April 06, 2006
Whoever You Are, You're Not Alone.Issues
9pm. Café Mishka’s on 2nd street, Davis, CA . 1995.
One week in to the fall quarter of my senior year and I’m already stressed. I want to finish the Poli-sci incomplete which hangs over my head, stealing peace of mind and calm. This requires writing a 15-page paper on feminism, abortion and single-issue voters. I’ve made some progress, but much remains to be done and since Shields Library is either social central or a morgue, I can’t get it done there. So I have come to the newest and brightest spot in the tiny constellation of “third-places” which dot Davis ’ downtown area. Mishka’s is just quiet enough, especially on a Friday night, and it also has excellent food. I order a sandwich, the name of which escapes me over a decade later. It has pesto and roasted red peppers, a detail I will never forget, because of what happens later on that night.
I’m halfway through my dinner and it’s 8:30pm. My cell phone rings and I answer, filled with trepidation. My father’s voice barks profanely over the line, “Where the HELL are you? What kind of life do you think you have? One where you can go as you please, party, take drugs? What have I told you about this world, kunju? It is a dangerous place and if you are not careful, you will end up abducted, raped and murdered somewhere and I will have to identify your body and then I will kill myself and then your sister will be without sibling or father. All because you want to PARTY.”
Sigh.
“Daddy, I’m actually-“
“What? You’re actually WHAT? You’re about to lie to me, I know you better than you know yourself. Save your BS for someone else, edi.”
“I’m not lying, I’m studying. I have a huge paper due-
“Due on SATURDAY? Perhaps on Sunday? Bullshit!”
“No, Daddy, I’m trying to pace myself and-“
“You’re trying to PARTY!”
“I am NOT. Look, you’re REALLY starting to piss me off. For once I’m doing the right thing and this is the thanks I get? Why do I bother? I’m sitting here, surrounded by books and papers, desperately trying to remember my thesis statement and why I even chose it, and YOU think I’m out dry-humping someone.”
“You are lying!”
“I am not!”
“Edi mundi, I can HEAR the party. There is music behind you. How stupid you think your Daddy is no library plays music.”
“I’m not AT the library.”
“So you ADMIT your lies???”
“No, I’m at a Café-“
“Ohoa café! You are not a French intellectual! Good girls, serious girls study in the damned library, not in the CAFÉ.”
“I’m going to go.”
“go back to your party, you mean.”
“No, this is crap. I’m being good while a million other kids are being bad and you only assume the worst about me.”
“Either you come home RIGHT NOW or you don’t come home at all.”
“I’m in the middle of writing this, I’ll be home in an hour.”
You could be pregnant in an hour!
Is that all you think about? Ill be done when I finish this page.
“Don’t bother. The door will be locked. Now you can party all night long.”
I slam my phone down, attracting the attention of the four other people who are lame enough to be on 2nd on a Friday night, instead of the bars which dot nearby G street. They return to their respective books and assignments within seconds. I try and take a deep breath. “Finish your sandwich, if you can’t write, eat, I tell myself.
I do and I decide to try and crank out as much of my paper as I can. This café closes in two hours but the all-night reading room is available after that. Surely everyone will calm the fuck down by morning.
Pushing my plate away, I desperately tried to focus but it was no use. My heart was racing, I could feel my pulse in my right temple, underneath the palm of my hand. I couldn’t get over the injustice of the situation. I’d never been the studious type, you were more likely to catch me sunning myself on the quad, fantastic fiction nearby than poring over assigned readings. This “new leaf” I had gingerly turned over was a huge change for me, one that I wanted to sustain.
But I couldn’t. Not right then at least.
I thought back to how proud of myself I was, just before my father called and upset my delicate equilibrium and resolve. I mentally rewound even further to how disciplined I had been, five minutes after sitting down, when I resisted the impulse to answer my phone, which had started buzzing while displaying the phone number of quite possibly the cutest Indian boy at school.
Reminiscing replaced the revving in my chest with butterflies in my tummy and I was grateful for it, as I gave in to the wonder of it all, that me, Delta Gamma, College Republican, Greek Orthodox, sole-brown-intern-at-the-Congressman’s-and-then-Governor’s office ME was suddenly desi. I had attended my first ISA meeting and to my consummate astonishment, I had emerged unscathed. I didn’t have brown friends (see: list above) even though I had had the same Sikh boyfriend for my first three years of college. Beyond his immediate circle of friends and cousins, I didn’t even know the names of any of the other South Asians on campus.
I gave in to temptation and called the butterfly provider back. He was enthusiastic but preoccupied, since he was helping his friends set up for a party. “You should come,” he insisted. “It will be fun and I wouldn’t mind seeing you. I mean if you’re free.”
Could I do it all? The urge to go to the party nearly overwhelmed me. I had lived at home for all four years of college, had been required to be home by dinner each night and had never procured a fake I.D. simply because I never even came close to needing one. Though my sorority helped me feel a little bit more like a normal college student, I hadn’t attended a single party, with the notable exception of the delta gamma spring formal, and the only reason I got away with THAT is because my date was the ultimate Malayalee dream boy, flying cross-country from Harvard Med to take me to the ball.
Even my stricter-than-a-Muslim Daddy couldn’t turn down THAT opportunity to potentially get me settled. As much fun as playing Cinderella had been, much to the horrified chagrin of my father, I couldn’t do a long distance thing, not at age 20. Enter tall, cute LOCAL brown boy with dimples oh, the power of dimples. I snapped my notebook shut, shoved library books in my bag, gathered index cards and pens and left. A few hours of fun to take my mind off things and then I’d head to the library and pick up where I left off. Perfect.
