It is 2015. I am in Old Delhi’s Sadar Bazar two days before Holi, speaking to a seller for a story. As the dense crowd kicks up dust, I lean in to listen to my interviewee better. A hand gropes me from behind. I turn around. It happens again, this time from the front. I feel disoriented, lose the thread of conversation with the seller and start walking towards the metro.

In the metro, I grab a seat and once the coach is empty enough, call up a friend to share what happened. He suggests I speak to a senior female editor. It may make me feel better. I think, and decide against it.

I was 22. Barely one year into the profession, and less than two months into that particular job. Talking felt like making a bigger deal out of it than it actually was. Did it even qualify as harassment? What if it was all just in my head?

It was in my head, all right. For over a decade. I just didn’t know.

What I knew was I avoided crowded places. It wasn’t simply discomfort. My body physically stiffened up. A few years later, I was assigned another story in a heavily populated neighbourhood. My first instinct was to say ‘no’. I didn’t,  but for the four hours I was reporting........

© Indian Express