What a time to be alive.

When people mull over the idea of living in a simulation, it evokes two distinct reactions:

1. The contemplation that we may indeed reside in such a construct.

2. Speculation about the nature of the entity orchestrating this simulated world – what a cruel dude up there, watching and laughing while we squirm under his horrible jokes.

Today stands as a vivid illustration of this duality. My day unfolded with the typical train journey to college, all while enduring the scorching heat of Mumbai (though that's a side note). Breaks between lectures are always fun, and who doesn't enjoy waiting in huge serpentine queues? It was during a maneuver to the canteen on the opposite side of the floor that I felt a hand on my back as we waded through the moderate crowd. Assuming it was my friend behind me, I continued walking without much thought. It wasn't until we had escaped the swarm that my friend and I exchanged baffled glances. "Do you know that guy?" she asked. "There was something unsettling about that touch," I thought quietly. We were both equally shocked and irritated, yet we chose to let the incident pass.

In hindsight, I must confess there was a part of me that consciously avoided looking behind, hoping it was my friend assisting me through the crowd - the ideal scenario right?

If this odd encounter wasn't perplexing enough, let's fast forward to the journey back home. My daily commute is a significant drain on my time and energy, involving three train changes to reach my destination. As I disembarked from the train, the platform was relatively uncrowded. The recurring mention of crowds is crucial for what unfolded next. A man wearing a pink cap and carrying a mud-colored bag intentionally and gently pushed me. It may sound theatrical, but it felt like a sharp jab to the exact spot where I was nudged. Another man stood nearby, visibly uneasy, while I simmered with unabated anger. The burning sensation from that encounter clung to me throughout my final journey home.

The most unsettling episode occurred when I reached the station. Upon arriving at the auto stand and pleading with an auto driver to accept the ride (a situation we all know too well), a seemingly respectable auto driver gazed at me strangely. He sported a half-crooked smile, and throughout the ride, I could feel his unnerving eyes on me through the tiny rearview mirror.

Two bizarre incidents in a single day may seem extraordinary. This is when the notion of a simulation run by a capricious, mischievous entity comes to mind. I don't believe I need to persuade you much on this theory. My heart sympathizes deeply with those who encounter these experiences on a daily basis. Every unwarranted touch, every invasive gesture, every malevolent stare chips away at one's sense of humanity.

These incidents highlight that there isn't a specific class or type of individuals perpetrating such actions. One episode unfolded within an educational institution, another at a train station, and yet another at an auto stand. The motives behind these actions remain a puzzle.

As for a solution, it's not immediately evident. Blaming everyone around us is neither fair nor constructive. Amid these unsettling experiences, it's important to acknowledge the numerous men who go the extra mile to ensure the safety of women in their vicinity. On behalf of all, we express our deep gratitude to them, and our appreciation will endure.

This might be the millionth or perhaps even more, instance of you coming across such narratives. Brace yourself, and I apologize for any perceived repetition. For those who may call this as just another rant from a "feminazi" about safety concerns, it's worth noting that a survey conducted by The Times of India revealed a staggering statistic: 80 percent of harassment incidents go unreported. This statistic should make us question whether we should simply accept the refrain of "It's okay; it happens," or if we ought to take decisive action to address these issues.

However, it's essential to understand that no matter how frequently these incidents occur, they're not just everyday events for us. Each one is a fresh wound atop existing scars, threatening to leave us with nothing but unhealed pain.

Monday Blues never felt so real.

What a time to be alive.