It was 9:30 and I looked for parking in South Davis, where the rich kids lived. :p Of course I was paralleling an S-class but in my defense, it was ten years old, haters. I flipped down the sun visor, so grateful that tiny lights automatically turned on when you opened the mirror. I didn’t feel like touching up my lipstick and I was pleased that I really didn’t have to. I made my way towards unit whatever-it-was while giving silent thanks for always being the overdressed-one, since it meant I could go straight to this without worrying about the appropriateness of my clothes. The butterflies within had mutated in to pterodactyls, wreaking havoc on my insides. What was I doing? I had never been to a brown party. Who the hell would I talk to or even hang out with? This was stupid. I turned around and started to walk back to my car.
“No,” I told myself, stopping. “This is why everyone thinks you’re a stuck-up oreo of a bitch. You’re braver than this. They won’t bite. They’re just Indian kids.”
Inhaling deeply, I steeled myself for what I thought would be an innocent though stressful adventure. When they opened the door after my knock, everyone was shocked to see me but I tried not to freeze. “Dimples” rushed up to me, delight on his face replacing pterodactyls with butterflies, which are a much better fit for my stomach, really.
“HEY. I’m so glad you came. I’m almost done setting stuff up do you want to wait for me?” He read the look on my face which that question had inspired correctly. “Do you even know anyone here?” I shook my head negatively.
He introduced me to a few people on the couch and promised he’d be back soon. They were tentative at first, but inherent brown proclivities soon murdered hesitation and then they were asking me about whom I knew and where I was from and what I majored in and if I knew what graduate school I would be attending. Sigh.
“Dimples” swooped in, mercifully distracting all involved in the interrogation. “Here,” he said, handing me a wine cooler. “You’re not relaxed enough. This should help.” He left with a wink as I looked at the red bottle in front of me. Wait I called after him. I dont drink I He was gone and everyone was looking at me like I had a goiter. My face was probably the same color as the liquid I was looking at, which was far too cold in my right hand.
I had never had one before and to be polite, I pretended to take a sip, letting it all wash right back in to the bottle. It was fizzy awfulness, but it served its purpose; everyone relaxed and went back to their drinking, now that they were certain that I wasnt some prude who would remind them of how disobedient they were. I had drank alcohol before, at home, with my father at dinner. Wine with meals and liquers afterwards, with the occasional Drambuie or Champagne on special occasions. But I had never had anything like this. I had no desire to start now, not with the keys to my car lodged uncomfortably in my front jeans pocket. I set the alco-pop down.
I didn’t have time to write a review of bad alcohol mentally because the door opened and hordes of people descended on the apartment. The lights went out and the sound was immediately ratcheted up. “Dimples” rushed to my side. “FINALLY, I get to hang out with you I was so scared you’d leave. This isn’t exactly your scene.”
“I’m fine it’s good to do new stuff. New year, new friends.” I was stammering gibberish from the nearness of him. When he asked if I wanted to dance, I blushed and nodded. Off we went. I enjoyed about ten minutes of it before he got yanked away to settle some predictable drama. My phone rang and I walked outside to get away from noise.
“HELLO?”
“Hi daddy.”
“I was calling to say I was wrong for assuming the worst about you, but it turns out my suspicions were correct. You ARE at a party. Oh, why did I get cursed with such a worthless daughter? Why? That’s it. I’ve had it with you. You have no father. I am dead to you, hear me? Dead! My daughter was a good girl, not a party girl.”
“Daddy, stop-“
“Enjoy your PARTY, edi!”
Click.
I was consumed with rage and sadness. No matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough. Moments later I was called over to the other side of the patio, where several people were engaged in some kind of drinking contest. I politely declined, since I already felt guilty for touching the wine cooler. “Dimples” showed up and asked if I wanted another.
“No I better not. I have to drive.”
Oh thats right you live at home, dont you?
Yeah. But it might be too late for me to head there tonight
He laughed easily. “You’re not going to. You think I’m going to invite you to a party at my house and then let you do something dangerous? I like you. You’ll be fine. A bunch of people are crashing here afterwards.”
My eyebrows shot up and I started to object, but he cut me off.
“They’re all GIRLS. It’s okay. Chill. You look like you’ve had a rough week. You need to relax.”
I couldn’t believe what possibilities lay before me. Wherever I looked, people slammed shots and sipped beer which had been tapped from the two kegs to my right. The makeshift dancefloor (read: space between three couches) was packed and everyone else was having so much fun. “I’m a bad girl anyway, right?” I muttered to myself. “Might as well have some fun.”
Three+ years of non-stop school (I did summer sessions each year) and dozens of turned-down-invites to parties suddenly came to mind as my anger grew. My father treated me like I was some harlot and THIS was my first party ever! I was a Senior in College! I wasn’t normal! THIS was normal. I considered my future, bleak with law school and fighting off attempts at arranged marriage. When someone handed me a red solo cup full of beer and motioned for me to join the sloppy contest taking place, I smiled slightly and turned towards my opponents. Time to make up for lost college.
Thirty minutes later, I was tipsy. Very tipsy. Or so “Dimples” discovered when he found me on the patio. When he led me inside to dance, he informed me that I was VERY intoxicated. “That’s ityou’re cut off. No puking for you, ‘kay?” He sat me down on a couch and returned with a large plastic tumbler (souvenir from an Aggies game) filled with cold water. Cold felt good. I wandered outside, to get some cold air to go with cold liquid. Then I heard screaming. The police had arrived and were busting anyone underage. Oh, shit. I was weeks from my 21st birthday. I edged towards the bushes which outlined their outdoor area, quietly making for the parking lot. I just needed to sit down and breathe, not get arrested.
I found a curb but it was too late, the sudden movement and fear gripping my stomach had already worked against meI was retching violently and after what I saw, I knew it would be years before I could eat roasted red peppers EVER again. A policeman sauntered up to me and asked if I was done. Terror consumed me. This was it. Oh Shit. Oh fuck. Oh no. My. Father. Will. Murder. Me. When. He. Finds. Out. I. Got. Busted. “How old are you, miss?”
