11 Minutes : Marital Rape

Here’s another story I wrote addressing a very sensitive, but ignored form of harassment: Marital Rape. The characters in the story may be fictional, but they represent the hundreds of Poojas, who silently undergo marital rape and the Dhruvs, who believe suppressing a woman is the ultimate portrayal of power.

This morning, Pooja found it particularly difficult to come face to face with her life. Her neck hurt, and the bruise under her right eye was blacker than before. She kept staring at the ceiling fan lost in numerous random thoughts. “It may be easier to die, than to choose a life like this”, said one of her heart. “Everything will be okay. Don’t rush into a hasty decision”, said her brain. She brushed away these thoughts and tried to think of her parents, trying to find a reason to live. She was so lost in recalling last night’s events that she didn’t notice when Dhruv woke up.

Dhruv and Priya‘s love story was a pure play of destiny (or so she liked to believe). In spite of being poles apart in every aspect of life, human behavior and perspectives, they found solace in each other’s company. Priya filled his life with clarity, creativity and objectivity, while Dhruv filled her life with adventure, new experiences and lots of road trips.

They fell in love, dated for a few years and then got married with their parents’ consent. Couple of months into the marriage, and Dhruv's behavior began to change drastically. He was consumed by office work the entire day. The little time that he got in-between, Dhruv would prefer attending his office parties or constantly chat on his phone. He had started losing his temper a lot more often. Pooja could never tell what would trigger his anger. Sometimes it was the food, his clothes not being ironed, the room, the sex, Pooja's dressing, hairstyle or her watching Television.

Pooja was worried, and knew something was not right. This was not the Dhruv she had fallen in love with.

Before marriage, Dhruv wanted to spend every waking moment with Pooja. When not together, they would be on calls and talk for hours. The sudden shift of interest to his work and all other worldly things was indeed difficult to accept. Had he fallen out of love? Was Dhruv no more interested in her?  Was he seeing someone else? Pooja was frustrated and had no clue.

With every passing day, Pooja was more and more scared of facing the evenings. She would prepare herself for another fight.  A fight where he was the domineering, and she, submissive, a fight that always ended up with Dhruv cussing at his wife, throwing what-so-ever came in his proximity, Pooja crouching near the bed, shivering in fear and tears rolling out of her big Bengali eyes.

Pooja had had enough and she decided, it was time she talk openly on her thoughts about the marriage. That day she waited for him to come home. She ensured each of his things were just right. Curtains closed, a glass of water on the side table and Air conditioner switched on at 21 degrees. Pooja stared at the watch as it tik tik-ed its way to 9pm.

The doorbell ranged and Pooja stood up, scared stiff. As she opened the door, she saw Dhruv slouching on the wall, somehow balancing himself. He was drunk and the minute their eyes met, he started shouting loudly. “Iamsickofyoub**ch”, said Dhruv, words tumbling from his mouth in a rush of barely distinguishable syllables.

Pooja was scared, of course. But she thought handling a drunk Dhruv would be easy. He would shout, cuss, puke and pass out… thereby leaving her the rare opportunity of a peaceful night.

She settled him on the couch and started removing his shoes. While she longed for the moment he would doze off, Dhruv kept staring at her. His eyes were red and had a dash of anger, lust and disgust, all at once. Pooja found his glare piercing, making her conscious of her own body.

As she unbuttoned his shirt, he groped her tightly and pushed her against the wall. He started hitting her. It was all so sudden, that Pooja couldn’t bring herself to act.

The next thing Pooja remembered was Dhruv ripping her Salwar Kameez, forcing his cum gun inside of Pooja’, pressing, almost squeezing the life out of her soft tender breasts, and Pooja lying there, with her rhythmic moaning, silently squeaking in pain, waiting for him to reach orgasm, waiting for the 11 minutes to get over.

It didn’t matter whether she wanted to have sex or not. To Dhruv, it was not about sex- it was about Power.

The clanking of the glasses brought Pooja back to reality. She saw Dhruv was up, and getting ready for office. They exchanged a glance. He smiled. She wondered. He seemed as normal as he could. As if nothing unusual happened last night. As if it was just another night. Dhruv came over, kissed her on the forehead and asked her what she was planning for the breakfast.

Pooja got up, confused. She collected herself and wiped the tears that came rolling out.

“Everything will be fine.” She repeated loudly and wore the mask the world wanted to see her in.