#TalkingStalking I Taught My Stalker a Lesson and You Should Too
I have been living away from home since 13 years and have been harassed, stalked, abused, and more. The list goes on. It’s pathetic.
Not only has it created a volcano inside of me, but also made me stronger in many ways.
However, what you do next actually defines you. Either you come out stronger or you feel ridden with guilt for doing nothing. The worst feeling is when you know that you were not in a position or situation to do anything.
Too caught up to read? Listen to the story:
I was stalked by two boys just a few days back. I usually take a cycle rickshaw home after I get down from an auto that leaves me at my stop. When a rickshaw is not available, I walk. Now that winters are fast approaching, the area gets quite dark and deserted in the evening. Night sets in quicker and the rickshaw pullers start drinking.
On one such evening, I got off at my stop and noticed that there was no rickshaw. I started walking. I saw two boys walking in the distance. It was dark and there was no other person or vehicle on the road at the time. The two boys crossed me, stopped at a distance, and then started following me. All my senses were on high alert and I quickened my pace.
Thankfully, it was just a matter of 2-3 minutes before I reached a chowk (crossing) where there was light and people! On reaching the chowk, I looked over my shoulder, anxiously, to check if the boys were still following me. They weren’t. I couldn’t see them anymore.
I started walking towards my home. I was just about to reach when my husband arrived to receive me. I don't know if it was karma doing its job or simply my luck, but at the same time, I noticed one of the two boys crossing us on a motorbike. I quickly recounted to my husband everything that had happened.
We followed the boy on our bike. He pulled up alongside a building and walked in. We parked our bike and walked in as well. After inquiring at the reception, we were shown to his room.
At first, he blatantly rubbished the accusations. However, when I recounted everything in front of his friends, who were 15-year-old teenagers, he quickly began apologising. The second boy who was with him could not be traced. After my husband gave him a strict warning and I vented out my anger — I wanted to hit him hard but maintained a controlled demeanour — we left.
Today, I know the names of the boys and where they live and study.
I can only hope that they won’t dare do something like this again. I know there are many others who hope that boys and men like these will learn their lesson and change, but when I read and hear about similar incidents everyday, I regret not teaching them a good lesson that day itself.
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