“She’s 21.”
Wha? Who? I groggily looked over at the source of the voice, thinking that “Dimples” didn’t sound like that. Good call on my part, because it was someone else. He was vaguely familiar, he had introduced himself at the ISA meeting and then tried to say “Hi” yesterday while I was on my way to my English class. I had exchanged two sentences with him before rushing off.
“Sure she is.”
“No, really. Shes my cousin. I was just at her birthday.”
“And I suppose she’s also got the stomach flu and THAT is why she’s puking?”
“Actually, yes.”
The police officer’s walkie-talkie broke the conversation and he rushed off to fry bigger fish.
“You owe me one,” the stranger said, reaching out his hand.
“Um thanks.”
I got up unsteadily but then sat back down.
“You’re not doing so well. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“No thank you. I dont live around here.
Then where are you going to go?
I’m already staying somewhere. Here. I’m staying here.”
“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but ‘here’ is not really an option right now.”
“I’m fine, really. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
What was I going to do? In a sense, the guy was right, b/c people were getting written up right and left and everyone else was leaving. All I wanted to do was put my head down somewhere and sleep. Pesto + Coffee + Natty Light + Drama = pain. The car. I could curl up in the mammoth backseat of the car, with its tinted windows and I’d be safe. I started to get up and must have looked like I was too unsteady for that, because the next thing I knew, a different kid was by my side. He looked familiar. Then I realized he was a family friend of one of my oldest friends, I had seen him over the years, albeit tangentially.
“You okay?”
Good grief these Indian kids were so nice. Suddenly everyone was my friend and helper.
“I’m I’m fine. I’m just going to walk to my carI’m not going to drive, I just want to lie down somewhere that won’t get me arrested.”
He looked at me sympathetically. “Would you like me to drive you to it? I’m parked right here.” He pointed at a car less than six feet away which I immediately recognized as his Moms. I looked back at the apartment, hoping to see “Dimples” on his way to me but there was only MORE chaos. Seconds later, I saw Dimples gesturing wildly in front of an officer. Grrrreat.
“Okay.”
I got in the back seat and even though he reversed gently, my head was spinning. Im sorry I dont feel well. Can you stop? Please stop. Immediately he gingerly re-parked the car.
Okay. No problem. My mom would KILL me if someone threw up in here. Hey, I have to go find the friend I came with anyway will you be all right if I just left you here for a second?
Sure. I wont go anywhere.
I put my head down on the seat and took a deep breath. It felt nice to do so. I took another. After what seemed like hours, he came back, with the friend who had intervened on my behalf with the police officer.
Well, well, welllll. If it isnt my sick, long-lost cousin”, he said as he buckled his seat belt.
I sighed. My car is parked out front, at the corner
What are you going to do, crash in it??
Only until Im well enough to drive. I just want to go home.
Thats stupid. Oh not the going home part, the crashing in a car part. You know, youre welcome to stay at my place.
I dont even know you, but thanks anyway, Ill be fine.
Its not safe to sleep in cars.
A) This is Davis. B) This is SOUTH Davis. C) Id love to see someone TRY and get in that car.
Its really not a big deal Ill take the couch. You can have my room. Seriously, don’t be dumb.
Its really nice of you but Id rather not.
Because
Because as nice as you are, I dont even know you. Ive never just stayed at…at some guys place.
Ah. What if it were some GIRLS place. Then would you feel comfortable?
Maybe
That girl you saw me with at the party? Lives across the hall. Shell totally let you crash.
I had no idea whom he was talking about, but at that point, I just wanted to sleep. I was destroyed, physically, emotionally, roasted-red-pepperally. I told myself that I didn’t know this girl and that I’d be better off in my car. Then I remembered that story about someone choking on their vomit and dying. Ugh.
Okay.
We headed towards campus, parked and walked under a starry ceiling as crickets chirped. Seconds later, we had stopped. My fake cousin knocked on the door and a girl answered. She looked sleepy in her Cal t-shirt and boxer shorts.
Hey. Can she crash with you? Shes scared of boys.
Dude, I would be too. Youre a freak. What’s your name?”
“Anna…” Lordy, this was no time to be shy. All I could think of was, “You taste like puke, probably smell like a wreck and you are about to impose on this girl. Get over yourself, already.”
“Come on in, Anna. You can totally stay. My roommates gone, you can take her bed.
She opened the door wide and I tentatively stepped in. I turned around to thank the two strange guys who had brought me closer to sleep, a sleep I was looking forward to the way small children dream of Christmas.
Thanks
Save it. We all want to go to bed. Youll be fine. Drink water, take an aspirin and get some sleep. He gazed over my head, not hard to do because he was a full head taller. “Yo— thanks for letting her stay here. I owe you one.” He turned back to me. “You. Sick girl. Go to bed.”
Sounded good to me. I followed the girl to a dark room which was decorated with the posters you could purchase around the MU at the beginning of every quarter, brought to you by the roving poster people. Ah, yes. Van Gogh’s starry night. Appropriate. I gratefully sank on to a twin-sized bed. My hostess brought me a Tylenol and a blue solo cup filled with tap water. What was with all these damned solo cups? I drank, medicated, drank and then wearily swung my feet up.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No. Thank you so much for letting me stay here.”
She smiled before turning around to leave.
All I wanted was some rest. It had been far too long of a night and I wasn’t looking forward to a Saturday of getting screamed at by my Father while my Mother shook her head and my sister glared at me. Enough. That pain could wait. Right now, I would sleep.
.
When I woke up, there was a hand over my mouth, to prevent me from screaming.
Was this really happening? Wasn’t this guy just helping me not get arrested? Why? As tears rushed down my face, expressing what my muffled voice could not, my hands frantically clawed and pushed. I thought to myself, “Oh my God. Daddy you were right…”
.
