THIS HAPPENED TO ME | MEMOIR

I’ll Never Be Sorry I Wore My Red Sari

I was the only saleswoman in the office and lost my innocence

The year was 1990. I worked as a sales manager in a reputed organization. I was the only woman on the team. While it was a good team, there was always the undercurrent of having to prove myself. When sales territories were allocated, the boss asked me if I would rather stick to the city area instead of the industrial belt, which was far away and tougher to handle. Then, he asked me if I needed one of the managers to accompany me when I went to meet the CEO of a company.

As it happened, I was quite capable of doing my job and did pretty well. And yet, there were situations I wish I had handled differently.

That day dawned bright and clear. I set off to work in an upbeat mood, wearing a red tie-dye sari with a matching blouse that tied at the back. I wore my hair in a topknot and felt rather chipper in my three-inch heels. It was the deadline to wrap up our monthly target.

Each one of us was excited about competing for the salesperson of the month title since it carried a bonus. I was no exception. I was expecting one last order that would tip the scales in my favor.

My client, who was to place the order, was traveling and was expected only around 4.30 p.m. in the afternoon. He informed me that he didn’t have the time to visit our office and complete the paperwork. So I agreed to drop by his home office with the papers and collect the order.

Around 4 p.m., I set off on my scooter to the client’s place. Now, this was literally a doozy for me as this was a repeat order from this client, who was happy with our products and service. All I had to do was collect the order and check. I reached his place by 4.25 p.m. His wife showed me into their living room to wait.

He arrived promptly at 4.30 p.m. After a few minutes, his wife brought us coffee and excused herself, saying that she had an errand to run.

As we had our coffee, the client chatted about his trip, the state of the industry and so on. Then he moved over to the sofa where I sat, supposedly to sign the paperwork. At the time, I had no idea of what was going to happen.

The paperwork was done and he wrote the check and handed it to me.

When I reached out to take it, he didn’t let go of the papers. Instead, he held out his other hand, palm facing upwards.

I was puzzled at this. I was keen on getting back to my office before 6 p.m. to finish the order registration.

Then, to my utter shock, he simply grabbed my hand and smiled at me. I still didn’t get it. I thought he wanted to shake hands before I left. In retrospect, how stupid of me!

I must mention here that he came across as one of those gentle people. He was of slight build, average height, and bespectacled — the type one might easily overlook in a crowd. Totally non-threatening.

But you know what they say about appearances. This man was certainly deceptive.

As soon as he grabbed my hand, my surprise must have shown on my face. I was speechless. I tried to withdraw my hand, squirming.

And I blurted, “Excuse me, sir. Please let go of my hand.”

He sleazily continued to smile and said, “My wife has gone out. How about some fun?”

I had a mind freeze. I said the first thing I could think of. “I am not interested. I need to get back to my office.”

A weak response, I know.

Then he continued, as if I had not spoken, “Ha! I know you salesgirls. You protest, then you enjoy.”

To which, I responded with a tongue that suddenly seemed to have lost its function, “I am not like that.”

I abruptly got up, grabbed the papers and my bag, and rushed to the door. I imagined him chasing me, but luckily for me, that did not happen. I fumbled with the door handle As I shut the door and turned quickly to see through the glass, I saw him lounging with a smirk on his face, watching me leave.

Still nervous, I made my way to the gate and out. I hoisted my scooter off the stand and wheeled it a few yards away. Then I breathed, trying to calm down, half afraid he might just walk out and who knows what he might do. Minutes later, I rode back to my office feeling acutely embarrassed at the way I had reacted.

I have often imagined situations like this and in my mind, I would always come across as self-assured with a sarcastic and confident comeback. Alas, reality had proved to be quite the opposite.

When I walked into my office, I was still upset. My teammates took one look at my face and a couple of them came over to ask what was wrong. They enjoyed teasing me about the permanent smile I seemed to have on my face.

When I narrated what had happened, they were furious and wanted to go over to the client’s place and beat him up. Of course, better sense prevailed.

This got me thinking of my other clients. There was one who seemed like a really decent sort. I often had to wait in his secretary’s cabin to meet him. She and I became friends. One day, she emerged from his office looking rather shaken. Making a mental note to ask her about it, I went into my meeting with him. When I came out ten minutes later, I peeked into her cabin to see her crying. Alarmed, I went over and put my arm around her. I was stunned when she told me what happened.

Apparently, every time he called her to his office to take notes, he would get up and walk around the table, supposedly to visit the restroom. On his way back to his seat, he would stop behind her chair, slide his hand down her neck, and grope her breasts.

It seemed unbelievable — but I knew now that anything was possible.

I am angry now to think of all the things I could have said or done every time I was in such a situation. Except, my mind simply seemed to take a vacation and I became tongue-tied or said something weak.

Decades have passed. I think those experiences made me stronger. There were instances where I did react the right way — that’s a story for another day.

And yet, it saddens me to think that most women are afraid to even speak out about the things they face. If they do talk about it, the reaction almost always is that it is the woman’s fault — for dressing the way she did or for being friendly.

You should have reported the abuse! You should have told him to stop touching you!

We are simply considered the weaker sex and not good enough when compared to men. I am tired of hearing the words, “This is not a job for women.”

Will it ever end?

Thank you for reading ❤