The apple of her father's (roving) eye

The little girl looked up adoringly at her father, as he hoisted her up onto his broad shoulders to afford her a better view of a marriage procession that trotted in accompaniment to the loud beats of a drum.

She stared wonder-eyed at all the beautifully-dressed people, as they danced gaily, with full abandon, on the streets.

A stray firecracker caused her to shudder involuntarily and blink rapidly. And even when the father gently put her down onto the ground, she clutched at his warm hand for reassurance, looking out trustingly at him from her doe-shaped eyes.

Just when you think this is going to be one of those misty-eyed-leaving- father-daughter-happy stories, a vile twist changes it all.

The father who wouldn’t probably have dreamt of hurting his princess, does the unthinkable.

The same hands that held her hands protectively, paw her private parts.

The same mouth that had mouthed bedtime stories to her, ravages her frail body.

The little girl, who would utter screams of delight when in the company of her father, now whimpers at the very sight of the monster, as he gratifies his insatiable lust with her as she, a reluctant tool, shudders while being drilled into by him. Pleasure is writ large over his crazed-by-perversion face.

The girl’s eyes that had once looked up trustingly into the man’s she once called father, looked with contemptuous pain, rage and shock, as he openly leered at her young body.

The trauma goes on.

Day after day.

In some places, the mother is a mute spectator (as in the Mumbai case), silenced by a so-called Man of God, who claims that the incestuous relationship would assure prosperity to the family, and in the bargain, got a fair share of plundering the little girl when the father was sated, over and done with her (till the next time he came to bed her); in other cases the mother was dead, or as in the Austrian dungeon case, had come to terms with her ‘missing daughter,’ oblivious to the fact that her traumatized daughter lay hidden, for over 24 years, in a basement in the family home itself. Where other kids of her age were playing with doll houses, she was being preyed upon by her biological father.

Who fathered seven children with her. Illegitimate children who would't know how to come to terms with their salacious father / grandfather who brought them into the world, and would be more than willing to chop him into little pieces and feed to the dogs.

What comes upon such men to do such dastardly, violating, puke-inducing, twisted, unforgivable acts?

And is there even a fitting punishment for such sick bastards?

(Un)happy hours

The world’s largest democracy was dealt a disgraceful slap, when just two days before its 60th Republic Day, a self-appointed moral brigade roughed up some patrons at a popular watering hole in Mangalore.

The audacity of the attack! Only women patrons were targeted.

So, besides henna, kohl, and bindis, Indian women were ‘blessed’ with another ornamental piece – the black-eye.

The group of 40 attackers, who claim affiliation to a fundamentalist, right-wing Hindu group, Sri Ram Sena, asserted that they had received complaints from the public, and were only protecting their ‘mothers and daughters,’ insisting that those beaten up, richly deserved so, indulging as they were in depraved activities, and going against our ‘rich heritage and culture.’

I belong to the same culture, and I’d like to know which of the Holy Scriptures instructs these so-called ‘God-men’ to mishandle woman and outrage their modesty.

Calling themselves keepers of religion and culture, these hooligans took the law into their hands, punching and pulling the hair of the unfortunate women. Emboldened by the fear that surrounds the victims, some of whom have received threatening calls, and playing upon the psyche of thousands others, they have also issued ultimatums for the approaching Valentine’s Day.

Quite a few glowing testimonials, you'd agree, won't you?

Misbehaviour is not unfamiliar with the Sena, which, last year, vandalised an exhibition of M.F. Husain’s paintings in New Delhi, besides targeting fashion shows, and ransacking and damaging the central office of a political party.

All the while, religion becomes a politicised issue, yet again. And politicians, they of the glib tongues, folded hands and handcrafted clothes, shake their heads in mock-disbelief, promising that the perpetrators would be seriously dealt with.

However, the next day will dawn bright and clear, and the very same politicos will fold their hands yet again, ascending the steps to another jet that will fly them into the welcome, beckoning arms of an alluring, foreign nation – one where they can ‘afford’ (at our expense) to forget all these trifling troubles.

My blood is boiling.