1/5/11
BN GUY Samar- Delhi
language: Hindi
I won't ever forget this. A boy passed a comment at a girl and we grabbed him by the collar and whacked him. He said nothing except " What did I do wrong? everybody does it."
10/11/10
From Sahas
you have asked for the specific incidents here are few of witnessed---
- It was a summer evening of 2008 at Central Park. That day the 12th std CBSE result had come out n a group of gals around 8-10 (Must be 12th pass outs) were enjoying at the Central Park, CP. They were just having fun along the artificial stream. I was sitting on the lawns. A group of boys 3-4 in their early 20s started crossing the way of girls, passing remarks and even splash water on them even without knowing them. The park was very much crowded though the act of the boys was very much direct and qualifies to be called as intimidation nobody took a notice of it. I was very much disturbed by observing this for sometime. By the time I made up my mind to intervene the gals replied back and warned the guys to slap and hit back if they again tried to come their way. Then the boys did not return. I was quite happy to c the unity of the gals.
- This is something I observe everyday in DTC buses, in Metro and in Sharing Autorickshaw- there would enough space but few people intentionally try to stand or take the seat closer to gals and brush shoulder with the ladies, jerk or no jerk in the moving vehicle. When gals complaint then they move aside. But complaint by gals is very rare. In each case the uncomfortable feeling is quite visible on the face of the ladies. I feel very much agitated in all instances but unfortunately can’t afford to intervene.
- What I’m shocked to see in Delhi is almost all the eve-teasing cases are committed by educated, college going, sophisticated stylish yo-yo type guys. The eve teaser is not necessarily be the rogue, down market, mowali type guy anymore. Even in Metro and other places where the guys are with gals they find it act of Macho to pass remarks about gals and what is most appalling is that the gals are appreciative in most of the cases.
- I’m a law student and to tell you that even my classroom in law faculty is also not free from this…we witness many everyday.
What I’ve gathered from my experience is that, It’s not the act of eve teasing we have to fight with rather the ‘mind set’ towards the women in a city where nobody is there to claim that it’s mine and I’ve to preserve its reputation.
1/11/10
BN Guy Haresh
I am a guy and it didn't happen with me. It happened with two girls in a public bus three years back.
I took a bus from my residence in Sector 29 of Vashi. I was standing and a guy was standing beside me and there were two girls standing on the opposite side of the aisle. The guy was around 25-26 years at that time I guess. And I was 22. Then, after a few stops, that guy slowly went on the other side, right between the two girls even when there was a lot of space on this side. No one except me apparently noticed this. Slowly, he tried to hold one of the pipes in the bus to 'support himself' where he actually was trying to touch the hand of one of the girls. But, the girl soon became aware of this and she removed her hand from there. After some time, that guy brought his hand down and started trying to 'inadvertently' touch the other girl on and around her thighs. The girl was unaware of this. But, I told him loudly, 'Why do you stand there in the narrow space between two girls when there is enough space over this side and I've been seeing you for quite some time that you're trying to touch this girl on her hand and this girl on thigh.' The two girls and a few passengers around heard them and the guy started defending himself. He in fact argued, 'Is ladkiya kuch nahi bol rahi hain t tu kyu bol raha hain. Maine kuch nahi kiya'. I replied that they even aren't aware of it. I kept on making him feel ashamed. Eventually, he got down at the next bus-stop.
* "If the girl isn't saying a thing, why are you? I didn't do anything."
Location: A public bus (BEST?), Vashi, Navi Mumbai
I took a bus from my residence in Sector 29 of Vashi. I was standing and a guy was standing beside me and there were two girls standing on the opposite side of the aisle. The guy was around 25-26 years at that time I guess. And I was 22. Then, after a few stops, that guy slowly went on the other side, right between the two girls even when there was a lot of space on this side. No one except me apparently noticed this. Slowly, he tried to hold one of the pipes in the bus to 'support himself' where he actually was trying to touch the hand of one of the girls. But, the girl soon became aware of this and she removed her hand from there. After some time, that guy brought his hand down and started trying to 'inadvertently' touch the other girl on and around her thighs. The girl was unaware of this. But, I told him loudly, 'Why do you stand there in the narrow space between two girls when there is enough space over this side and I've been seeing you for quite some time that you're trying to touch this girl on her hand and this girl on thigh.' The two girls and a few passengers around heard them and the guy started defending himself. He in fact argued, 'Is ladkiya kuch nahi bol rahi hain t tu kyu bol raha hain. Maine kuch nahi kiya'. I replied that they even aren't aware of it. I kept on making him feel ashamed. Eventually, he got down at the next bus-stop.