.
.
April 3, 2006
Dear Anna:Sepia Mutiny reports the stories which are in the news - not necessarily all that happened, but all that is reported.
I would urge you to go beyond this, because of something that recently happened. A young woman I know and love dearly was raped, an Indian American woman. How many support groups are there out there for women who endure such horrendous experiences? How many South Asian American women have dealt with such trauma? How many have had to bury their pain within them? Could you write a story asking this question, if only to see what sort of reader responses we get? If only to provide a little support to women who might be silently dealing with this?
It is not a good thing that South Asians are generally in the news here for all the good and amazing things they do and accomplish and earn, it is not an indication that all is bright and cheery for South Asians in the US. On the contrary, I believe that it means that much is not being spoken about, that much is hidden, that ours is a culture in which we brutally punish each other and our loved ones for the sake of painting pretty pictures for society to appreciate, and while we suffocate.
As the only female in this forum, I’m choosing to write to you. Thanks.
.
I’ll never paint pretty pictures unless they portray the truth.
I’m not sure if you even pay attention to this site, but if you’re out there reading this, you are not alone. It was not your fault. Please, talk to someone about what you have endured. I am praying for you to not just survive, but thrive. I know that all you can think about right now is this heinous nightmare, but I promise you, it won’t always dominate your thoughts or haunt your dreams.
If you want to talk to me, I am yours. You don’t need to be suffocated by silence or shame.
suitablegirl@gmail.com
.
I wrote that story the day I got this tip in the mail.
It’s taken me a few more days to publish it because I was scared, worried and filled with doubt. The act of recording my past triggered memories I had long ago left behind. So, wracked with anxiety, I decided that I would come up with another way to write the requested post, without leaving myself so vulnerable. Then, earlier today I realized that my fear of being judged or having this incident used against me was exactly what compelled our anonymous “tipster” to write to me on their friend’s behalf. “I can’t be quiet,” I thought.
But I am not brave. Not even close. I’ll prove it: I’m almost ashamed that a few minutes ago, my heart started to race as I thought, “It’s over now. No one’ll marry you after THIS.”
But that is what I thought. And that is the truth. And that truth is why I have to bare myself, bear terrifying risks and out myself, so that this woman who is just like me, just like my sister, can see me. So she can see that she’s not alone. That it happens to brown girls, too. That it’s not a survivor’s responsibility to feel shame, that such a heavy obligation should belong to the people who were craven and power-hungry enough to commit violence against us.
You are not alone. And neither am I.
I believe in the power of the community we are building here. I believe that I will not be harmed by telling my truth and that this example of acceptance which I have so much faith in will empower you to believe that there are people who would embrace you, wipe the tears from your face and lend you their shoulders to lean on, rather than suffocate you by using fear to silence you, like an unexpected, unwanted hand smothering you in the middle of the night.
anna on April 6, 2006 02:51 AM in Issues · T·r·a·c·k·b·a·c·k address · Direct link · Email post
Thank you, my Lady.
Um, hit post too soon. But yes, thank you for writing, today and every day previous. That was hard to take, like a lot of important, well-written things are.
wow.
yes, thanks for posting this. you're incredibly brave for being able to speak out. i have much respect for you.
Anna, I've always admired your effervescence and temerity, being the only female writer on SM...reading this has been so empowering for any woman, in this case South Asian, American or otherwise. Much respect to you. Thank you for claiming a space to speak your truth.
that was intense.
brave, courageous, and necessary. thank you ANNA.
thank you for being so honest, especially about your fears on posting this. seriously. thank you. I needed to read this today.
Thank you Anna, from the bottom of my heart, on behalf of too many that have been silenced and need to be supported. You are an amazing individual.
That was amazingly brave and beautifully expressed. Kudos, and respect.
:) mad props Anna
That was so painful to read. I don't think any comment can do justice to your post, but thank you, Anna, for having the courage to share this. Taking it out of the closet is the first step to stopping it for our daughters, sisters and friends.
What a horrific experience. Hope you've been able to come to some closure, preferably with a large pair of gardening shears.
admire your strength...
courage doesn't begin to describe it...
your story brought me to tears, anna. thank you so much for your courage. may violence against women forever end.
Anna, I have so much admiration for you for being able to first write and then publish this.
Anna,
You have a tremendous amount of courage for doing this, and I hope that you have somehow managed to recover from your terrible experience and have emerged a stronger and wiser person. I also hope your family was a source of support, guidance and compassion for you after they found out what had happened.
God bless you.
You are brave and you proved it by writing this post. Gardening shears and severed testicles or not, I hope you're able to find some semblance of closure. Much respect for your frankness and commitment to the community.
For those in the Bay Area in need of help and unsure where to turn, consider contacting Maitri
Respect and support, great brown funny pretty lady of SM.
Not only did you declare your status as a survivor, but you put out those thoughts that we're not 'supposed' to think...your frankness is much appreciated.
This sort of courage makes us all a little stronger.
Anna, this is such important and powerful work you're doing. I'm so glad you are a part of this community.
That post took more courage than I could ever scrape together.
I hope anybody that needs help can get it somewhere.
i am floored right now anna.
floored at your courage, strength, and ability to write about such an experience...
i know that this will help people out there..
as i said before.... before the DC meetup, that meeting you would be priceless...
and we are truly fortunate to have you here in the forum.
shabash, chica, shabash...
the bean.
Incredibly powerful. Dazzling in its honesty. It sounds like I am writing a book review...someone get this girl a book deal! I think this post goes a long way in starting to break the silence, congratulations.
Very brave of you Anna, very brave. Thank you.
Brave soul! I only have tears, no words - but thank you for speaking out!
Maximum respect, Anna.
You've done a great thing on behalf of all of us, men and women who know there is a better way.
