motey” friend, I joined in their conversation, still very conscious of the pedestrians around me. I did not walk like that before. But today, I put calculated steps forward- making sure not a single part of me touched another human being. I was also looking at every face that walked past. I was scared that I would see the assaulter again today - walking down the streets freely. I wasn’t sure how I would react if I were to come face-to-face with him.

As I listened to the conversation while we three walked the streets to reach Basantapur, I missed my best friend a lot. She is in another country. I haven’t walked around the streets with her for a while now. The streets are scarier for me now. But I believe they would have felt a bit nice had she been here with me. I miss my best friend. I miss not being scared of the street I walked in.

Now here we are in Basantapur, watching the city move around us - humans of all ages, race, gender and ethnicity walk past us. It is almost 6:30 PM now. Chiya-pasal ko Aama lifts the pot of tea from the stove in front of her, pours us warm glasses full of tea and adds a sprinkle of coffee on top. As Rupesh hands me my cup of tea, I am praying from within that the streets become safer. I am praying that I get to keep my love for walking alive. I am an amateur when it comes to drinking tea. The hot tea scalds my tongue as it moves on to warm my stomach. Again, I join in their conversation, listening as Rupesh takes a few guesses to remember Saras’s birthday. “My birthday is on March 3rd,” I tell them, smiling a little as I remember that today I was brave enough to walk the streets again as the dusk gave way for the night.