Once there was a girl. Her name is Jyoti................ Complete the story in about 200 words.
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9.30pm and she was on her way home from watching Life of Pi at the cinema in the Citywalk mall with a young male friend, Awindra Pandey.
The date was 16 December 2012. She was 23 years old, a young woman making her way in the world, working nights in an IBM call centre to put herself through medical college to achieve her dream of becoming a physiotherapist. She had less than two weeks left to live.
A white bus was approaching, one of the many private vehicles plying the streets of the city. The conductor was calling their destination – Dwarka – so they handed over their money and stepped on board. There were five other passengers, all young men. The doors closed behind them. And the trap was sprung.
What happened to Jyoti Singh over the best part of an hour physically sickens everyone who has been obliged to listen to the details. The men took it in turns to rape her and then they used an iron bar on her. They beat Awindra and threw the couple out, half-naked, into the night. The police found them by the side of the road at about 11pm. It was clear that Jyoti had suffered catastrophic injuries.
We know all this because Jyoti did not die there at the roadside. She clung on, because she was determined to tell the police enough to catch the men who had violated her.
“I want to survive,” she wrote on a piece of paper she handed to her doctors.
It is five years later. A bus pulls up to the Munirka stop where Jyoti and Awindra waited that night.
The doors open, 10 rupees change hands and the bus noses back into the traffic. The darkness outside is full of the smoke from wood fires that hangs in the cold air. There are neon signs and the lights of cars and lorries and the cacophony of horns. These are the last sights and sounds Jyoti would have heard before the men closed in on her.
Tonight, the bus is almost empty, just as it was when the doors shut behind Jyoti and Awindra.
There was a huge public outcry to change the system… but hardly any change that has taken place
“The conductor closed the doors of the bus. He closed the lights of the bus and came towards my friend and started abusing and beating him,” Jyoti told the police as she lay in her hospital bed.
“They held his hands and held me and took me to the back of the bus. They tore my clothes and raped me in turns. They hit me with an iron rod and bit me on my entire body with their teeth.
“They took all belongings, my mobile phone, purse, credit card, debit card, watches etc. Six people raped me in turns for nearly one hour in a moving bus. The driver of the bus kept changing so that he could also rape me.”
Tonight, the handful of people who have got on the bus have now departed. The driver turns off most of the lights. Alone, in the semi-darkness, there is that sense of vulnerability familiar to any young women brave enough to travel at night in a city where, even five years after the promises that lessons would be learned, many feel that beneath the surface, little has changed.
But on the surface, in the bright light of day, life for young Indian women growing up in 2017 looks very different to the way it was for their mothers and a world away from that of their grandmothers.
They wear jeans and T-shirts, hang out in coffee shops, obsess over their mobile phones and mingle with boys just like their western counterparts do and in a way that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.
“Gender sensitisation” is the new phrase: trying to change deeply ingrained attitudes about male and female roles. Taxi drivers get lessons in why they cannot leer at their passengers. Two years ago, the country’s first all-woman police station opened in Gurgaon, just outside Delhi. There is even a campaign for compulsory gender sensitisation programmes in all of India’s schools to try to catch them young.
There is a lively feminist movement, hotly debating issues such as the continuing stigma attached to menstruation – by women as well as men. There have been milestone victories, including the supreme court’s decision to rule as unconstitutional the “triple talaq” practice, which allows a man to divorce his wife by saying “divorce” three times.
Yet it is an uphill battle: many men brought up seeing their mothers doing all the household chores expect the same of their wives. Daughters, especially those in poorer families, are widely expected to perform the household chores while the boys are not. It is worse in the rural areas, where traditional attitudes prevail and there are still widely held beliefs that girls who go out to bars and drink with boys are not decent Indian girls but westernised and sexually permissive.
That mindset was at work on the night of Jyoti’s last bus ride. The men who fell upon her had no respect for her as a person: to them, she was simply an object to do with as they wanted.
The date was 16 December 2012. She was 23 years old, a young woman making her way in the world, working nights in an IBM call centre to put herself through medical college to achieve her dream of becoming a physiotherapist. She had less than two weeks left to live.
A white bus was approaching, one of the many private vehicles plying the streets of the city. The conductor was calling their destination – Dwarka – so they handed over their money and stepped on board. There were five other passengers, all young men. The doors closed behind them. And the trap was sprung.
What happened to Jyoti Singh over the best part of an hour physically sickens everyone who has been obliged to listen to the details. The men took it in turns to rape her and then they used an iron bar on her. They beat Awindra and threw the couple out, half-naked, into the night. The police found them by the side of the road at about 11pm. It was clear that Jyoti had suffered catastrophic injuries.
We know all this because Jyoti did not die there at the roadside. She clung on, because she was determined to tell the police enough to catch the men who had violated her.
“I want to survive,” she wrote on a piece of paper she handed to her doctors.
It is five years later. A bus pulls up to the Munirka stop where Jyoti and Awindra waited that night.
The doors open, 10 rupees change hands and the bus noses back into the traffic. The darkness outside is full of the smoke from wood fires that hangs in the cold air. There are neon signs and the lights of cars and lorries and the cacophony of horns. These are the last sights and sounds Jyoti would have heard before the men closed in on her.
Tonight, the bus is almost empty, just as it was when the doors shut behind Jyoti and Awindra.
There was a huge public outcry to change the system… but hardly any change that has taken place
“The conductor closed the doors of the bus. He closed the lights of the bus and came towards my friend and started abusing and beating him,” Jyoti told the police as she lay in her hospital bed.
“They held his hands and held me and took me to the back of the bus. They tore my clothes and raped me in turns. They hit me with an iron rod and bit me on my entire body with their teeth.
“They took all belongings, my mobile phone, purse, credit card, debit card, watches etc. Six people raped me in turns for nearly one hour in a moving bus. The driver of the bus kept changing so that he could also rape me.”
Tonight, the handful of people who have got on the bus have now departed. The driver turns off most of the lights. Alone, in the semi-darkness, there is that sense of vulnerability familiar to any young women brave enough to travel at night in a city where, even five years after the promises that lessons would be learned, many feel that beneath the surface, little has changed.
But on the surface, in the bright light of day, life for young Indian women growing up in 2017 looks very different to the way it was for their mothers and a world away from that of their grandmothers.
They wear jeans and T-shirts, hang out in coffee shops, obsess over their mobile phones and mingle with boys just like their western counterparts do and in a way that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago.
“Gender sensitisation” is the new phrase: trying to change deeply ingrained attitudes about male and female roles. Taxi drivers get lessons in why they cannot leer at their passengers. Two years ago, the country’s first all-woman police station opened in Gurgaon, just outside Delhi. There is even a campaign for compulsory gender sensitisation programmes in all of India’s schools to try to catch them young.
There is a lively feminist movement, hotly debating issues such as the continuing stigma attached to menstruation – by women as well as men. There have been milestone victories, including the supreme court’s decision to rule as unconstitutional the “triple talaq” practice, which allows a man to divorce his wife by saying “divorce” three times.
Yet it is an uphill battle: many men brought up seeing their mothers doing all the household chores expect the same of their wives. Daughters, especially those in poorer families, are widely expected to perform the household chores while the boys are not. It is worse in the rural areas, where traditional attitudes prevail and there are still widely held beliefs that girls who go out to bars and drink with boys are not decent Indian girls but westernised and sexually permissive.
That mindset was at work on the night of Jyoti’s last bus ride. The men who fell upon her had no respect for her as a person: to them, she was simply an object to do with as they wanted.
aditya2019:
please mark as brainliest
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