* "If the girl isn't saying a thing, why are you? I didn't do anything."
Location: A public bus (BEST?), Vashi, Navi Mumbai
12/2/09
Dhruva Ghosh
Eve-teasing, per se, and street sexual harassment are not identical, as we have agreed, in the past. I think, of all the various axes the subject can be dissected along, one of the most important issues was, and continues to remain, the degree and nature of engagement of two individuals, on the street, against a social backdrop. Fact remains that sexual instinct is a powerful one. In the average human being where roughly 90% of all sensory stimulus is visual, sight (and therefore 'checking out' ) plays a strong role in reproductive behaviour. Therefore it makes it very difficult for one to draw a line where looking crosses the margin of the acceptable and becomes a menace. I have known men to ogle at women with or without their knowledge in several ways, and mean no harm. Yet I have also seen otherwise. The point of this monologue is this. Perhaps there is no uniform prescription. Only a certain awareness of the situation and an emergent resolution of the issue is the way out. No one really wants the trouble, more or less. The gap is merely one of communication. And this gap is widened by closed minds, differing currencies of sensibility, and misperception, amongst other things.
12/1/09
John P Matthew for the Blank Noise Blogathon (2006)
Comments on my blog post on "Street Harassment"
No, John, No chappals from me. I agree with your tongue-in-cheek analysis of street harassment. To survive, you need to be tough, blasé, and tell yourself, men are dogs. No, not you. And actually, not quite a few men I know. But like one negotiates potholes, shit, stray dogs, beggars, BEST buses, rickshaws, etc, etc on our big, bad roads, the same with eve teasers.
Batul Mukhtiar
Well, you do have a point, John, but let me tell you my perspective...
Women are harassed on the streets even if dresses are not so revealing, and despite sindoor. They have always been.
Sometimes ignoring works. But yes, knowing self defence is a good idea. I have used the good old safety pin quite often. And I hope the men who have been at the receiving end of my "weapon" have not dared to repeat their acts.
I remember once Bhopal police ran a unique anti-harassment drive near my all-girls' college. The head of any man found guilty was shaved!
I am raising my son to respect women. Hope his children will respect women even more. And gradually, change should happen.
Smita Rajan
Batul: "To survive, you need to be tough, blase, and tell yourself, men are dogs. "
Please do not take this extreme view. They are only misguided. As Smita says we have to work towards a change in attitude.
Smita: "Women are harassed on the streets even if dresses are not so revealing, and despite sindoor. They have always been."
I had forgotten one vital point. Kamayani has stated on her Ryze page that "portrayal of women in the media is one of the major causes of violence towards women," something to that effect. In the same vein I would say "portrayal of women in films and serials is one of the major reasons for eve teasing and street harassment."
In films women are shown to playfully enjoy being called "Chamak Challo," so men assume in real life too they love being called that. Wrong assumption. In films they are following the dream merchants' tricks to get more people to watch the movie and in real life it hurts to be called "Chamak Challo."
so the portrayal of women in the media also has to change with the change of attitude we are aiming towards.
Confession time: Even I used to have a "teaser's mentality" (no not an outright teaser, as I was shy of girls, but I still do "look" [the "that woman is stunningly beautiful" sort of look, and i have been amply rewarded by a smile for my efforts] if that amounts to harassment, please enlighten) at one time and I changed when I had enough wonderful women friends. If I can change then all men can, I am sure.
