Forgive me if I've come across as too bitter, or biased, or anti-man, or anti-police, or too cynical, too hopeless, too angry too bitter too furious too pitiless. Or too pitiful.
I don't want to die.
I want to be the rape victim who survives and then doesn't shut up about the crime.
I promise, God, I promise, I will not be ashamed. I promise I will not run and hide. I promise I will funnel all this anger into something useful. I will go back to work and I will show other women they can do it on their own too. Because we can. We will use our intelligence, our passion, our creativity and wit, whatever it takes. We will form co-operatives if we have to. And we will find the good men out there to join us too. And we will convince men and women alike not to tell their daughters how to dress or to stay home, but to tell their sons to behave, control their aggression and treat women as equals. Because India is changing and for the better as long as we stand strong against ignorant, medieval and inhumane convictions. Then only can we progress . We will go on strike if we have to, if not in the home where we face our men's ire, then at work. Let's all go on strike and see if India can survive without women! This anger should fuel us. Or at least, at least, at least, change us to see women as equal and not inferior to men.
And I promise, God, I will speak out not just about my case - who cares if no one marries me - but I will help other women too. And not just those in the privileged class. I promise, God, I will campaign till the end. Just let me live.
I want to sit up and press my Mom's short, fat body into mine and rock her to sleep, child turned parent as it's supposed to be. She is not supposed to be saying goodbye to me. She looks so unbelievably sad. And Daddy is just pacing and shaking his head and not eating. No one is eating or sleeping. Anil has been crying, I can see. But he keeps pumping his fists and biting his nails, he too is angry and bewildered. We are all so angry and bewildered.
We are all so angry.
