My story began amid mountains and farms, surrounded by books and buffaloes. School fitted in somewhere in between, complete with acting, sports, Interact President, and Head-Girl. Yes, it was a busy life, confident and quiet, without too many friends. Today, in hindsight, I realise why, though I was very friendly, I never really had any friends, or let anyone come really close to me. I was guarding a huge secret. My life changed when I was married at 19. Time stood still for 12 long years of that exile, except that I gave birth to two beautiful children, and reams of poetry. Both, together, preserved my sanity over the years.

One fine morning, I decided no more. No more games of power, money or sex. No more violence. I walked out of my marriage holding the hands of my two children, with no plan in mind. Into nothingness. With nothing. No maintenance, alimony, bank account, house, not even a CV. Had never worked till then. I walked into nothing. With nothing.

Except for one very heavy suitcase. The people I was leaving behind got really worried I was walking away with all the gold they had in their house. This was before demonetisation when we could have as much gold as we wanted. And they forced me to open the suitcase, to check, as they do at the airports now, in the name of security. And discovered only diaries, and notebooks, filled with poetry I had penned through the years.

This was 26 years ago. A lifetime of questioning the compulsion that kept me bound to violence for 12 years of my life.

Over the years, my search took me into prisons, colleges, villages, communities, and corporates. I talked to writers, artists, academics, philosophers, students, leaders, judges, prisoners, teachers, professionals, students, wives, mothers and daughters, asking them the same question, what makes us say yes when we want to say NO…

Theatre gave me my questions, which got me honest answers and helped me correlate what I had heard and read with what I had lived and seen. I came to my listeners, players, and workshop participants, bare and honest with all I had lived, seen, understood and read. My vulnerable sharing created a safe space for them to find themselves

I told stories, gathered stories and became a storyteller.

In the prison, I found women oppressed with ignorance, who had killed violently, or were there because they had refuted oppression. All these women imprisoned by the state were now choiceless.

Outside the prison, I met ‘free’ women. Some who were making choices, and others who believed they were making choices but were actually colliding with unwritten socio-cultural codes and boundaries and floundering. Some were choosing to be safe, others deluding themselves that they can choose to be safe. Like I was.

My life became all about exploring how do I exercise my choice when I am most vulnerable. What keeps us bound to violent structures? Am I so disconnected from myself that I have forgotten what it is to exercise choice? How do I build a bridge back to myself? How do I take responsibility for what is happening to me? In all this, I just knew one thing. I will no longer live the life of a victim, martyr, or tyrant.

I am accountable.

Very often I get asked, “If given a chance would you live your life differently?” In my early days, I would promptly respond, “If dealt with the same deck, then no. Change the deck, and maybe yes, my life would be different. I would make different choices.”

Till I understood about accountability. And realised that I could have redefined the same deck, and made different choices if I had understood this simple fact earlier. But, to be honest, the very next question I ask myself is, have I lived my life differently ever since I understood and started practising accountability? And I pause.

Deep reflection compels me to say. No. Not always. I have tried. And yet I slip. Even though I am aware today, I find it very hard to dig in my heels and stay accountable, not descend into living out the victim, martyr or tyrant still inherent within me.

I realised I slipped because I had not learned to build the bridge with my six-year-old self who was sexually abused.

And more importantly, I have yet to forgive my six-year-old self for experiencing pleasure during the sexual abuse. But if someone had built a bridge for that six-year-old child, held her hand, and explained that this was a violation. That she was not to be blamed. That she was not responsible. That it didn’t matter that she did not say NO. That it was not her fault. That she did not invite it upon herself. That this does not make her a bad girl.

If over the years in my adult life, there had been a bridge that connected me to my six-year-old self. Enabled me to forgive her, maybe I wouldn’t have accepted the domestic violence. If the guilt of experiencing pleasure during the sexual abuse at the age of six could be erased, I probably wouldn’t feel the need to hide my sexual desire, erase my sexuality, ignore sexual harassment and endure intimate partner violence and marital rape.

But that bridge was not built.

That was the seed where my choicelessness began. And till today prevents me from committing to accountability, and stops me from saying ‘No’ with conviction to choicelessness and irresponsibility.

Over the years, I have emerged as a playwright, actor, director, creative writer, and translator, having acted in, directed, written, and translated more than thirty plays and books. I acquired substantial experience as a senior facilitator for capacity building workshops with groups across social strata ranging from the judiciary to under trials and corporate to grass-root communities. My hunger for learning led me to become a Rotary Global Peace Fellow, a WISCOMP Scholar of Peace, Senior Fellow Literature — KK Birla Foundation. And at some point, over the years, I received the Karmaveer Gold Chakra and Karmaveer Puraskaar for Social Change and Justice. Today, I am the executive director/president of Sakshi, a rights-based NGO and the programme director of The Rakshin Project, a youth-led movement across 40,000 colleges pan-India to prevent, prohibit and resolve child sexual abuse.

All this and more, but what really matters is when one person stands up and says with confidence and conviction, “Smita, I know today what a violation of personal boundary means. I know today what sexually abusive behaviours are. I know today that I can say ‘NO’ and that my consent is critical at every stage. I know today that sexual violation is never ever my fault.” This is what I live for and work for. Today. Ceaselessly, relentlessly.

And in all this, somewhere, as I receive these sharings, my six-year-old is holding on to my adult finger and pulling me forward and onwards. I look at her. She is smiling. And with a deep sense of calmness within me, I continue to take responsible steps for my accountable self.