After weeks of keeping a distance, out came the clichéd dialogues and angry stare

I had noted him following me, but I wasn’t alarmed yet. To me, he looked like one who wouldn't come up to me and talk

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It was the second year since I had started riding to school on my bicycle. I was finally free from being the cushion for two juniors in a crowded auto on my daily journey.

The four-and-half kilometre ride was more than just about ferrying myself and the insanely heavy school bag full of neatly-labeled books. It was about managing time, the bag and the basket that hung from the handle with food.

It was also about what I thought style was -- zooming down lanes hands free, cutting through traffic, riding without breaks. And more importantly, given any weather conditions and speed, it was about guarding against a Marilyn Monroe moment with my blue-pleated skirt.

<noscript><a href="http://polldaddy.com/poll/9465387/">What would you do if you were stalked?</a></noscript></div><p>Amidst enjoying a cool breeze and the occasional panting, I was soon to have an unpleasant experience -- that of being stalked.</p><p>He was tall and was much older than the 14-year-old me. I didn’t know his name but knew he was not a school student. Was he a college student? Not sure, he seemed free all day. He had a bicycle, a two-wheeler and knowledge of my school’s timings. He also knew my residence as he was in my neighbourhood, to be more precise, his terrace had a full view of my house.</p><p>There were days when he followed me from home to school and days he would just go past me, all keeping a small distance. But, things were about to change.</p><p>Even though I was subconsciously noting his appearance and movements around me, I wasn’t alarmed yet. In my calculations, he looked like one of those who wouldn’t come up to and talk. After weeks of maintaining distance, he decided he would talk to me. Out came the clichéd dialogues and the angry stare at being rebuffed.</p><p>I then made a call from a coin booth from school to my father.</p><p>The following weeks went something like this — my father would follow me on our blue Bajaj scooter in the morning, and in the evening a family friend would do the same in his WagonR car. Investigating officers, middle-class style.</p><p>Thankfully, over a couple of weeks or so, the stalking stopped.</p><p>Was it my “officers” that intimidated him or had he found a new, more vulnerable target? One who wouldn’t complain this early…or had he just lost interest in me?</p><p>He moved on.</p><p>The incident left me far less confident of travelling alone and also made me a person who would always doubt people’s intentions, even when not required.</p><p>Today, I travel with a knife, pepper spray and a pair of doubtful eyes. Do I feel safe? Not yet. But I’d like to think I’m lucky, as I’m still alive.</p><p>(The writer is a senior content editor with The New Indian Express)</p><p><strong>Have you been stalked? <em>writetous@newindianexpress.com</em></strong></p>