30.07.2002 | 12:03 a.m.
you haven't lived unless you've travelled by Indian railways.

Of the last 36 hours, I have spent 12 in a train. On the way to Baroda, we took a Non-AC sleeper and on the way back, an AC chair car. Needless to say, the first six hours were quite an ordeal. I don't mean to sound like a snob - even though I probably will - but the gentry travelling in Non-AC coaches isn't exactly the best. The common Indian man is a lecherous prick. I'm sorry,but that's the truth,and I'm pretty sure everyone I know who lives here will agree. There was a man (middle-aged,of COURSE,who else do I attract? Oh oh! 70 year olds!) staring right at me. I dismissed him thinking he probably was just looking abstractedly, something I've been guilty of many a time. But I caught his eye several times,and it didn't perturb him in the least bit. Finally I decided to look at him for several seconds instead of quickly looking away each time our eyes met, hoping he'd get embarassed. BAD IDEA. He started thrusting and summoned me to him using his index finger. I immediately asked Mama to trade places with me. She asked me why and I just told her that the man opposite was making me uncomfortable. Ever since I wrote her that letter,she's been overly sensitive to my sensitivity,so she agreed without asking any questions. I usually love train journeys - the rocking motion, the distinct smell of the railways, the endless fields - it's all so soothing. As I began to fall asleep, I could feel eyes on me. The man was standing by the toilets, continuing to stare at me. When I looked up, he smiled at me. An awful, dirty, sleazy smile. I told myself I was being paranoid; he just needed to use the toilets. But no. I was wrong. The only reason he was there was to stare at me with unconcealed lust. I started freaking out, but both Ma and Tulu Mashi were fast asleep. I tried to close my eyes and ignore him,but I was deathly afraid he would try and do something to me. I woke up Mama and told her. We switched seats again, but he moved too. Finally, despite my protests, Ma told the guard and the man was taken to another coach. Thank God the damn train was empty-ish.

The scariest part was I was dressed as conservatively as I possibly could. Salwar kameez, dupatta, plaited hair, bindi. I just don't get what he would have done if I was in a skirt or hell,even jeans. What a great time for something like this to happen too. Baroda was great; it was so nice to see Bo,and hang out with the family and laugh over everything and nothing. But now I'm back in my room, and all I can think of is creepy bastard #230 in my life. Nothing good ever happens anymore.

deja vu? | jamais vu?