The eight-year-old's brutal rape, that made your hair stand on end, is now being mined for fresh content on a pornographic site.
Her name is the TOP trend on the website.
In crisp, unvarnished font.
Though the search leads to no videos, her name still features at the top. Which leads to a safe assumption that there are thousands who are thriving in the perverse hope that they’ll run into the ghastly footage of the barbaric crime. Her mangled memories are catering to depraved sexual fantasies, even as we speak.
Over the weekend, as thousands took to the streets, there was hope.
Hope that political energies, at the behest of a Herculean twinge of conscience, would perhaps translate to practical measures. That this time around, we’d take a step further. This time around, we’d reach more people.
An eight-year old.
Or
A 17-year-old.
Young, old, innocent, not-so-innocent.
Kathua
Or
Unnao
It does NOT matter. Rapes need to stop.
On Sunday evening, thousands took to the streets, raging.
Protesting.
Screaming.
Sobbing.
Pulsing with indignation and compassion.
To them and us, I ask: Where are we headed?
While you wince, shake your head in disgust and dismiss the low-lives searching for the footage on pornographic sites , remember to STILL be angry.
Remember the slogans that wore your lungs out.
Remember your boiling blood that made you take to the streets.
Remember your quivering shoulders that made you cringe in pain.
Remember to keep dwelling on the questions that are looking us straight in the eye.
How are we fighting this? Where does change start unfolding its long-winded narrative? How do we communicate the simple need to treat others, men or women, the way we ourselves would want to be treated?
Let's not stop trying.
The dust hasn't settled yet.
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