Maximum respect, and thank you.
eddi kochay,
i wanted to cry when i read this. then i read the word "story" and thought. "oh, its ok, she wants to make a point". then i kept reading, and the numb feeling was back.
no woman should have to go through this and yet it happens. like manish said, no comment can do justice to your experience.
i'm proud of you, anna. proud that you have the courage to stand up and say. "look. it happened. and i am strong enough to admit it. strong enough to face my fears." and not just you, but every woman who has had her freedom ripped away.
Anna
I cant even imagine the amount of courage it must have taken to put up this post. You inspire people to be better. Much respect.
That post was one of the bravest and most noblest gestures I've ever seen, period. Thank you for your courage.
Anna,
You've shown some courage in sharing this with us!
>>My hostess brought me a Tylenol and a blue solo cup filled with tap water....She smiled before turning around to leave
Why do I get the sickly feeling that the hostess was "in" on it?
M. Nam
Anna,
You brought tears to my eyes. May God and the memory of your father forever guide you and give you stregnth and courage.
This has happened to too many people I know and never ceases to break my heart.
Thank you dear Anna, for sharing your experience and voicing the shameful, scary and isolating thoughts that arise long after the events.
Even better than wielding shears is cultivating a beautiful garden, which you do so well in words, pictures and playlists. (...and that's just online!)
Keep on thriving... you are loved, loveable and inimitable. And certainly never alone.
Hi,
just wanted to add my not-particularly original comment that I think u are an amazing woman for sharing your story. Rape and sexual abuse within South Asian communities is seen as a non-issue but that's only cos no-one has the guts to talk about it, especially among educated immigrants who want to distance themselves from anything that reflects negatively on their culture.
Can't imagine how hard it must have been to write your story. One of my friends had a similar experience when she was 15 and seeing the strength of people like her and you is so inspirational I can't even put it into words.
Tash
I wonder too MoorNam
Anna, you ARE very brave. Courage is being afraid and doing something despite of that.
Thank you for making it one step easier for women of all ethnicity to speak out instead of keeping silent.
That was beautifully written and very painful to read. I had to reread the end about three times before it could sink in. Thank you for having the courage to speak out on the behalf of our brown sisters who aren't able to. I know too many who have buried this awful secret deep within them and have suffered the double burden of survior issues and desi guilt. Of assault somehow erasing thier identity or it being thier fault because they weren't doing the "right" desi thing. It's never your fault and in Anna's words, you have the right to "thrive".
That was heartwrenching Anna. I applaud your courage in being able to write about this.
This is just so incredibly well written. Right up to the end I thought I was just reading an account of some kid's night out in town. Normally I find such stuff boring but something about this piece kept making me read on and on and on. Anna, you really have a gift. Very sorry you had to go through this and, like everyone else, I admire your courage. Best wishes to you.
proud of you, anna, our sister. unspeakably proud.
and proud of the mutiny for being and proving, in all its tumult and noise, a safe space where we can talk about what matters and hurts the most.
maximum respect to all of you.
There's nothing I can say that would mean anything, but I just had to send out a warm hug across cyberspace.
You amaze us all Anna.
Thank You Anna. I know what you went through and I am floored by the thought that you spoke up. That takes more balls then anything in the world. Accepting yourself after something this heinous is the hardest part and you my friend, have kicked ass with it. I truly admire you and applaud you on this post. I am proud of you, if it means anything.
I also really want to what happened - with the family, with the students who engineered it.... I am by no means suggesting you write that, Anna, I'm just saying if this were the first chapter of a novel, I'd drop work and spend the rest of the day reading to the last page.
Anna, you've left me breathless and searching for someone to hug. I'm so proud of your decision to write this piece. You have put into powerful words what countless women spend their time feeling powerless about. This post means so much to me. Thank you and thank you SM for giving us this forum.
Anna, thank you for having the courage to share something so personal, something most women will never be able to do. You really are an amazing woman.
Jesus. Christ.
Anna,
I'm so sorry that that happened to you and for everything you lost on that night. But you have obviously emerged from that a much stronger and vibrant person; and for that you make every one of us proud; i'm sure, especially your father.
On a more trivial note and I don't mean to treat your ordeal as entertainment, but you write biographical pieces with insane effectiveness and brilliance.
Shine on.
To ANNA - I only know you through your words on this and your personal blog, and with every word of yours, my respect and admiration for you and your convictions grow unabated. You are our very own sister, heroine, crusader of truth and justice. Thank you.
To "Whoever You Are"'s Friend - thank you for taking the time to write to SM about this. Thankfully, she has friends like you to give her a voice when she needs one.
To "Whoever You Are" - Words don't suffice. I am thinking of you, and hoping and praying for you hoping and praying that you will somehow find the strength, determination, and resilience amidst all this noise to stand with your head high and keep on going.
Thank you Anna. This was so hard to read, but I'm only left feeling humble and inspired - I know that in the years to come, this is the only post I will never forget. Thank you for speaking up and for reminding too many girls that it's not their fault, that they're not alone, and that they will still grow into strong, amazing women.
Anna, your decision to write this, your words they are inspiring. Thanks you for sharing and opening up a space for other women and men who have survived this kind of violence.
I'd be very interested to learn of as many similar resources across N.America as possible (esp. ones offering services in different languages). If anyone out there knows of any, please share. Thanks.
Just wanted to share that there are currently a network of South Asian American womens group out there to support women who have had similar experiences- the most notable group is SAKHI based in NYC. Not only does there site have an amazing list of emergency resources, but things that can be done now.
On the site they also have a list of orgs all across the country doing crisis work for South Asian Women. Please bookmark the site. If you are a woman, jot down the hotline number for a local group or the 24-hour National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1.800.799.SAFE (7233). and put it in your wallet. Be prepared...
