Gujarat, it is. Vadodra. “Rajendra Power works” is the first shop at sight. I ponder on the word 'Power'.
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“How much power do you have?” he asks. “Tell me Madam, how much’, he repeats. He takes a pencil to his head, scratches his oily hair, then lowers it down to the sides of his huge ears, and then the corner of his lips and finally puts it into his mouth. I want to run away from the room and puke. But I stay put.

“Tell me Madam, what do you even know about how education works in villages? What do you know about hunger and hygiene? What do you know about community development?” he asks.

“You must be going to shopping malls on Saturdays. Buying designer clothes. Eating in 5star hotels. Smoking. Drinking. Boyfriends.” I’m furious. For one, he has made up his mind on what kind of the life I lead. Worse he believes that people, who smoke, drink or have ‘Boy friends’ don’t talk sense.

“Am I right Madam, silence means acceptance. Tell me madam, how many boyfriends do you have?” I can’t believe that he is continuing this line of conversation and I’m letting him do so. The irony of him calling me Madam irritates me. I surely don’t understand what he means by ‘boyfriends’. I surely don’t see why he would presume that single women in cities sleep around and even if they did how that has any relevance to what I’m here to do.

“Sir, I have no power. Nothing in front of you.” Yes, that is what I say. My English is surely going to the dogs. “You have been in this sector for 25years, fighting to keep things going in the right direction. I’m no one, with no power. I’m just here to see if I can become something, do something meaningful. So that one day I become like you.” I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe I’m doing this manipulative ego massage thing. I have finally learnt the lessons on silent aggression.

(Do everything you can, I tell myself. Everything in your ‘power’ to help Radha Shinde make enough money so that she can run away from her abusive father. Everything to make sure Prashant Kale lands a job, and gets out of the shit hole he lives in. Everything to help Rakhi Sarkar find the courage to walk away from her so called life partner who forces himself on her everyday)

He smiles now, lets me go ahead with my presentation. Ready to consider my proposal, because he is the powerful one now. I give the power to him. Easy to give power, I had imagined.

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Till I met Reema (name changed). How superficial a quest this monstrous ‘power’. Reema didn’t cry when she told me about her life, opening up to a stranger didn’t seem to be a big thing. Not when you are used to being forcefully ripped apart to nakedness for the benefit of all the “men” in the house everyday.

I listened with moist eyes, as she spoke about ‘rape’ that has become a way of life for her. Her husband, husband’s two brothers, husband’s father. Taking turns, entering her like they would a toilet, urinate and get out. Killing her every night, entering her like a knife on soft spongy cakes.
One ofcourse hears about it all the time! Man controlling the woman’s life, treating her likes a piece of shit and hurting her with impunity. But what really irritates me is the way some women resign to their ‘fate’ and accept the violence doled out to them quietly.

However, I realize the whole talk about equality and woman coming of age is too much of an ‘urban’ phenomenon. And as easy as it may seem to suggest that a woman should rebel and fight her dominating husband, I now ‘see’ why it is quite a task.

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One has read about it, seen it in movies, and surely experienced sexual harassment in some form at some point in time. Yet when you sit next to a victim, and sense the pain it is totally different story altogether. Rape, how barbaric.

Rape I believe is a horrendous act of power play by frigid men who have never known how tender like breeze it is to be empowered by a woman’s unconditional giving passionate love.

Or may be by men who have not experienced the sense of power from accomplishments that are intellectually or emotionally challenging. Insecure and helpless that they are, they must enjoy the idea of women crushed under their huge bodies, unable to move, giving up and into their whims. Relishing the experience of enslaving a beautiful being by their strength.

Boredom too must be a reason. I guess the act becomes more exciting when the woman pleads to be let go. Hating her, slapping her, hearing her shriek in pain, seeing her covered in blood. Fulfilling it must be, to be aware of the damage done, to have conquered. Like slaying an enemy on the war ground, winning the battle, sneering at her insolent pleas to let go, proud of the aftermaths of the war.

Ironical, how powerless men seek power in a so called meek woman. Or Women.

Women like Reema though are changing the way women in rural India are fighting this. She tells me how constitutional rights on ‘right to life and liberty’ are meant for both men and women alike. She has joined a college, when the men of her house are out she manages to attend the college with her mother in law’s help. She hopes to find a job which pays her enough to make a living on her own, so that she can run away.

Sure, Education can be transformational.