Akansha Rukhaiyar
He tore her anarkali into pieces,
Pushed her to the ground,
Muffled her screams,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He stalked her all the way home,
Kicked open the door,
Undid her pajamas and attacked her like a beast,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He forcefully held on to her patialas and pulled her closer,
Unzipped his jeans quietly,
Was ignored by everyone else on the metro,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He pleasured himself with a grin,
Leered at her in the women’s compartment,
Smiled as she tried to distract herself with her sweater’s buttons,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He called her fifteen times a day,
Called her a whore as she walked back from school,
Asked her what her rate was,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He summoned her like a slave,
Climbed on top of her with ease,
The “for years 6-8” label on her dress tore,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He tiptoed into the nursery,
Removed the pacifier from her mouth,
Picked her up from her cradle and fulfilled his needs,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He locked her with him in the bathroom,
Unwrapped the saree she was wearing,
Left bite marks on every part of her body,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He followed her around in the mall,
Watched as her daughter was pulling at her kurti and crying,
Cornered her in the basement and left her scarred,
But why was she wearing that?
They asked.
He and his friends scanned the streets,
Molested anyone in their sight,
Made hundreds of women feel like toys.
But why is it considered her fault?
No one asked.