Encounters with enemies. Faceless and otherwise

Later today, I will be part of a discussion on whether Bangalore is safe for women. I must admit my opinions are playing a game of ice hockey in the grey area. Nevertheless, this is something I'd written long long ago about sexual harassment(we will agree to not dignify any such term as 'eve teasing') on the streets and suchlike.

---------------------------------------------

This is being written with a considerable amount of anger. You can say that some latent fury just stood up and decided to make itself known. I am not a misandrist, before you’ve delivered your judgment. I’m afraid I’ve never had it in me to reserve hatred for any group of people. But when offended directly, one cannot soothe the resultant repulsion with balmy kindness or icy indifference.

If you are a woman, you will well know what it is like to be touched, frisked, stared at, groped by strangers. Especially walking the streets of India, one has to be on one’s guard all the time. One has to take necessary precautions such as not ‘inviting attention’ where it isn’t warranted. Here, debates rage about whether a woman who was raped deserved it. I don’t have the wisdom to think any one thing about each of these arguments. What I do know, is that it is painful to suffer in silence the disregard for one’s modesty.

How many times I have been felt up or stared at on crowded streets, I have like most women lost count. And through time even come to somewhat dismiss. But there are some incidents I can’t quite forget. I still remember the day when some urchin, on a moving bike brushed my back with a quick, slimy hand when I was walking down a deserted street. I was fourteen. I remember very clearly how shocked I was at the offensive touch. I didn’t cry. I had gone home and locked myself up in my room. The reason I recall this is because on that day, I was filled with repulsion for myself. I felt like I had done something wrong and unexplainably asked for it. It took many, many years and some more maturity to realize that this is just how a lot of women feel when they have similar experiences. Why does a victim of abuse (“mild” or otherwise) hate herself when she is not at fault?

 Worse still is when the perpetrators of these offences are people you know. How does one react when a good ‘friend’ casually places his hand on your shoulder, or your back or touches you in a manner that can be best described as objectionable in your mind and as “accidental” to a wordless, mutual understanding? When simple handshakes at parties turn into surprise hugs, from people you barely know. We are liberal people, living in intelligent times when, often, a woman protesting something she perceives as being ‘done to her’ can easily become “feminist rant” or even “femishit fury” (as is termed in online forums, springs of creativity that they are). Why is a woman’s demand for her modesty to be respected, reflective of the feminist cause? Do people even know the difference?

I would be lying if I said that I am scared to walk the streets and live in fear of the predatorial street males I am spewing venom at. I often take late night walks alone and have had many uneventful, wonderful walks. Some weeks ago, I was walking in a somewhat empty street and saw a man walking a few paces behind me. He was short, and dark and wore a bright yellow shirt. My eyes were fixed on the ground as they normally are while walking but did not fail to notice that he looked like a construction worker from around there. I did not realize he was following me until a few minutes later. Due to a comical turn of events on the day, I was not wearing glasses and could not see very far. I was listening to music as I walked down the street, my diminished eyesight until that point only an unpleasant glitch. Growing uneasiness prompted me to turn and see to my horror that he was fiddling with his crotch. I was aghast and realized I was alone in an empty street. The road was dark and the few streetlights didn’t help the girl who had just broken her spectacles. This man had been following me for the last ten minutes. Fear was heaving down any intelligible things my mind said to me. He stopped too. For about a second, he stared at me as I stupidly stared back. Both of us looked terrified. I then turned and walked as quickly as possible, hoping to find the safety that crowds in most cases provide.

I may forget that such a thing happened to me a few years later. I do want to remember for long that although I was afraid, I did not, like the fourteen year old me, question what I had done wrong to deserve it. I can now see, if insensitively, that he was the sexually frustrated Indian wretch thrust from some conservatively mute village somewhere into this crazed city of free floating temptations. I was the liberated woman, not regarding the famously unknown dangers of a dark, lonely street. And there we were facing each other, both of us afraid of being found out. But I was/am free of hating myself for somebody else’s grimy mind, and that to me is good news.

One of the first lessons current society teaches a young woman is to fear the ugly things men of wrong moral leanings can do, and we are indirectly taught not to ask for it. This same caution, after an unruly male is done meddling with you, immediately festers into the doubt and insecurity that repeatedly claws at you and asks you what you did wrong. Of what use is caution if it results in hurt and more fear?

I am glad I have grown out of thinking that some twisted man eyed me because I did wrong. I am glad that the anger fizzled out to my benefit. I cannot walk with placards screaming comebacks with other women who chose to channel their anger that way. I can only hope that people who have seen worse get out of thinking they were party to the crime committed against them or on the other hand, remain victims long after.

For the good of the educated, decent until proven otherwise, urban male, I really do hope education will come to giving people not just respect for feats of courage and bravery and intelligence but also, the undeniable importance of decency. Men of today, more importantly tomorrow, urgently need to learn to respect decency. Be it the man on the street, looking to brush past a woman on the streets or boys, learned and accomplished, placing friendly hands on a girl friend’s knees just because they can. 


------------------

Edit: I was just going through my awesome cousin Deepika Nagabhushan's piece in Citizen Matters on a relevant topic and thought it was a brilliant article. Read http://bangalore.citizenmatters.in/articles/view/1022-karaga-festival-bangalore