Between Fear and Freedom: The Same Story!

I am Divya—full of dreams and aspirations. I live with my parents and younger brother in a small flat in Delhi. My family loves me deeply and is very protective of me, especially my mother. I have never travelled alone beyond the boundaries of Delhi. My world has been limited to school, college and home within the city.

I have studied in a “only for girls” college. During the college, I lived under an unspoken rule from my mother: I had to text her as soon as I reached the college. If I stayed late at college, my mother would call repeatedly, half of which I often ignored out of exhaustion. Her constant concern sometimes irritated me, but her reasoning was always the same—“The newspapers are full of stories about girls being harassed.” Deep down, I understood. She was scared, and so was I.

Still, I often wondered—what would happen if I wanted to go beyond Delhi someday? Would she ever let me? Would she move with me, or keep calling every hour to ask, “Are you okay?”

I recently graduated. I chose to stand on my own feet—if not socially, at least financially. I enrolled in a short-term retail management course offered by an NGO, SADRAG (Social and Development Research & Action Group), which helps skill youth from migrant communities. I completed the course successfully and soon got a job at a shopping mall, conveniently close to home. My mother didn’t object; after all, I would still be in Delhi.

The day of joining was the happiest day of my life. As I walked into the store, I felt like a free bird finally ready to fly. My phone buzzed—an all-too-familiar call. Smiling, I texted “REACHED 😊” and tucked my phone back into my pocket.

There were three other girls who had joined along with me. The store manager, a middle-aged man, introduced us and began explaining our roles. But something about his gaze unsettled me—it roamed in ways that made me uncomfortable. I noticed the same unease on the other girls’ faces. Still, we stayed quiet. It was our first day, after all.

The next day, he called me aside to “teach” me how to fold and stack clothes on display racks. Eager to learn, I agreed. But as he leaned in, his hand brushed against my chest. I quickly moved away, assuming it was an accident. I said “Sorry” and continued working.

On the third day, he offered to train me in “appropriate body language” for dealing with customers. I wondered why he didn’t include the others, but said nothing. Soon, I realized his instructions involved touching—positioning my hands, adjusting my stance, and standing too close. I froze when his hand lingered near my breasts.

Shocked and trembling, I stepped back.

“What happened?” he asked casually. “Don’t you want to learn?”

“No,” I replied feeling humiliated and moved away.

My heart pounded. I wished my phone would ring—just one call from my mother—but it stayed silent. Her constant calls had once annoyed me, but now, I wished for her voice, her warning.

Inside me, a war began.

My mind said, “Stay quiet. Keep the job.”

My heart said, “Walk away.”

At first, my mind won. But my heart refused to let me stay silent. Gathering my courage, I confronted the manager. Seeing my anger, he immediately denied everything. The other girls joined me, cornering him. The matter reached the store owner, who apologized but refused to fire the manager—claiming his “years of loyal service.” In the end, it was I who left. The other girls stayed.

As I walked away, I kept asking myself:

• Did I quit in self defense?

• Was it correct to tolerate unwanted physical advancements?

• Should I feel ashamed that a man touched me without consent?

• Did he think I was too vulnerable to resist?

• Did he feel that being a male, he was socially entitled to touch any female?

• Did he take liberty with me because he was secured in job?

• Was he abusing his power at work, thinking I wouldn’t speak up?

• Did he even realise that his conduct was shameful?

• Was it a form of injustice against me?

• Is my safety only my responsibility?

• When I join somewhere else, would I face the same?

These are the endless questions that still echo within me. My mind says, “Yes, move on,” but my heart whispers, “No, never forget.”

This was my battle and this remains my battles. I will face it.