An Indian Woman

Posted on January 20, 2016 by Chandra No Comments

The following is an example of creative writing by Dipon Pal, a senior student at Golden Avatar, where he addresses very grave yet very real issues faced by his female peers.

My name is Moumita, but everyone calls me Dita. On the day that the upper secondary exam results were made public, I became pretty happy because I got the highest marks in my district. I decided to study medicine, but there was no medical college in my hometown. Thus I knew I would have to leave my hometown and go to a different city.

But I was thinking, “What will I do? I have never stayed away from my parents before.”

Yet in order to fulfil my dream, I had to go. On the seventeenth of February, I had to be present on the campus.

The seventeenth arrived. At four am, my mother, father and I set out by car for the campus. We arrived by nine am and, after eating some breakfast, entered the campus. With some difficulty, I managed to push through the crowd to the noticeboard. My room number was twenty. After orientation all day, at four, mom and dad left to return home. They called me in the evening, at around seven pm, to let me know they had arrived back safely. After dinner I went to my room, and for the first time ever, I went to sleep all alone.

Oh. I forgot to mention that I made a new friend here. Her name is Dalia. After dinner we chatted for hours together. I told Dalia all about my family and the town I’m from, and I heard all about her family, and we became very close quickly.

Then came my first day of college. One of the tutors, Mr. Hajra, was very pleased with my exam results and my classwork. He offered to tutor me privately for free. I was quite astonished that in this day and age someone would make such an offer, out of the goodness of his heart.

The fees to study medicine are very high, what to speak of the cost of tutors. At night, I phoned mom and explained the situation.

Mom said, “If the opportunity has come up, then great.”

So with Mom’s permission I took on the tutor.

Then came Sunday, and there was no school. After getting up and ready, I went to Mr. Hajra’s house. His house was very beautifully decorated, but he stayed alone. Hang on, no. My mistake. He doesn’t stay alone. He keeps many birds there, singing loudly from their cages all day long. On the first day, he asked me what I like to eat, what I don’t like, and so on. While chatting like this, the time passed until it became time for me to go home. Mr. Hajra said that from the next day onward, we would conduct our lessons. I went back to the dormitory by auto-rickshaw.

I made my daily routine of study: I went in the morning to the college, from the college to the dormitory, from the dormitory to Mr. Hajra’s house to study, then again back to the dormitory. There, I would have something to eat then go to bed. I didn’t even notice two months go by in this way.

With Mr. Hajra and I spending all this time together every day, we became very close, developing a deep friendship. After knowing him in this way for about two months, one evening he suddenly called me to come around. I arrived promptly and Mr. Hajra asked me to sit down. He had a laptop in his hands.

I don’t know how I am going to tell you what happened after that, but seeing as I have started, I must finish.

Mr. Hajra opened his laptop and showed me a number of videos—of me. Me going to the bathroom, sitting exposed, of me studying and talking with Mr. Hajra. Using these videos of me going to the bathroom, Mr. Hajra intended to blackmail me. Ashamed, insulted and disgusted, I somehow or other returned home.

I wondered what to do. I thought to tell Mom and Dad, but out of shame and insult and fear, I never managed to bring it up. I figured they would just worry too much about me.

If I didn’t do what Mr. Hajra asked of me, then he would release the videos in the internet. To stop this from happening, I eventually agreed to his horrible proposal. But still, using me in this way, he managed to make another video. For days he continued to use these videos to blackmail me into being used by him. He never gave me or deleted the videos, as he’d promised. He just continued to use me.

I returned to the dormitory. Now, on the twelfth of May, there is a crowd of people outside the dormitory. Some of my friends are crying. The police are also here.


Because today I am no more. I made a mistake, but don’t make the same mistake as me.

Make sure that people like Mr. Hajra are punished.
Arise, women of India!



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