I Don't Want to Be Okay With This - By Sonali Jadhav

Written By: Sonali Jadhav

Category: Essay

Competition: Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In her poignant essay, "I Don't Want to Be Okay With This," Sonali Jadhav delves into a deeply personal experience during a seemingly joyful train journey with her daughter. This essay, submitted for the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, reflects on the unsettling realities faced by women, even in everyday situations. Sonali’s narrative offers a raw and honest account of navigating societal challenges, making this a significant contribution to the competition.

About the Work

Sonali Jadhav's essay captures the unsettling experience of harassment during a train journey, intertwining themes of fear, helplessness, and societal indifference. Her narrative style is direct and evocative, painting vivid imagery of the train's atmosphere and the internal struggle faced. The essay encourages readers to confront uncomfortable truths about women's safety and the societal changes needed to protect future generations.

I Don't Want to Be Okay With This

Original Submission by Sonali Jadhav

I Don't Want to Be Okay With This

It was indeed a happy travel - my daughter and I on the Vande Bharat, the twelfth of July, from Kannur to Kozhikode. It was, in fact, the first time we travelled a long distance together in local transport. We reached the station almost forty minutes early, waiting for the much-awaited train to arrive at the platform. Time just flew as we chit-chatted - about her doll, my hunger pangs, the heat, the crowd, and so on. I love these small talks with her.

Finally, it arrived at half past three in the afternoon. We found our seats - placed in the middle of the coach, three seats facing another three, so six passengers sitting face to face. Next to the aisle it was two facing two, four passengers facing each other. My daughter and I were glad to see a little girl seated across. My daughter took the window seat, opposite that girl. I sat in the centre, with the seat on my left vacant.

While we were settling in, a school or college going boy asked if he could take the vacant seat. I was a little thrown by the question, since seats on the Vande Bharat generally need to be reserved before travel - but I said okay. Just as he was about to sit, a man in the same row, across the aisle, said the seat was booked. So, the boy walked on. I made eye contact with that man and just nodded - it's a quick sort of hello-and-okay that people in Kerala do. A few seconds later, I noticed another man walking towards our seats, and the first man pointed him to the seat beside me. I didn't pay much attention to who he was. Since I was in the middle, I tilted more toward my daughter, leaving him more room and keeping my distance.

My daughter and I kept talking - about the travel time, other things. She was more excited about making friends with the girl across from her. In that moment, I felt that the man's arm brushed against mine. I told myself - what the hell - and pulled my bag up onto my lap, close to my chest, just to signal that I didn't appreciate the touch. It happened again - this time he spread his feet as wide as he could to touch mine. I reacted, made eye contact with him. No guilt, no shame. Just those murky eyes and that ugly smile, telling me, ‘I will do it again. I am drunk.’ I kept breathing that ugly smell throughout my travel.

At the same time, I kept thinking - what if my daughter needs to visit the washroom? I didn't have the courage to take her - what if he followed? I went blank, just waiting for my station to come. He tried again, brushing his arm against mine, spreading his feet wider - and this time he succeeded. I was boiling with rage, but felt helpless, unable to speak up but only squeezing myself as much as possible. Across from me sat the girl's mother, and beside her, her husband. Both noticed what he was doing, and how I was trying to get away from it. Neither of them said or did anything. The husband could have said something to that man - one word would have been enough to make him think twice. Instead, he chose to look away, protecting his own comfort over a stranger's misery.

I kept spiralling through the what-ifs - what if he follows us at the station and we never make it home, what if he heard my daughter’s name and her school when the girl across said it loud, and starts stalking us, what if he and the other man are armed. I had the Kerala Police app on my phone, but it didn't strike me to use it. I know about Rail Madad too - that didn't come to mind either.

At one point, the girl's father got up to move some of his belongings from the overhead rack. I asked him to pull my bag down too - because standing up and reaching for it myself would mean tilting behind towards that man, giving him more room to misbehave.

My daughter kept asking me questions about somethings or kept telling me about her new friend - but I couldn't pay any attention to it - her words were just not sinking in, and I hated that the most. Because of that man, my entire travel with my girl went for a toss. Finally, when Kozhikode was about to arrive, I got up - placing my shoulder bag in front of my chest and moving out facing him - not touching or brushing him and not letting him also do it. My daughter followed me and moved out the same way.

I have always been protective of my body, like every other woman. Who gives men like this the right to touch us without consent? Of course, they know they'll never get that consent - so they content themselves by brushing themselves against us instead. He must have been in his forties. He probably has sisters, daughters, a wife, and certainly a mother. Where does this depravity come from? What must the women in his own house be going through?

I can't shake this off easily from my head. I keep thinking about the women who go through this every single day - during their commute, at workplace, or at home, in the name of domestic violence. I had almost forgotten this ugliness in men after relocating to Kerala from Mumbai. The last four months were a lesson in adjusting to a new culture, language, people, and other small challenges of living here. I had settled into the rhythm of life in this state. I felt safe, especially given how seriously the authorities here seem to take women's safety. I wasn't prepared for this. Maybe I had let my guard down.

