By Suresh Pattali
Manorama was raped. She was my friend. The palm-leaf fence between our plots never divided our hearts. My mother didn’t say it in so many words, but conveyed it to me in carefully crafted lingo that missed the enormity of the crime. At the innocent age of 13 or 14, we didn’t know what rape was till a college-going dude in the neighbourhood explained. Manorama was one among us, a battalion of village urchins who roamed around doing what normal kids do. The violator, three-four years older to us, was a black sheep, a ruffian, among us.
Continue reading When will they learn, women are not their birth right?