John
No, John. I don't really believe men are dogs. I meant it in the same tone as was your article. For that moment of time, when one is being teased, like a bit of a whiplash, actually, one just reacts. That's it. I don't believe in generalizations. Nor do I enjoy being a "Chammak Challo". But I do like being looked at appreciatevely as I am sure, do men
Batul
My reaction to a post on Anita's blog.
We, as a society aren't ready enough for our women to wear g-strings, as yet. If they do, it's at their own risk.
I hint at a feminine revolution, but the harbingers have to go by the status quo before changing attitudes and perception.
As I also said elsewhere, the provocation happens in a song video, but the rape happens in a lonely spot to an innocent girl who least expects it, by a man who hasn't learnt to be nonchalant (as it happened to a girl in a police chowky in Bombay).
John
Whatever made you think you'd have chappals thrown at you?
Naa...
I enjoyed every bit of this post. And I'm taking the advice about the martial art. :)
Ulrica
nice post. and no , am not aiming any of my footwear at you. Though I must say, just being a female is enough to get cat calls. I grew up being called ugly by my family so was really aghast when I still got lewd passes made at me. And, no I havent worn a mini in my life :P
Bilbo
What gave you the idea that salwar-kameez's and sari's can shield you from being groped?!! That's just a fantasy! And you don't think married women with sindoor and mangalsutra's get molested everyday?! Ask around. You'll be surprised. It's not about g-strings and revealing clothes. It rarely is.
Chryselle
John I dunno what to say! I personally don't like telling people what to do. I'd rather advise men to keep off. If its ain't your business then its ain't your business. Just keep off!
Why advise women as to how should they dress? Anyways, an engaging piece. :-)
Dan Hussein
"Dress in salwar-kameezes and saris and please do not show skin." even i thought that worked... but trust me it doesnt.
D
All of you are agreed that saris and salwar-kameezes aren't a deterrent to eve teasing. May be, I was wrong. But women friends who suggested this said this works. At least, the sindoor in hair parting bit as the man is aware that there is a man in her life and he doesn't stand a chance.
Dan, dost, I had to write something as I had already enlisted as a blogger. So why not offer a piece of advice? After all, it is my blog I am writing and my personal space.
John
"At least, the sindoor in hair parting bit as the man is aware that there is a man in her life and he doesn't stand a chance."
But John! The point here is that the eve-teaser does not care if the woman has a man in her life or not! All he needs to do is to grope and grope he will despite any marital status.
Smita Rajan
A serial rape, two molestations and a gang rape!
A serial rape and two molestations and a gang rape
Seems this blog is being converted (thought of using the word perverted) into a rape blog. I couldn't post this yesterday, and when I open the papers today there's another rape spashed across the pages.
We need to do some deep meditation before the nation degenerates, yes, degenerates, into a nation of rapists, molesters, lechers, and perverts.
I guess rape is about power. The power to confer sex is in the hands of the female of the species. But power of administration, business and comerce are with men. Men use women as tools to advance their power, administration, business and commerce. In the process women are forced to expose, pose in the nude, talk loftily about a lifestyle they crave, give the "come hither" looks.
Unmoderated, unregulated show of sexuality on screen can pervert men into thinking women are "available" when they are not. That leads to frustration, and rap happens.
Please comment. I would like to know what you think.
First the serial rape
A rich industrialist’s son, who drives a Mercedes, no less seems to be a serial rapist. He picked up a 52-year old woman from Colaba some place, took her to the textile mill he owns and raped her. I see your jaws dropping. Yes, she is 52 years old and he is the scion of one of the richest mill-owners in Bombay, and he raped her in the mill he owns. Whoa, what happening? As the Ripley’s Believe it or not presenter say, “Believe it.”
Seems he is a serial rapist and a sex maniac on the loose. A homosexual then came forward and testified that he had assaulted and raped him also. Then a call center employee came forth with another allegation that the same industrialist’s son had raped her on the Bombay-Pune expressway.
A Riot Over a Molestation on Holi
Ghansoli is a small village near Turbhe where I work. In this village two groups clashed with iron rods, swords, and sickles over a molestation of a girl on Holi. For those who came late, I mean those from foreign climes, Holi is the festival of springs when colored water and powder is thrown on each other in celebration of the coming of spring. It is an Indian custom and a festival of sorts.
