Meswit Rongirl*
[TRIGGER WARNING]
I gave him a chance. I sent him a text. He replied with a lie. He could; he got away with it, after all. In his eyes, he already got what he wanted. R already won.
He knew if I reported him to the gym or the police, he’d eventually be fine. He’d just say no or, more effectively, “Fast meye, she asked for it,” and find a list of tell-tale signs of the sort of women that brown men liked to fetishize and shame. The “fast” free woman is often a vile entity in Bengali society– the woman who is shunned by so-called polite society and makes things difficult for her family to accept her fully—the woman who is vulnerable without a community. A woman who dared to live alone and dared trust a man.
Even if she has a community, would she really go to the police? Would she really go through the hassle of filing a case and fighting in a court that would seek ways to prove her faults rather than focusing on the manipulations of a sexual predator?
Would she really put her parents through the pain to seek justice?
She knew society would not be kind to them either.
But this time, he hurt a woman who would not let other women fall trap; that is the only justice she seeks. She also likes to point out to this Islamic population that Islamic law proposes castration as the ideal form of justice for sexual predators.
He goes by the name R, a fitness trainer at a popular gym in Banani, frequented by many affluent and regular people. When I first met him, he was introduced by the gym management as the head trainer. He seemed professional, said he was also a physiotherapist, and wasn’t overly friendly or exhibiting any other suspicious behavior. In fact, it was annoying that, at first, I didn’t get the focused tutelage for my weight training because I’m a girl, but that’s a different topic.
I don’t know about other Dhaka gyms, but this gym felt like a male-dominated sweat hall, with groups of laughing men towering over the weight racks and mirrors, with three or four girls meekly littered here and there as the men eyed them squatting. I guess that’s why most females were seen working out on the second floor. Most men in that gym freely stare at women working out rather than normalize. But hey, that’s just Bangladesh, right?
Within days of training, I started getting told about this technique he was certified to do as a physiotherapist that helped with fat burning. I was intrigued; I had a slow metabolism from 20 years of epilepsy medication. But I was enjoying training, so I didn’t think much about it. But he said it was a natural medication with properties that would help with the pain from my injuries, along with a machine that he could carry and have the procedure done in the comfort of our homes.
Curious about this medication– as I didn’t want to mess with anything synthetic– I asked more about the chemical. He assured me it was completely natural and was paired with an additional workout plan in that time frame to have the maximum impact. “I’ve mostly had models and clients from showbiz,” said R. “What’s the name of the method?” I asked. “It’s a combination where the medicine and the rays from the machine help with your metabolism to work faster.” I asked, “how expensive is it?
“Since you’re part of this gym, you can only pay for the medication; I usually charge 50k- 1 lakh depending on client, but don’t worry about it,” he said, “you’re a part of this gym after all.”
I guess that should have been suspicious. I trusted professionalism and humanity more than I should have as a woman.
In a couple of months of training hard and not seeing the results despite the level of cardio and increasing weights I’ve been putting in, I started thinking about this method. And he was there to remind me of it. I mean, why not? He is a professional provided by this gym and has extensive experience (or so he said). And I had a really tough year. Wouldn’t a no-saggy skin be a nice gift for myself during my birthday week? I responded asking about an appointment with my would-be perpetrator.
The first day, he missed his own appointment. He initiated the reschedule on his own
(me trusting a man to be a professional led to whatever happened later).
—
I served tea to my would-be perpetrator.
He was getting his gear out of his bag and looking professional with his explanation of the machine and the gel. But when I saw this “gel,” I saw a bottle with a familiar and distinctive shape. Of course, this same bottle could be used for many things, but I’ve only seen that specific bottle by Meril for glycerine. That was my first discomfort: why is he talking about natural medicine but using glycerine? Were there more items that he would take out? Why was I not told I would have to take any clothing off, or that there would be a massage at all? I was starting to panic.
