"This Society Accepts Our Blessings, But Abuses Our Bodies"

Trigger Warning: The following narrative contains content related to experiences of Gender-Based Violence (GBV).

Imaara stands as a beacon of resilience, founded by survivors of Gender-Based Violence (GBV) for survivors. Every aspect of our NGO is crafted with the deep understanding that only those who have endured the harrowing journey of survival truly comprehend its nuances. From our programs to our support networks, we are driven by the unwavering commitment to empower fellow survivors. Each story shared within our community is a testament to the strength and courage that resides within every survivor. Together, we create a safe space where voices silenced by fear and shame are given power. Our mission is not merely to offer aid but to ignite a spark of hope in the hearts of those who have felt the darkest depths of despair. In this sanctuary of understanding and solidarity, survivors find solace, healing, and the unwavering belief that they are not defined by their past traumas, but by the strength it took to survive them.

The Words of an Anonymous Survivor

My experience with Gender-Based Violence (GBV) didn’t happen in a dark, empty street. It happened in broad daylight, right inside a crowded public bus in Chennai. As a transgender woman, every single day outside my house feels like a battle.

That evening, I was terribly tired and managed to get a seat on the bus. Soon, a man came and sat right next to me. The bus was getting very crowded, but he used that as an excuse to press his body tightly against mine. Before I could even understand what was happening, his hand crept up and he touched my waist. I froze in fear.

Then, he deliberately moved his hand higher and touched my breast. My heart stopped. I looked at his face, but he was staring straight ahead, pretending to be innocent while his fingers kept violating my body. The physical touch made me feel sick, but what broke me completely was his arrogance. His touch whispered, "You are just a trans woman. Who is going to help you?"

The mental and emotional impact of this experience stayed with me for a very long time, mutating into deep anxiety and paranoia. When his hand moved to violate me further, my fear suddenly snapped into raw rage. I grabbed his hand, violently shoved it away, and screamed, "What do you think you are doing? Don't you know where to keep your hands?" Caught red-handed, the man immediately began playing the victim, shouting defensively, "It's a crowded bus! If you are so sensitive, don't travel in public! Are you someone special?" The raw reaction from the surrounding crowd was a painful reflection of societal apathy. A few passengers stared blankly, some looked away awkwardly, and one passenger openly muttered, "Just drop it, don't create a scene and delay the bus." Their cold words hurt almost as much as the abuse. But I refused to back down. I stood up, looked the conductor in the eye, and demanded that the bus be stopped. Terrified by my unyielding stance, the predator shoved his way out at the very next junction and fled.

Societal and cultural norms played a massive role in making me feel completely isolated. When people talk about harassment and GBV, they almost exclusively focus on cisgender men and women. Nobody talks about the disgusting things transgender people face every single day in public spaces. Because our society does not see trans women as equal human beings, people think our bodies are public property that anyone can touch without permission. The biggest misconception people have about survivors is asking why we stay silent for those first few minutes. They don't understand that the silence isn't weakness; it is the paralyzing fear of a judgmental society that would rather blame our identity than protect our bodies.

Today, reclaiming my voice means telling the world that our bodies deserve respect, and public infrastructure must be made safe for everyone, no matter who they are.