“I was travelling by bus from Indore to Bhopal. It was an overnight journey, about eight hours. The bus stopped at a highway dhaba around midnight. Everyone got down to use the washroom or buy tea.
It was time for isha. I didn't want to delay it. I walked a little away from the lights, near the side of the parking area, and spread a handkerchief on the ground. I wasn't blocking anyone. I wasn't loud. I just started praying.
I had just gone into sajdah when someone shouted. I didn't understand the words at first, only the anger in the voice. I looked up and saw two men standing a few metres away. One of them asked what I was doing. I said I was praying.
He laughed and said this was not a mosque. Another man said people like me make others uncomfortable. He asked me to stop.
I tried to explain that it would only take a minute. That I was not disturbing anyone. While I was talking, more people gathered. Someone took out their phone. Another person said I was trying to create trouble.
One man kicked the handkerchief away with his foot. He didn't touch me, but the message was clear. Someone else said, "Do this at home.”
I felt my throat tighten. I remember standing there, suddenly aware of how visible I was. How exposed. I folded my hands together without thinking, like I was apologizing.
The bus conductor came over. I thought he would stop them. Instead, he told me to finish quickly and get back on the bus because I was delaying everyone.
I didn't finish. I picked up my handkerchief and walked back. My hands were shaking. On the bus, nobody sat next to me. A woman moved her bag when I passed.
For the rest of the journey, I didn't pray. Not because I forgot. Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the man kicking the cloth away.
When I got home the next morning, my mother asked why I looked tired. I told her I hadn't slept well. I didn't tell her that I had stopped praying because I was afraid of being seen.
What stayed with me wasn't the shouting. It was how quickly prayer turned into something threatening in other people's eyes. How easily something peaceful became something suspicious.
I still pray. But I am careful now about where. And sometimes, when I hesitate, I wonder how many people learn to hide parts of themselves not because they want to, but because they are taught to.