When I sat there, I wasn't as terrified as I was when it was to start. I gave one look to the crowd without saying much. Honestly, wasn't really able to. The one, who was standing with me when it started, did scream a bit and walk around. He has always been the extrovert.
I, like always, was busy observing. The red shawl that wasn't too glittery but was standing out, the scarf that was not too short. I also noticed the sweater a man was wearing, "I love you, papa" knitted on it was very prominently visible, I don't know how, it sure as hell wasn't the bright colours. I saw all the different things I could have had, but had none.
At that very moment, I thought about my Instagram captions, the feminist stories I posted just before, well, before never thinking about what happened today. But, when the one who was with me from the very beginning asked for a phone from one of my colleagues standing right beside me, she told him she was absolutely out of balance. Funny. I recharged her cell just this morning. She needed help and, I am a feminist, as I like being called. So, my Paytm was ready for her service.
I smiled, weakly of course, at the beauty my Instagram world of "You go, girl!", and of "if a woman won't help another woman, how can we grow to expect respect from other sections", while still looking at the black shawl. The black shawl covering that girl from my neighbourhood, who was busy videotaping my friend's screams and rage. It wasn't too expensive, I could have given it away in a go, I thought.