I've carried past experiences of this kind since I was in class six or seven, in Mumbai. My first was at Mhataricha Boot - the Old Woman's Shoe at Hanging Gardens, Malabar Hill. I was inside the shoe with my family when a man grabbed my chest, hard enough that it hurt - I had just hit puberty. I wanted to cry out loud, but there was nothing to be done. I never told anyone. I just wanted to go home. Talking about this kind of thing in the nineties was shameful, embarrassing. Mothers didn't talk about it openly either - it was taboo, or they simply didn't know how to communicate it with their daughters, or with anyone.

As I grew older, walking to the market with a friend, it happened again and again - pinched, groped, brushed against. Public transport was no different. Once, a man followed me all the way home. Another time, a man stopped me to ask for an address while sitting on his bike, his zip open. I looked down at the paper he'd handed me, I inadvertently saw what he wanted me to see, and I ran for my life.

The question is: how many more times do we have to bear this, and how do we prepare our girls for it? When I got home and told my husband, he said I should have used the Rail Madad app. My brother said I shouldn't have travelled alone with my daughter. But using an app in the moment takes presence of mind that panic doesn't leave room for. And not travelling alone because of men like this - that's simply not an option.

Even now, I'm still figuring out how to deal with this. It has shaken me more than I expected, and I keep thinking - about my kid and others, and about every other woman commuting through this town who could be sitting in that same seat tomorrow. My husband says I'll be fine in a few days. But I don't want to be fine with this. I don't want to be okay with what happened.

That night passed and then it was a new morning, the same thought kept returning that I must speak up. So many women already have spoken and fought about their experiences - I owe it to myself to say this too. But what next? Is there even a solution?

Men like this need to be tracked down and made to pay in full. They want pleasure from this - we deserve the pleasure of seeing them held accountable, completely and permanently. He touched me today, and there was nothing I could do - not me, not the officials, and I don't even know what happened after I got off the train. A short stint in a lockup won't change anything. Public beatings only invite revenge, and it's the woman who pays for it again.

The law is blind, deaf, and slow. The people meant to protect us are too few, set against the sheer number of women who face this daily. The men who do this are either shielded by status or simply untouched by conscience - either way, what good are they to society? Self-protection in partnership with the police and self-defence training should be part of the school curriculum.

Crying about it afterward, and then letting these men walk away unchallenged, only tells them it's fine to do it again, and I am not okay with this - I'm sure no one is.

That feeling didn’t ease for days and nights. So, one day, I wrote to the Railway authorities and was asked to visit the nearest Police station or share my contact number for them to take it ahead for further investigation.

After giving another deep thought to moving this forward - I'd admit that my priority is the safety of my kid and my family. Yes, calling myself a coward is appropriate. But maybe it's not just cowardice - but math. The world has gotten worse, not better, and I'm raising a girl in it. Every risk I take on her behalf is required to be weighed against what it could cost her if it goes wrong, and right now, that math doesn't add up in favour of a fight. I feel sick about not moving ahead with the FIR because of the what-ifs: during the investigation if he turns out to be influential then he'll knock us all down, the number of times I will have to visit the station or court, and I'll need to confront that person every time till justice is served or denied. It's a lot of mental trauma to go through all of this and explain it to my six-year-old. Probably, to be extra safe, I chose not to take this matter further ahead.

I heard today: safety is an illusion - it certainly is. We've learned the hard way, but yes, we've all learned it some way or the other. You're not safe in your own home as well - never know who the next doorbell would bring in. I'm not comfortable accepting that I couldn't do more than just complain to the TC about that person and reach out to the authorities and not act further upon it.

The rage that I had during that moment, the zeal that was within me to track him down and make him pay for his wrongdoings, is slowly mellowing down. Probably this is how it's been for all of us, every time something wrong happens to us or our family members - open manholes taking away innocent lives, pathetic roads making families grieve. The list is endless. It's in the blood - we get angry and the next moment we move on - we have to - there's not too much time to worry about what happened yesterday and act upon it.

I'm not sure how I will be, and what action I will take, if something similar happens to my people. We're never prepared for the unknown, and that's better - some less things to worry for. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this - I'm not just protecting myself anymore. There's a six-year-old watching how I handle this, and someday she'll have to make the same math work for herself.

This experience is teaching me to adjust myself again to someone else's wrongdoings, and it's definitely going with me every time I decide to travel. I don't care what happens to that man - I would only hope that he doesn't do this to someone else's daughter ever.

About the Competition

The Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform for writers to express their unique voices and share impactful stories. This competition celebrates creativity and encourages participants to explore diverse themes, offering a space for both aspiring and established writers to engage with a wider audience.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Sonali Jadhav for sharing her powerful essay, "I Don't Want to Be Okay With This," in the Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her courage in recounting such personal experiences contributes significantly to the ongoing dialogue about women's safety and societal responsibility.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.