--------
ANNA- I know this was about sharing your story...but i keep wondering what happened next? were you able to tell your parents? did you report it as a crime? Were you scared from ever drinking again? Was justice served? Did you tell Dimple what happened? Anyone?
Uresha,
the groups listed in the links I posted, since are south asian, usually have multilingual speakers or access to multilingual speakers...
-t
Thanks for the links taz. :) (that was fast!)
I am really hoping to find similar resources across Canada.
i really don't know what to say. thank you? i am proud of you? it doesn't matter. you have done something brave by sharing with all of us. remarkably, you have helped people even in what may have been the hardest of times for you.
Resources for Canadian South Asian Women. Done.
;-)
Anna,
When this happened to my roomate, the shock and fear nearly did me in. You have my love and respect. I tell my family & friends that this happens to Indians too and tell them how to be careful. Your voice will be heard further. Let us take care of eachother better. Thank you for sharing your pain. There are many who don't and this will help them so much.
Anna, You are an inspiration to me. I have been a silent reader of sepia for awhile now ( thanks to your profile that showed up on my friendster's 3rd degree list )
I was reading this post as a fiction, admiring the style of your writing. After realising that this is not just a story - I am in awe of your bravery. You are right, "It's not survivor's resposibility to feel shame"...
I just wanted to add how greatful I am for this deeply personal post. I am greatful as I read this because, for me, not only does it say 'you're not alone,' but is also helps trouble the stereotype that South Asian women are passive, fragile, silent.
As a South Asian woman I am working to take ownership of this issue (of sexual assault and rape, but also of the stigma/fears/patronizing/control/shaming/silencing that takes place afterwards) so that we can label and define what is being done to us and our sisters', mothers', friends' bodies, souls, hearts and minds. So we can work in solidarity with the people in our lives to create safe open spaces for healing and acceptance.
Wow.
I confess, I started out reading this and thinking 'ok...just another story about kids getting trashed in college'. I'd no idea what was coming!
Wow.
Respects to you, lady.
That was brave, very brave. Thank you for sharing this
Wow, I can only imagine the pain. I couldn't read this post after certain point. You made me cry. I didn't have the courage or the strength to read it.
I have always admired your courage and strength. This just shows that you are one of the strongest people.
Anna, I know this is painful, but I am definitely curious too. No, I'm not trying to be a voyeur, but this is the first time someone has 'spoken' so directly about this kinda experience. I keep hearing about these incidents. The perpetrator, the hostess, whoever was involved, did you ever manage to bring them to justice? If someone I know has something like this happen to her, what's the best thing for her/me to do?
Anna,
I am relatively new to SM, and I have really liked this blog because of the quality of posts here, but this was something else altogether. I can't even begin to imagine what you must have gone thru and no words can take away the pain of what has happened, but let me just say that I admire you for having the guts to speak about it. Its a skewed parochial mindset which somehow demonizes the victim and exposes her to social humiliation instead of the perpetrator. Imho the best way to deal with these cowards is for every victim to come forward. Hopefully your example will prompt others as well.
This is a tough read.. Thanks for sharing..
I think you have come out of this terrible incident in life to look at it from a neutral perspective.. kinda saint/yogi's view.. great..
That's how I believe the victims should cope with crimes like these.. This is similar to getting stabbed by a robber. The hurt and injury should just be physical..
Now you have to write another blog on how you took your revenge on that b******.. :-)
Anna,
You are brave!
>Its over now. No onell marry you after THIS.
Would *you* really want marry someone who would not want to marry for this reason? I would say good riddance!
take care.
no disrespect to you at all, and I might just be miss reading, but for me healing from rape is not like a mugging or theft or being stabbed, and I've found that taking a detached, neutral view amounts to denial....I'm finding its about accepting the pain, making it into a wise wound. taking strength from breaking the silence. Accepting your survival it as part of who you are.
peace,
-m
Some more Canadian resources:
South Asian Women's Centres in Toronto and Vancouver.
Montreal - South Asians Women Community Centre
1035 Rachel, 3rd Floor, Montreal, Quebec, Canada H2J 2J5.
(514) 528-8812, fax (514) 528-0896.
Email: sawcc@cam.org
Toronto - AWIC community and social services
GTA - Women's Support Network, North York. South Asian-specific crisis counselling offered.
Monica:
no disrespect to you at all, and I might just be miss reading, but for me healing from rape is not like a mugging or theft or being stabbed, and I've found that taking a detached, neutral view amounts to denial..
I would like to clarify that my comments in no way diminish the criminality of the act to mugging/theft. I was suggesting different angles for different persons.. From victim's point of view, it should be treated as a physical injury. There is no comfort in carrying this wound in your mind for ever..
ANNA,
Another silent reader, another fan of your write-ups, and another person who's been through a similar experience as you have been, and another person who has emerged stronger out of the experience like you.
Thanks for being so brave, thanks for sharing, thanks for writing, and thanks for being an inspiration... yet again.
That was some really powerful writing there, Anna. Thank you for writing and publishing it; I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to do it. So, thank you again for letting us read it.
I have been readin SM on and off for a while now, mostly because I like the writing here. As you may have guessed from my name I'm not desi. But just because I'm not a desi, or even American, doesn't mean we aren't sistas. :) Keep strong and brave and never lose that sense of humour.
Dear Anna,
Thank you so much for sharing your story. There is so much stigma and victim-blaming associated with sexual assault and it's even more traumatizing in our community because of the silence and guilt associated with it. This DOES happen in our community and it needs to be addressed. The first step is to create a dialogue where women and men can feel free to discuss their experiences without praying they won't be blamed or judged.
In Chicago: Apna Ghar is a DV shelter and advocacy program but they work very closely with Rape Victim Advocates to provide free and confidential counseling for sexual assault survivors as well.
