Yes, Street Harassment. Bingo!
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| Mother Jones |
- The only ogling kind, where the culprit doesn’t do a thing except devouring you like a plate of tandoori murgi that he can can have with alcohol (reference to Kareena’s regressive and absolutely addictive song Fevicol is purely intended.)
- The cat-calling kind. Comments, remarks and compliments about your appearance, dress, or even certain body parts. But don’t fret because hey, boys will be boys AmIRite? Plus, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Chill.
- The flashing kind, you know, where a member of the Boy-Will-Be-Boys-Haha clan drops his pant and scars you for the rest of your life. Or the day, at-least. But oh, they mean no harm! They are just assume that you’re walking around hoping to see the male genitalia in all it’s glory, an innocent assumption. Don’t take it personally.
- The touchy feel-y grope-y kind. They touch your body just out of nowhere, walking past you on the street or crossing you and swoosh, there goes the hand! It’s sad, really, but why were you in the street all by yourself in the first place? Maybe you weren’t dressed right and hence, by definition, #AskingForIt? Or oh, your NO means Yes anyway so it’s not like touching you is violating you in any way, right?
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| collectiveactiondc.org |
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| thesociologicalcinema.com |
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