Jantar Mantar was crowded, yet I breathed freely

It is 2015. I am in Old Delhi’s Sadar Bazar two days before Holi, speaking to a seller for a story. As the dense crowd kicks up dust, I lean in to listen to my interviewee better. A hand gropes me from behind. I turn around. It happens again, this time from the front. I feel disoriented, lose the thread of conversation with the seller and start walking towards the metro. In the metro, I grab a seat and once the coach is empty enough, call up a friend to share what happened. He suggests I speak to a senior female editor. It may make me feel better. I think, and decide against it.I was 22. Barely one year into the profession, and less than two months into that particular job. Talking felt like making a bigger deal out of it than it actually was. Did it even qualify as harassment? What if it