RAINN (Rape Incest Abuse National Network) has a 24hr crisis line 1-800-656-HOPE.
Every state in America has its own tollfree 24-hr rape crisis line. They are all listed here.
Even if you live in a state like Iowa that does not offer support services specifically for South Asian sisters please PLEASE PLEASE do not hesitate to use these services if you need to talk to someone, even if you don't feel like discussing your experience, even if you need to process your feelings about something that happened to a loved one. These hotlines are for you, they are for everyone.
The counselor you reach may not understand the dynamics of our community but she will understand and respect that each survivor has different needs and comes from his or her own unique background.
Anna,
I've never met you but I consider you one of my favorite people. This post reinforces that.
Ponniyin Selvan,
Please don't ever say that again. As someone who's been through the experience and (I think) healed farily well, what you said doesn't even make sense. [Thanks monica for addressing it first.]
As for what happened afterwards, I'd be willing to bet that the perpetrator and his potential accomplices went on with their sad, twisted lives unscathed. As disappointing as that sounds, it's the rule, not the exception. Outside of statutory, it's very difficult to "prove" you were raped.
Anna, whatever you did afterward, I'm sure you made the best decision based on the emotional resiliance and support you had at the time. You're phenomenal darling.
anna,
thank you for sharing this experience with us. maybe it's b/c of my own terrible experience, but i knew from the first few sentences how this tale would end. i wish i was terribly wrong and that the worst you endured was that you went home after hanging up with your dad at the party. but i truly believe that God allows things to happen for a reason. maybe it's my way of rationalizing things, but i've found that i've been able to recognize other victims immediately and have been able to help them work thru their own struggles.
so thank you for airing this piece and for teaching us a tragic lesson that many of us like to avoid -- that rape and sexual assault is color-blind. it can happen to any of us at any time and there's no immunity or protection from it.
i hope you continue to heal and that you don't regret sharing this experience with us.
t-HYPE:
looks like I have stirred a hornet's nest.. I was just trying to help. You can ignore my comment if it doesn't help.. I was trying to rationalise.. Maybe as a male I can't understand the feelings involved.. To come out of depression, I have used such methods, thinking .. "yeah right, these terrible things happened to me.. what could I have done to prevent these things.. and how to avoid it in the future.. and how to reconcile with what happened". Analysis makes it easier..
I know where the cynicism is coming from, and I'm really not saying you are not entitled to your views...I totally get where you're coming from. I just want to put it out there that you can prove rape, you can prosecute and you can press charges. I'm not painting a happy picture and saying that the perp always gets prison time..i am saying it can and has been done. It was really important to me that I press charges, that I made it known to everyone in my family who this person was, to not accept those who chose to keep contact with the rapist. Sometimes you have to be a hard ass. Its the only way to heal your heart and to signal to your fellow sisters that we don't need to back down. We do what we can, and we fight when we can, and the biggest and most important fight is living your life as a whole person (scars and all) and thriving. Anyway, thanks for opening up this space.
Um, the above was in response to t.Hype (btw, t.Hype I totally appreciate you sharing your personal story and hope you dont mind my comment. My story is in no way meant to undermine or negate any of what you shared so generously)
Ponniyin Selvan, I'm glad your approach works for you. I'm sure what you were saying was well-intentioned... .
Anna, thank you for this. Other commenters have said it already: beautifully written and painful to read.
I would like to encourage everyone to look up those crisis line numbers and put the ones near you and hte national ones in your cell phones. If you don't have a cell phone, keep it written down somewhere. But there's no reason for us not to have information like that available -- someday it may be helpful; if not to you then to someone you care about.
I salute ur courage.
and envy your writing talent
Anna,
I hope my daughters grow up to be women like you.
Stay well, Suitable Girl.
intense...you are a courageous woman.
I have mostly been a 'sepia lurker' and I like Sepia Mutiny because of the range of topics covered here, but this was something else. Wow! None of us can even begin to imagine what you (any victim) went through, but your courage in sharing this is amazing. Thank you.
I don't know what to say. Thank you for writing this. I can't fathom the strength of character and bravery (not to mention talent) it took to put this down in words, and I hope you know that you made the right decision in posting it.
Anna, this is the most powerful narration of a personal experience I have ever seen. This is the *defining* post for this website and you are the most courageous Mutineer. I salute you, my brown sister.
Anna,
Marry me!
Suitable Boy
Sorry Ponniyin Selvan, didn't mean to be salty! [FYI, guys get violated too. Don't feel like you can't join the dialogue b/c you're male.] I guess I was a little miffed at the idea of assault, sexual or otherwise, being considered merely physical. Your house getting broken into is merely physical or outward. Your body getting broken into is a completely different matter! Your spirit and soul are connected to your body not your house. (See where I'm coming from?)
gowri, I hear you. You are a hard ass! ;^)
You make a good point though. Rapists do go to jail. Not all the time, but they do go. The more people who speak out, the less likely rapists are to think they can get away with such heinousness.
Today, I might make different decisions then a did years ago. But here's some food for thought (or discussion): I didn't realize I was raped until months--almost a year--after it happened when I was reading a magazine article about rape victims because the perpetrator was my "boyfriend." Go figure!
should be treated as a physical injury. There is no comfort in carrying this wound in your mind for ever..
I'm afraid Ponniyin Selvan that's not a matter of choice.
There are no words to describe how much you have just done for south Asian women or the appreciation that we all feel towards you.
I also want to make a point about why I used the word "luckier"-
As is being demonstrated by the post and comments, there isn't a certian kind of woman who is more prone to rape than other women. In workshops and such, you wouldn't believe how many times I get asked questions about the racial, ethno-religious and socioeconomic position of women who suffer and survive sexual assault and domestic violence. It is obvious to me that what they are looking for are words like "poor" "black" "Latina" "promiscuous" etc, but those things do not conclusively make women more or less suceptible to sexual assault and domestic violence- it affects all women. And this simply means that some women have ways and means of dealing with it that don't end up on the public radar. For example, those women who are of a higher class position have the choice of more descreet and customized treatment and coping methods. Also, those women to whom "these things just don't happen" (i.e. model minority South Asian women) may never even seek healing methods or other support to deal with it because of socio-cultural expectations.