And just when the panic was rising, he assertively asked me to change into a towel so he could begin his procedure. I was scared and panicked inside. I had read about “freeze response” during sexual assault, but at that moment, it wasn’t even registering in my head I might be molested now. Something childish in me was trying to innocently protect myself from the realization of turning into a sexual abuse victim. Neuroscience shows that frozenness is an involuntary response to a threat that can prevent a victim from actively resisting and that it occurs throughout biology.
I thought maybe it was just because I was uncomfortable with a male physiotherapist, and I told myself to respect a professional and let him do his job. Little did I know that was his hook. This is clearly a man with a lot of experience in duping women like me into a vulnerable position where they had consented to him to be in. And that’s when he could enjoy his “job.” Once in a while, he might even land a few bored and sexually frustrated women who would consent to more. I’m not judging, but at no point, with my loose gym clothes and sisterly attitude, did I feel I gave any indication of sexual advance.
I imagine he thought, “nobody would blame the namaz-praying innocent-faced R Bhai; if a liberal “fast meye” from Gulshan-Banani goes #MeToo on me, it’s going to come on her.” He could still have some fun doing the manipulation, and slow disarming of the woman, getting her to strip, like a porn fantasy, and rubbing her private parts.
The molestation didn’t happen the entire time, although I was trapped the minute I was asked to be in a towel and had only my sleeved robe, over a towel, over undergarments. I’m not comfortable with too much skin out in this country. A free spirit, I’m no hardcore conservative or Hijabi, but neither was I fond of revealing too much skin. It was at first over the robe that this machine ran through, and slowly, with the extension of this so-called medication over my entire skin, not just the parts that were initially discussed, that I started to realize I am getting sexually abused right now. I was afraid if I screamed right now, he could rape me.
Bit by bit, he made me take my robe off (while I scrambled to cover it with a blanket or whatever I could) as he roughly rubbed my skin; after that, the towel, and then eventually, he asked me to take my undergarments off even though I did not want to. He said, “This part is necessary, and don’t worry, I assure you I am a professional.”
At first, he only touched larger areas as I cringed. But towards the end, he retained his focus on my inner thighs and swiftly taking off my underwear, he, without penetration, molested me. Following that, he made me take my bra off, saying he would need to work on the side glands, but he proceeded to squeeze my entire mammary glands to the tips, which hurt the whole night.
The whole time, as I cringed, he would repeat, “I’m a professional.” But I have gotten therapeutic massages, pap smears, and invasive procedures before. I knew his touch, with no gloves of a professional, and my body knew his entire con by then while cornered, stripped, and panicking about getting raped.
Physiotherapists and massage specialists who are truly professional explain protocol before they arrive. They were gloves for intimate areas after announcing their process. This is a man who intentionally left the method out; let me think the method was an injection or medication followed by a machine– one which required no nudity or touching of private areas.
He left, and I couldn’t process it. A friend had also come over soon after for her personal work with me, and I wasn’t getting the opportunity to process it and grasp the reality. Surely, I couldn’t be so foolish to have allowed a sexual predator to abuse me in my own home? But as this friend left and another arrived, one to whom I was confiding how I really felt, I realized there was no physiotherapy. This is a fake method an expert sexual predator devised that he cleverly manipulated women to ask for and invite him into his home. It was then I realised his diploma might be falsified too, because he gave no name and verification of methodology when I asked, before and after.
I have been talking to a few friends, and so far, we have found at least three more women who have been approached, creeped out by him as well as abused. One woman had previously reported him to the gym owner, and nothing came of it. However I went to report to the employers prepared, and they are firing him as well as agreed to support me if I file a case
And the first thing a female lawyer cautioned me of is that this justice system, with its misogynistic line of questioning coming from police and army who care more about harassing the woman’s character than about punishing and stopping a perpetrator and sexual predator. But I will not stop at just this.
I need to have women know that there is a trainer like this, and he probably does this regularly and has shared this method with more predators. This man suspiciously has no social media or trace on Google.
I will not be silent. Women need to stop hiding and worry about what is wrong or right before not warning another woman about a sexual offender. I encourage more women to come forward and report these men together and separately. I also encourage women and men in management to value a woman’s voice rather than favor the criminal.
(*name changed for protection*)
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