Usually at six in the morning I set off for my classes, I ride in local public buses (according to international standard it will be considered a battered old mini-bus always cramped with at least 40 adults instead of 30 midget skinny teenagers which is its actual capacity). So every commuter is practically breathing in the others’ sweat.
There are seats reserved for women beside the driver and it may seem sexist but I enjoy this privilege immensely since I get the chance to sit. So I was sitting beside a fellow female commuter and a guy sitting opposite facing us was ogling at us as if he was given birth by a man. It was disconcerting, to say the least, and the other woman was wearing a burka covering herself from head to toe except for her face and I was covering myself my (head to abdomen except my face) with a big long dupatta or stole of my three piece (full sleeved) traditional dress. This is a particular non-descriptive drab dress which guarantees inattention which is why I have made it my bus riding uniform but no such luck seem there that day.
We had already reached our destination (the woman and I were getting off at the same place) and we did not get our change yet, so I got up and stood by the door of the cramped bus and the woman stood behind me.
There are two conductors in such buses, one who stands by the door, hauls in and out commuters by asking the driver to brake or accelerate and the other collects the fare. I asked the conductor standing by the door beside me to give me back my change so I can get off, he asked the other to pay me off. So I was standing sandwiched in the crowd of commuters when I started feeling something weird, the conductor had his fingers on and around my ‘v’. I was so startled the only reflex I managed was drag his hand away and held them until I got off. I told the story to the other woman she said that she too has been squeezed by the back from the conductor while getting off.
Except for asking Almighty to punish him appropriately, I could not scream, kick him in the shin or scratch his eyes out. Besides, what would have been the point of screaming, people would have asked me if I am sure I have been groped or felt his hand brushed past me?
– screechinraven
Location: Dhaka, Bangladesh
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