So it's not a race or class thing; as long as women are under gender oppression, this will be something that all women must face in one way or another. If our experience with this kind of oppression was not as horrific as Anna's and some of the other women who have commented, it's only because we're lucky. I know it's a depresing point to make, but I'm actually quite optimistic about the activism that is being done towards revealing the truth about the following logic:
-rape is an infringement on women's rights
-women's rights are human rights
-human rights are the responsibility of all humans
Anna, once again, much love and respect for this post.
Peace.
I liked the honesty of this story, not only for dealing with the physical violence many women across cultures experience - but in particular, the social violence so many South Asian women experience. I found 'Daddy' in this story nearly as scary as the attackers...
Anna,
What you've done is AWESOME. you're not a survivor, you're a warrior
i'm sure there's a lot of people who're not even able to write to you because this touches them so deeply
Anna,
your story gave me the chills. I can't imagine what it would be like to be in your shoes. Thank you for sharing. And those who judge because of incidents like this aren't worth knowing!
When we hear of incidents such as these, it's so easy to think "this will never happen to me, I don't ever go out alone, am never in dark lonely places by my self." It's easy to forget that it can 't happen to any one of us, at any time of day, at any place. I hope you've come out of this a stronger, more courageous person.
cheers...
WOW...respect to you...and i have no more words..
Just amazed at your strength.
wow wow wow - an incredible story, but sadly something that women go through day in an day out. the first step is talking about it and you did the right thing by writing this - thank you!
I'm sorry, but i do not understand this. Unless at that time you were drugged or not conscious, you must have been in a state of either consent or non-consent. If as in your case, i assume it was non-consent, wouldnt you know immediately that you were violated? Why only after a few months? I ask because i have read about cases like this, but am unable to make sense of em.
ps: I understand if you dont wanna talk about it...
Clueless, it happens to a lot of people. You know you didn't like it, you said no repeatedly, but maybe gave in to pressure, or couldn't get out from under him. Then you dismissed it as 'unimportant' cause you're in love and he does so many nice things for you, really.
can't pretend to understand how you felt then or now, but your moving and powerful piece gives me a clue. i can only imagine what it took for you to deal with the aftermath, on many levels. speaking out requires courage and i hope others will find their own ways to do it.
another organization doing work with south asian women who face many types of violence is Manavi (manavi.org), headed by Dr. Shamita Das Dasgupta.
ahh anna.
nothing i could say here would be any different from all of the wonderful comments you've receieved.
that was beautifully written and i truly admire and respect your courage in speaking out about your experience.
this blog has been a huge source of inspiration to me.
i had taken leave for a while, because i've been busy, because my mind has been way too preoccupied.
i needed to read this today in order to remind myself of why the mutiny was and is so important to me.
What happened to the guy who did this?
Did he get away free?
Ahem, Saheli Austin does some good stuff and has some good resources. Saheli Boston might also be useful.
Not that I'm, you know, biased.
Mutineers, you've done yourselves proud.
This is the finest of moments, born from tragedy. I can't remember ever seeing this level of agreement or compassion on this site before.
This rallying around those amongst us who have suffered needlessly is exactly the kind of power a group like this can wield. And the willingness to speak out, when it's followed by the supportive words of a community, can be a world-changing force.
As I said before, maximum respect to Anna, and maximum respect to the mutineers.
Anna,
I have always admired you and now even more. You are beautiful, witty, charming, eloquent - so very talented. You are a rare soul and I would be proud to have a friend, sister, or sister in law like you. Thank you for sharing and bringing attention to this crime.
I had a desi friend who was an RA who knew this happen to several desi women in her dorm, usually by desi guys. This does happen a lot. How does it stop? Where does the discussion happen, not for survivors, but for potential perpetrators?
Oh, and men can and do get raped too. This isn't just a women's issue. This is a human rights issue.
(So any men out there who are reading this and feeling a bit alone---whoever you are, you're not.)
@96 dharmaqueen,
The cultural stereotype present in Indian society (and I dont know how far it is true in US) - is that "often when a woman says no, she means yes" (cuz she is supposed to be shy, etc?); this certainly has a part to play in these kinds of situations - also men can barely think in these sexually charged situations and I feel there *is* some amount of grey area if the woman does not say a clear unequivocal NO when she is the least bit unsure or uncomfortable.
I have been unable to comment on this for quite a while since I didn't quite know how to react.
Anna, I have always liked what you write. But now I must admire your resilience and courage as well. Take heart and know that there are so many around the world that have never seen you, and will probably never meet you, who respect you for your decision to share your traumatic experience with this young lady.
I wouldn't know, of course, so I don't mean to belittle as vicious an experience as rape -- but I would not like to belittle other experiences, either. I found an interesting comment on the emotional and psychological effects of "purely physical" crimes in this article (about a program to have prisoners face up to those they have affected and the consequences of their actions):
Whoa.. that was intense. I am sitting here, numb. It takes a lot of guts to tell a story like that. Holy frickin' cow. Not going to dish out any words of wisdom, you've already gotten a boat load of that. Not going to ask you whatever happend to that turd, he will pay sooner or later, what goes around comes around.Hope he rots in hell.
More power to you, lady!!
Clueless (#104):
No no no no no. Absolutely not. No way. We are perfectly capable of thinking in "sexually charged situations" and perfectly capable of discerning whether or not our partner is comfortable or not.
clueless,
err on the side of caution, perhaps?