Seems a girl was molested when throwing water, or powder on her. It is a common occurrence and many women have complained of men groping them on the pretext of applying colored water and powder. But a riot ensued and three people are dead. The police fired their weapons and many are injured and in hospital.
Masseur-ji in molestation case
Then this one tops this list. A masseur, a member of the Indian team that went to participate in the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, groped and attempted “to fondle” an attendant in the games village in that city.
Tut, tut, not done dear masseur-ji. Those white-skin “memsahibs” are not as forgiving as our local “madam-ji’s” when they are groped. You are used to groping cute young things in buses and in public places in India. Right? But those white-skinned “memsahibs” can slap you, drag you to court, humiliate you if you do the sort of stuff you do in DTC and BEST buses.
So be very careful when you are in a “phoren” country. Okay?
The gang rape
Today, there is news of a gang rape in Mira road. A teenager invited a girl of his age to his flat apparently for a birthday party. The girl innocently turns up and finds only the boy and his friends. She is given fruit juice laced with sleeping pills. She is taken into the bedroom shown porono films and gang raped.
No, John, No chappals from me. I agree with your tongue-in-cheek analysis of street harassment. To survive, you need to be tough, blasé, and tell yourself, men are dogs. No, not you. And actually, not quite a few men I know. But like one negotiates potholes, shit, stray dogs, beggars, BEST buses, rickshaws, etc, etc on our big, bad roads, the same with eve teasers.
Batul Mukhtiar
Well, you do have a point, John, but let me tell you my perspective...
Women are harassed on the streets even if dresses are not so revealing, and despite sindoor. They have always been.
Sometimes ignoring works. But yes, knowing self defence is a good idea. I have used the good old safety pin quite often. And I hope the men who have been at the receiving end of my "weapon" have not dared to repeat their acts.
I remember once Bhopal police ran a unique anti-harassment drive near my all-girls' college. The head of any man found guilty was shaved!
I am raising my son to respect women. Hope his children will respect women even more. And gradually, change should happen.
Smita Rajan
Batul: "To survive, you need to be tough, blase, and tell yourself, men are dogs. "
Please do not take this extreme view. They are only misguided. As Smita says we have to work towards a change in attitude.
Smita: "Women are harassed on the streets even if dresses are not so revealing, and despite sindoor. They have always been."
I had forgotten one vital point. Kamayani has stated on her Ryze page that "portrayal of women in the media is one of the major causes of violence towards women," something to that effect. In the same vein I would say "portrayal of women in films and serials is one of the major reasons for eve teasing and street harassment."
In films women are shown to playfully enjoy being called "Chamak Challo," so men assume in real life too they love being called that. Wrong assumption. In films they are following the dream merchants' tricks to get more people to watch the movie and in real life it hurts to be called "Chamak Challo."
so the portrayal of women in the media also has to change with the change of attitude we are aiming towards.
Confession time: Even I used to have a "teaser's mentality" (no not an outright teaser, as I was shy of girls, but I still do "look" [the "that woman is stunningly beautiful" sort of look, and i have been amply rewarded by a smile for my efforts] if that amounts to harassment, please enlighten) at one time and I changed when I had enough wonderful women friends. If I can change then all men can, I am sure.
John
No, John. I don't really believe men are dogs. I meant it in the same tone as was your article. For that moment of time, when one is being teased, like a bit of a whiplash, actually, one just reacts. That's it. I don't believe in generalizations. Nor do I enjoy being a "Chammak Challo". But I do like being looked at appreciatevely as I am sure, do men
Batul
My reaction to a post on Anita's blog.
We, as a society aren't ready enough for our women to wear g-strings, as yet. If they do, it's at their own risk.
I hint at a feminine revolution, but the harbingers have to go by the status quo before changing attitudes and perception.
As I also said elsewhere, the provocation happens in a song video, but the rape happens in a lonely spot to an innocent girl who least expects it, by a man who hasn't learnt to be nonchalant (as it happened to a girl in a police chowky in Bombay).
