Location via proxy:   [ UP ]  
[Report a bug]   [Manage cookies]                
10/3/2016 Why I married a wife­beater Tuesday, October 4, 2016 Home Classified Jobs Matrimonials Blog Archives Advertise Feedback About Us Last Updated: 01 Jul 10:20 AM IST 141 YEARS IN PRINT search... The Statesman Search Because we are different. News Page­One World Editorial Perspective Business Sport Bengal Plus India Bengal Kolkata Plus Delhi City Features Marquee Evolve 8th Day Voices North East Page NB Extra Viewpoint Notebook Campus Career Science Section II Delhi Notebook Ishrat: Gujarat High Court dismisses plea of ADGP P P Pandey seeking quashing of complaint against him in Is User Login Section Print E­mail Why I married a wife­beater username 19 April 2013 •••••••• uddipana goswami is pretty sure the principle behind every woman’s strategy to finally escape the immediate onslaught would be the same: make him feel like a man Password? Login Forgot Sign up now! THIS is my story, but it could also be that of Jayati, a part­time domestic help I used to have, who would not show up for work every other day; or of Deborah, the uber­cool professor­by­day and socialite­always, I used to know, who wore the largest diamonds I’m ever likely to see in my life. It could very well also be the story of any other woman on any other rung of the social or educational ladder above and between the three of us. It is the story of domestic violence and of how I’ve come to realise that I am not alone in my plight. I never really realised it was domestic violence I was facing, even when I nearly died. It started one morning with my husband flinging a whole bottle of water at our six­month­old son asleep in the bed, and I had to rush the little one off with my maid to a neighbour’s place. That escalated my husband’s rage and he put his hands around my neck and tried to strangle me. He then locked the two of us in the bathroom, telling me I was crazy to think he was trying to kill me. I had to cry out of the window before he would let me out. Then I ran. I went to the neighbour’s house and from there — after they escorted me back to my house to quickly pack my son’s things and some of my own clothes — I left for my sister’s place. I hadn’t yet realised what had happened to me, I still didn’t go to the police. After all, wasn’t domestic violence the thing that only illiterate women like Jayati put up with? Didn’t I scold her on days she turned up with bruises all over her and try to convince her to report her husband to the police? I did not even know it was domestic violence I was facing when, in September 2011, my son and I came to live with my parents in Guwahati and my husband and his father kept calling, threatening me and my family with various legal and extra­legal action for “kidnapping” their son/grandson. Nor did I know it was domestic violence when he kept calling, sending SMS after SMS, threatening me with violence, legal action, political connections. He sent insulting and abusive messages not just to me but all my family members. It was only after he sent me a legal notice saying I was mad and conspiring to kill our son that I went to a lawyer. And it was only then that I was told I had been and continued to be subjected to domestic violence. And all this while, I had been urging Jayati to be strong and stand up for her rights. I was educated and financially independent. I used to be moderately outgoing until marriage to the man robbed me of my self­confidence and I became a recluse. I kept abreast of the latest debates and issues in public life, and wrote about some of these issues. In short, I was aware and up­to­date. Yet, in my private life I turned out to be quite an idiot. I married a man who was violent and abusive during the years of our marriage and who, I realised only after we separated, was a sociopath, with no morality whatsoever. But I kept refusing to admit any of this for quite some time. Why was I so blind? Why had I hidden his true nature from myself and others, even my closest family? Why was Deborah so blind? Why was she hiding? Till the time I saw her regularly, she continued to appear vivacious and gregarious, quite the extrovert. There was never any trace of bruises on her, nor did she ever openly admit such abuse, as Jayati did. Did the both of us see and, then, refuse to see? I know I did. Every time he hit me, I would wish I were dead. First I would grow angry and try to defend myself, sometimes hit back. Then he’d overcome me with sheer physical strength, which always seemed to multiply manifold when he was in a violent rage. And then I would hide in a corner and cry and http://202.144.14.20/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=452889&catid=44 1/3 10/3/2016 Why I married a wife­beater beg him to stop or kill me altogether. That was when he’d stop, kneel before me, put his head in my lap and cry with me. He’d promise never to hurt me again and that we would start afresh. After I left him, it took many months of relentless harassment from him for me to realise why he wasn’t letting up: it was because, protected and supported by my family and friends, I was now refusing to crawl into a corner and beg him to stop; because I was refusing to allow him the opportunity to make himself feel better by proclaiming his love for me after nearly killing me. How did Jayati make her husband stop? How did Deborah? I don’t know the details, but I’m pretty sure the principle behind every woman’s strategy to finally escape the immediate onslaught would be the same: make him feel like a man! But the question remains: Why did I not realise I was being subjected to domestic violence, that I could go out and seek redress under the law, that I could put an end to my suffering? I have many possible answers, but I don’t know which one is right. Perhaps all of them, or none. Maybe I had the need for emancipation and independence drilled into me so much by my education and upbringing that I was loathe to even allow myself to feel like a victim. Or maybe I had witnessed too much impunity and too little redress under the law during my years of researching conflict and violence in the North­east to consider my own condition particularly pathetic. Or maybe I had been too deeply in love to come out of it without trying to salvage the last (imagined?) traces of the man I had first met. In the end, all that matters is that I married a wife­beater and I’m still unable to get away. (The writer’s identity has been withheld and names have been changed to protect privacy.) Comments (0) women’s feature service Other Related News Spotlight The minister who truly served Short Story Spotlight Stanza Think Again Country Notebook From Persia with love Spotlight Spotlight Spotlight Doggerel Think Again Country Notebook From Bengal to New Orleans and back Was Pablo Neruda killed by Pinochet? Girl­Dreams in a Dusty Metropolis Life & Letters Stanza Spotlight Think Again Country Notebook Rare and endangered Beautiful balance Rescue of a basket case Virtuoso incompleteness From priesthood to proclaimed atheist Short Story Challenges from above and below Think Again Country Notebook The deciding factor Spotlight Stanza Life & Letters Spotlight Short Story Think Again Country Notebook Obscure side of the moon Short Story Spotlight http://202.144.14.20/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=452889&catid=44 2/3 10/3/2016 Why I married a wife­beater Life & Letters Stanza Spotlight Think Again Country Notebook Home Classified Jobs Matrimonials Blog Archives Advertise Feedback About Us Copyright © 2016 The Statesman Limited. All Rights Reserved. Page Views Since January 15, 2010 : 59191335 Film http://202.144.14.20/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=452889&catid=44 3/3