It Isn’t Easy to Understand Men. People often say women are difficult to… | by Kasturi Sarkar | Aug, 2025

People often say women are difficult to understand — moody, unpredictable, emotional. But the truth is, men aren’t much simpler. They may not blame their hormones, but their shifting behavior can be just as confusing. One moment, they are protective and kind; the next, they can turn aggressive, intimidating, even dangerous. My own experience a decade ago taught me this lesson in the harshest way possible. And yet, it also revealed how courage and presence of mind can make all the difference when facing danger.

It was a blazing summer morning in 2014. The ceiling fans in the gym spun tirelessly, but the air still felt thick and heavy. Shalini was pounding away on the treadmill, sweat dripping down her temples, her breath coming in steady bursts. Around her, women grunted and pushed themselves — some bending into pilates poses, some clanking dumbbells, others stretching on mats darkened by perspiration. The rhythmic whir of machines, the faint beats of workout music, and the acrid smell of sweat filled the room.

Finally, Shalini hit the stop button, her chest heaving. She gulped water greedily, cool liquid sliding down her parched throat. Her trainer, Nisha, gave her a congratulatory pat.

“Seven kilometers… good going, girl. Go home now, and tomorrow we start strength training.”

Shalini managed a smile, packed her bottle into her black gym bag, and headed toward the glass exit doors. The moment she stepped outside, the sun stung her skin, and the noisy traffic of the crossroad rushed at her ears. The gym was right across from a small Hanuman temple, its red flag fluttering lazily in the warm breeze. As always, Shalini paused mid-crossing, folded her hands, and bowed her head for a second. “Give me strength, Bajarangbali,” she whispered, before moving on toward home — a short five-hundred-meter walk.

Barely fifty steps later, that uneasy shiver prickled her spine. The hairs on her arms stood up. She turned slightly. A man lingered behind — late fifties, compactly built, skin tanned, his grey hair bristling under the sun. He quickly averted his eyes. Shalini’s heart skipped. “Maybe I’m overthinking,” she tried convincing herself, resuming her pace.

But again, the sensation of being watched pressed heavier on her. She avoided looking back this time and instead veered into a small grocery store at the corner. The smell of ripe bananas and coriander filled her nose, but she barely noticed. Pretending to browse, she picked up random items — biscuits, a packet of lentils — while her thoughts raced.

He’s still there. He hasn’t left.

Her pulse hammered in her throat. For a moment she considered calling her uncle, but a voice inside rebelled. No. If I call someone, he’ll think he succeeded in scaring me. I can’t give him that power. I need to fight back.

From the store doorway, she spotted the open gates of a nearby school. Parents and children bustled in, uniforms crisp, lunch boxes swinging. Summoning her courage, Shalini slipped into the stream of families and entered the school compound. She stood by a wall, trying to blend in, but her trembling hands betrayed her.

The watchman, tall and stocky with a salt-and-pepper moustache, noticed her unease. He approached gently, lowering his voice. “Madam, are you looking for someone?”

Shalini shook her head, whispering, “No… a man has been following me since the gym. I don’t want him to see where I live.”

The watchman’s eyes hardened. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

Through the small gap in the gate, Shalini glimpsed the stalker waiting outside, scanning the crowd. Her stomach twisted. But the watchman acted swiftly. He turned toward the children and raised his voice:

“Kids, please enter from Gate №2. Quickly, all of you! The Principal’s car is about to arrive, and it needs to be parked at this gate. Move along, move along!”

The obedient children chattered excitedly, rushing toward Gate №2 in a noisy wave. Parents followed, and the watchman opened the gate wide, letting the crowd spill through. The stalker, standing nearby, was forced to step aside, momentarily distracted by the throng.

The watchman hurried back to Shalini. “Now! This is the time. Slip out through the small side gate, and go to the crossroad. Get an auto from there. But don’t take the straight road to your house — take the long route instead. Do you know it?”

Shalini nodded quickly, gratitude brimming in her eyes. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Uncle.”

She hurried out, her heart still pounding like a drum. At the road, she waved desperately at a passing auto-rickshaw. The driver slowed, squinting at her sweat-streaked face. As she slid into the backseat, she instinctively turned toward the Hanuman temple in the distance. Folding her hands tightly, her eyes brimmed. “Thank you, Lord Hanuman, for giving me the courage to fight back,” she murmured. Only then did she tell the driver, “Bhaiya, take the long route. I’ll pay extra.”

The auto jerked forward, its engine growling. Shalini’s eyes darted to the rearview mirror — once, twice, thrice — searching for the man. But he was gone. Slowly, her lungs loosened, and the panic drained from her body.

Twenty minutes later, she arrived home. Her mother stood anxiously at the gate, phone in hand, pacing. The moment she spotted Shalini, she rushed forward.

“Why are you so late? Why didn’t you pick up my calls?” she cried, voice shrill with fear.

Shalini paid the driver quickly and snapped, “Don’t shout here, Ma. Let’s go inside.”

Inside, she collapsed onto the sofa, her body still trembling. Her mother brought water, eyes wide with worry. “Tell me, what happened?”

As Shalini recounted every detail, her mother’s eyes welled. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have sent your uncle!”

Shalini leaned back, exhausted but resolute. “Because, Ma, you or uncle won’t always be there. I have to learn to face this myself.”

Her mother hugged her tightly, as if to shield her from the world. But deep inside, Shalini knew the truth: that day she had already shielded herself.

She had also learned something else — that men are like two sides of a coin. One can stalk and terrify, another can protect and save. One can feel like a Ravana, another like a guardian. Men are difficult to understand, perhaps impossible. But she realized something even more important: her own courage was not.

That experience left me with a lasting truth: men may be difficult to understand, but courage never is. The world will always have both Ravanas and protectors, but what really matters is finding the strength within ourselves to face either. Because sometimes, survival isn’t about who comes to save you — it’s about refusing to be defeated.