Annoyed

I'm annoyed.

I'm annoyed with politicians, across the board, whether in power or in the Opposition, for being insensitive, incompetent, ignorant, for being worried about nothing more than their own hides. For thinking shutting down metro stations, banning protests, passing the buck are acceptable responses to the anger on the streets.

I'm annoyed with the media houses, barring one or two, for turning this into a circus, for thinking it's a good idea to chase an ambulance to the airport, for thinking they're so clever with the names they came up with for her, for being the way the media always is.

I'm annoyed with people putting up FB status updates with conspiracy theories about how she must have already died and they must have moved her to Singapore to avoid the furore. I'm annoyed with people who think these assumptions are more important than the stupidity and insensitivity we know the government has displayed.

I'm annoyed with people demanding the death penalty or chemical castration. Without first asking for a country where I can actually walk into a police station and report a molestation or rape and be taken seriously and be treated with respect.

I'm annoyed with people who are turning this into a Delhi vs. other cities debate. With people who think Delhi's not that bad. With people who think it's only a Delhi problem.

I'm annoyed that there are people who think changing school uniforms from skirts to trousers or salwar kameezes is the answer. Who think a prostitute can't be raped. Who think women shouldn't travel alone at night or wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with people who think a city is safe if women can travel alone at night and wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with myself. For getting upset again. For wanting to bash my head against the wall. For not getting annoyed enough. For not doing anything beyond ranting and retweeting others and adding to the noise with yet another pointless blog post. For not coming up with a better word than annoyed for this post.

I'm annoyed with myself for that second of worry I had while entering the metro station at 10.30 PM a week ago.

This is my city. This is my country. I shouldn't have had to have felt that second of worry.

I'm annoyed.

Yes, yes, we should have known that once I publicly said I was done about a topic, I would obviously get worked up about it again. Moving on.

More here: http://storify.com/a_traveller/when-i-wasn-t-really-done

I'm done

I don't even remember what brought it on. All I remember is suddenly feeling that that was it, I couldn't deal with this anymore.

So five months ago, amidst all the tweets of sharing and outraging, I sent out a series of tweets, which led to some interesting responses and conversations. Someone encouraged me to put them all together and I did, here.

But that was the moment for me, when I was done. I was done tweeting and blogging and sharing FB posts about how women are treated in this country. I was done outraging every time the feminist in me saw a line or a tweet or a scene that shouldn't have happened. I was done asking for safer roads, for equality, for some humanity, dammit.

But most of all, I was also done reading. I can't do it anymore. Every time I have visited NDTV's homepage in the last one year, it feels like there has been at least one headline about a girl getting raped in some part of the country. More often than not, it's been a gangrape. Almost as often, the girl's age has been posted and she's been a minor. And I'm done. It's the worst form of escapism, yes, but I can't do it anymore.

So this latest one, the one that's got Delhi all riled up? I know the basic outline of what happened, more by osmosis because everyone's talking about it. My heart goes out to the girl and her friends and family. But beyond that, I can't make myself read about it, or get all worked up about it.

I've been dutifully retweeting the more sensible posts, of course. And I could get into how all this getting riled up a, isn't going to have any effect, and b, isn't going to last. But I don't have it in me to even do that.

I've been veering between wanting to and not wanting to publish this post for two days now, but in the end, what the heck. If I never post about this again, this might as well be the last one.

Where I want to scream and yell, but blog instead

Summer 2006, family trip to Europe. This happens.

March 2009, office holiday to Spain. Got robbed twice in Barcelona.

March 2010, office holiday to Italy. This happens, colleagues speculate I was a thief in Europe in a previous lifetime, and this is karma.

May 2011, family trip to Boston, London and Edinburgh. Nothing worse than a huge goof-up over train tickets courtesy yours truly, and the fact that a very expensive set of jewelry bought specially for this trip goes missing. Unsure whether it went missing in Boston or Edinburgh, but Europe jinx seems to continue.

And now, December 2012. I'm supposed to leave for India on Monday, but my passport is stuck with the UK consulate in New York, because I'm headed to London on exchange in the spring and need a visa. There is no way of tracking progress, it's too late to cancel or switch to priority service, and it seems highly unlikely that I will receive anything back in time for my flight. The cost of changing tickets this time of the year is giving me a heart attack, and all I want to know is - just why does Europe hate me so much?