As a single girl child, my Tam Bram family expected me to be home by 7 PM, and during winter, that curfew often shifted to 6:30 PM or even earlier.
Our College Day was in January, and as a division representative, I was obliged to stay until the program concluded and the Chief Guests had been served dinner. There were chances I would need to linger a little longer to tidy up after everything.
I casually mentioned at home that I might not make it back until 8.30 PM, which did not sit well with my grandmother. After a bit of persuasion and sweet-talking, she eventually relented, but only on the condition that I get permission to leave by at least 8 PM. I simply nodded.
As a 19-year-old girl, it felt childish to ask for permission to leave ahead of time, especially with the excuse of getting dark in the evening. I could only imagine my classmates chuckling at my concerns.
Totally absorbed in the event and oblivious to time slipping away, I didn’t realise it was already 9 PM until we were saying goodbye to the Chief Guest.
Back then, in the 1980s, our home didn’t have a landline, which meant I couldn’t call to let anyone know I was still at the college. I wouldn’t be surprised if Granny had, by now, coaxed my Father to go and look out for me.
Arriving at a dimly lit bus stop sent my heart racing. Out of nowhere, a guy appeared and hovered nearby, his piercing gaze making me squirm. The street was deserted, and I fervently wished for a bus to arrive.
The guy lit a cigarette, drawing the smoke toward me, and stepped a bit closer. My heart raced even faster. I contemplated bolting towards home, but given his athletic build, I knew he would catch me in no time, and considering the quietness of the neighbourhood, it wouldn’t be a safe bet.
“Waiting for a lift, I presume?” he sneered, a smirk stretching across his lips. “Don’t play innocent with me. I know what girls like you are after—some rich guy on a bike or in a car. Come with me; I’ll take you to a great pub.” He grasped my upper arm firmly.
I felt paralysed with fear, ready to freeze in that spot or perhaps even faint from terror.
Just then, I spotted two familiar figures emerging from the shadows of a side street.
“Aunty!” I nearly shouted, recognising the Shenoy couple from our building.
“Waiting for the bus at this hour?” Uncle inquired, shooting a disapproving glance at the guy, who promptly stepped back at the sight of people I knew.
I quickly explained that I had been at a college event.
“Join us. We’re heading home after a sermon,” Aunty said, washing away my anxiety in an instant.
Seeing me return safely with this friendly couple brought immense relief to both my parents and my grandmother.
It had certainly been a chilling evening!
Sudha Vishwanath
0 Comments