My (not so happy) Holi

Outside my flatemate Anna's boyfriend's house, there were colours and waterballoons and music and dancing. There were about twelve of us in total, of various nationalities (although none of us were Indian), joining in the neighbourhood festivities in the park. I was wearing a white tank top and blue jeans cut off at the knees, and was a little self-conscious. This is a bit more revealing than I would normally dress in Delhi, but these were the only clothes I was willing to get destroyed by the colourful powders that I was soon covered in. I took pictures, to hide the fact that I knew no one there other than those who invited me. And anyway, I wanted to document what would most probably be my only Holi in India.

We decided to all go to the Garden of the Five Senses, where there was apparently a big party that we could enter for free. We took 3 autos, 4 of us in each. In my auto was Anna, her boyfriend and some guy I hadn't met. Along the way, kids threw water balloons at us and on top of the auto. It was cute. I took pictures. 

Somewhere along the way, a big white car drove in front of us, blocked off the auto's way, and stopped. Six or seven big Sikh guys got out the car. "Happy Holi!" they shouted, and threw paint and water balloons at us. It was irritating, but so far harmless. Then they came over to my side, the left side, the open side. It became obvious they were drunk. They smashed an egg on my head. They reached into the auto to throw paint at my friends. They started smearing colours all over me, in my hair, in my neck, and the next thing I knew a hand was down my top, in my cleavage and groping my breasts. "What the fuck?" I thought, but there was nothing I could do, squashed in the back of the auto. Another guy came, and did the same thing. Then another. They kept groping and pinching, all the while smiling and saying, "Don't be scared" and "Give me a kiss!" I told them to go away. But they came back for more gropes, more pinches. Eventually they left, and the auto could proceed. 

Thirty seconds later, when I realised what had happened, I started to cry. Trust me, no one was more surprised at my emotional response than me. Someone had asked what had happened, and I couldn't even get the words out. I couldn't stop the tears. I felt so violated! Why did they think it was ok to do that to me? I tried to pull it together. I realised that this was not the time to break down. 

We reached the Garden of Five Senses, and there were the guys. I knew it was them because I saw the look of recognition in their eyes when they saw me. They walked away, but we found their car and confirmed the licence plate number and called the police. I couldn't do anything. I just sat on a cement block, not looking at anyone. I called a close friend and told him what happened, more to get the opportunity to speak the words and make them true and have all the tears come out than for any other reason. The guys came back, and Anna's boyfriend and the guy I hadn't met got up in their faces. "What makes you think you can treat my friend that way, huh?" said the guy whose name I didn't know. "Who do you think you are?" The Sikh guys said it wasn't them, it was people who looked like them, and when Anna's boyfriend stood in front of the car to stop them, they drove anyway, leaving him sprawling across the bonnet of the car. 

The police eventually arrived. We told the same story a million times to a million different people. I say "we" but actually nobody ever spoke to me, the main victim in the situation. I was excluded from the entire proceedings. I watched it, like I was watching a show. Bystanders who had nothing to do with anything were talking to the police. The event organisers pitched, and spoke to the police. But the police didn't want to speak to me. 

They put us in the back of a police van with 3 other male police officers, and I couldn't help but think, what if I'd been raped? Is this how you treat victims of sexual violence, by putting them in close proximity with men so soon after the fact? 

It became obvious that the police were woefully untrained for this sort of crime. Everyone kept asking us if we were enjoying our Holi. No. No, I am not enjoying my Holi, that is why I am at a police station. They laughed, as if this was some kind of joke. "Many foreigners are enjoying Holi!" they say. I got the distinct impression that some of these guys thought the facts that it was Holi and the guys were drunk made their actions excusable, like they were just playing. 

Five hours later, we were still at the police station, with no better idea of what was happening. No one had offered us water, although when we asked for it, it arrived, and soon after tea and biscuits. My other flatmate started warning about intimidation, that if these were wealthy guys from well-connected families, which it had seemed they were, that we should be careful. All the while I sat and waited, turning it over and over in my head. Was I making too big a deal of this? Was this really just the sort of thing that happens during Holi, and I should go home and forget about it? After all, I hadn't been hurt, as one police officer kept asking me, and made me sign a statement to the effect. Was this worth all the admin, the long proceedings that will start with a court case and end up who knows where? People were telling me to call my embassy. That seemed like a big step to take. Like many victims of sexual harassment, I questioned whether my complaint was legitimate, whether I was making too big a fuss and should just go home and get over it. 

But no. I had no doubt in my mind that had I been walking instead of in the back of an auto, those guys would have gone further than groping my breasts. They thought they could act with impunity, because they are the men who own the world. They deserved to be told, in the severest way possible, that this sort of action was not ok. The very fact that I felt violated and could not control my tears meant that they had taken advantage of me in a way that was out of line. I thought about my male friends, especially the Indian ones, and knew they would never do such things, even if they were drunk, even if it was Holi. What they did was wrong, and they deserved to face the consequences of their actions. 

As I'm writing this, the culprits have not been found. Despite my big words, I don't have much hope that they will be. In a system in which the police only wanted to speak to the male in our group, despite the fact that the females were the victims, how can you expect the patriarchy to be fought? The sad thing is, I've been defending Delhi to everyone. I've been saying, "I've only been stared at, never touched, never harassed, yes I've been hit on, but it's not as bad as back home." I was wrong. And now I'm aware of how quickly a situation can turn from harmless to irritating to violating. 

I stood in the shower once I'd gotten home, washing out the colours from my hair and off my body. Most of it came out. But the one colour that refused to wash away is a big red stain, starting between my breasts and going right down to my belly. I don't need to wonder where it came from.