My Day as a Bodyguard

Of all the profession in the world that I could think of being hired as, being someone’s bodyguard was not top of my list because of several reasons namely:- Do not have the flexibility needed for the said job, Lazy to run:rant, Not the fittest of persons, Can easily be lured by the smell of good food and exciting window shops:bowdown etc., etc…. I would never hire myself as a bodyguard….However, I am known to shoot some daggers with my eyes, especially when I dislike or disapprove of something and I think this is what probably qualifies me for the job of a bodyguard….

However, the way I was lured into “bodyguarding” was rather shady:rant. What happened is at my internship, I was to assist one of the supervisors in interviewing a group of women that had survived violent assaults. When my supervisor, a very nice woman in her early 50’s approached me to assist her in the interview and take notes, I was very flattered to be chosen for this task. I felt she was asking me, because she thought I had good interview skills. Enthusiastic I read up on my social work notes, brushed up on my interview skills and even talked about it with a few classmates who had already done such work.

On the day of the interview, the supervisor came up to me and said, “I am so thankful you are coming with me. I really appreciate it, because the place where the interviews are supposed to take place is not in a very safe neighborhood so I am glad I have you with me,” she said that and flashed me a smile.

I gave her a rather puzzled look and she said “Oh, don’t you worry I might look short and frail but I am quite strong, don’t you worry you are in safe hands.” And here I was thinking I was being taken on because of my social work skills, and not because she needed a chaperon. My ego took a little beating but then I told myself that this was a good opportunity to learn and decided to make the best of it.

At 5 pm, my supervisor and I left work, got into the train and traveled all the way to the other end of the city, where we were to meet the survivors. The neighborhood was shady, growing up in Mumbai and during my days as a city reporter I have seen my share of shady neighborhoods and would like to think that I am not very easily intimidated.

However, this neighborhood was something else. I saw myself unconsciously tagging my bag closer to me, lowering my eyes and crossing both my shoulders over my chest. As soon as we got off the train station we could hear the wolf-whistles and “hey baby, how are you doing today,” comments….

I looked up at my supervisor and we both gave each other an understanding look, which women give each other when they know they are being scrutinized. Two Muslim women in their hijabs walked in front of us, and I could hear a group of guys say “I bet she looks hot under that!” My heart said turn back and say something to the moron, but the mind instructed me that it was not the smartest thing to do. As we turned into an alley, we heard some more comments that I am not comfortable repeating….Ignoring them we just walked like two statues that were walking but could not sense what was happening around us.

At 8:30, our interviews completed, we began the journey back home. The walk to the train station, through the dark alley was scary. I would like to think I am a very confident person and am not intimidated or scared by too many things, but after a long time I felt vulnerable and scared. My supervisor who has lived in this city for more than 15-years, looks more scared than me….Maybe she knows what happens around here and I don’t know much like they say ignorance can be bliss.

I try to reassure her “It’s not that bad, shortly we will be at the train station and the two of us could kick the hell out of anybody….” She tries to muster a smile. As we reach the train station, and get into the train she squeezes my hand and tells me “thank you so much for coming with me. I felt better having you with me” I tell her, is this how our lives are supposed to be, feeling scared, worrying about what time we go where, she tells me “It is better to be smart than to be sorry.” I tell her how can I make the survivors we just met, feel confident and fight the world when I myself feel scared, nervous and vulnerable.

My supervisor tells me that she had a difficult time deciding what to wear this morning because she did not want to attract attention. I told her that even the Muslim women in their burkhas were not spared, so she had no chance...My supervisor nodded in agreement I tell her its beginning to get cold maybe wrapping yourself in a blanket could keep you safe….My supervisor tells me it’s a myth that women are safer in developed countries….

I come home, go to sleep and call up mom the next day and tell her what happened….Mom is not happy wants me to change my field of work….I make face….Mom gets upset does some emotional drama “Nobody in this family listens to me….I thought your husband was smarter than that, etc….”…..Mom also finds it difficult to believe that women in the US are no better than her…..

 

Aww AC thanks so much for such a quick and sweet feedback. I felt much better after I wrote about it, I think writing about it was therapeutic for me and your reply made me feel nice.... Yes, my dear friend I will be careful in the future.....

 

Thanks Bhavna....Is that your picture? It is so pretty! The lady in the picture has beautiful hair and a beautiful smile!!!

 

You look as fresh as a daisy and age is what but just a number