John
Whatever made you think you'd have chappals thrown at you?
Naa...
I enjoyed every bit of this post. And I'm taking the advice about the martial art. :)
Ulrica
nice post. and no , am not aiming any of my footwear at you. Though I must say, just being a female is enough to get cat calls. I grew up being called ugly by my family so was really aghast when I still got lewd passes made at me. And, no I havent worn a mini in my life :P
Bilbo
What gave you the idea that salwar-kameez's and sari's can shield you from being groped?!! That's just a fantasy! And you don't think married women with sindoor and mangalsutra's get molested everyday?! Ask around. You'll be surprised. It's not about g-strings and revealing clothes. It rarely is.
Chryselle
John I dunno what to say! I personally don't like telling people what to do. I'd rather advise men to keep off. If its ain't your business then its ain't your business. Just keep off!
Why advise women as to how should they dress? Anyways, an engaging piece. :-)
Dan Hussein
"Dress in salwar-kameezes and saris and please do not show skin." even i thought that worked... but trust me it doesnt.
D
All of you are agreed that saris and salwar-kameezes aren't a deterrent to eve teasing. May be, I was wrong. But women friends who suggested this said this works. At least, the sindoor in hair parting bit as the man is aware that there is a man in her life and he doesn't stand a chance.
Dan, dost, I had to write something as I had already enlisted as a blogger. So why not offer a piece of advice? After all, it is my blog I am writing and my personal space.
John
"At least, the sindoor in hair parting bit as the man is aware that there is a man in her life and he doesn't stand a chance."
But John! The point here is that the eve-teaser does not care if the woman has a man in her life or not! All he needs to do is to grope and grope he will despite any marital status.
Smita Rajan
A serial rape, two molestations and a gang rape!
A serial rape and two molestations and a gang rape
Seems this blog is being converted (thought of using the word perverted) into a rape blog. I couldn't post this yesterday, and when I open the papers today there's another rape spashed across the pages.
We need to do some deep meditation before the nation degenerates, yes, degenerates, into a nation of rapists, molesters, lechers, and perverts.
I guess rape is about power. The power to confer sex is in the hands of the female of the species. But power of administration, business and comerce are with men. Men use women as tools to advance their power, administration, business and commerce. In the process women are forced to expose, pose in the nude, talk loftily about a lifestyle they crave, give the "come hither" looks.
Unmoderated, unregulated show of sexuality on screen can pervert men into thinking women are "available" when they are not. That leads to frustration, and rap happens.
Please comment. I would like to know what you think.
First the serial rape
A rich industrialist’s son, who drives a Mercedes, no less seems to be a serial rapist. He picked up a 52-year old woman from Colaba some place, took her to the textile mill he owns and raped her. I see your jaws dropping. Yes, she is 52 years old and he is the scion of one of the richest mill-owners in Bombay, and he raped her in the mill he owns. Whoa, what happening? As the Ripley’s Believe it or not presenter say, “Believe it.”
Seems he is a serial rapist and a sex maniac on the loose. A homosexual then came forward and testified that he had assaulted and raped him also. Then a call center employee came forth with another allegation that the same industrialist’s son had raped her on the Bombay-Pune expressway.
A Riot Over a Molestation on Holi
Ghansoli is a small village near Turbhe where I work. In this village two groups clashed with iron rods, swords, and sickles over a molestation of a girl on Holi. For those who came late, I mean those from foreign climes, Holi is the festival of springs when colored water and powder is thrown on each other in celebration of the coming of spring. It is an Indian custom and a festival of sorts.
Seems a girl was molested when throwing water, or powder on her. It is a common occurrence and many women have complained of men groping them on the pretext of applying colored water and powder. But a riot ensued and three people are dead. The police fired their weapons and many are injured and in hospital.
Masseur-ji in molestation case
Then this one tops this list. A masseur, a member of the Indian team that went to participate in the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, groped and attempted “to fondle” an attendant in the games village in that city.
Tut, tut, not done dear masseur-ji. Those white-skin “memsahibs” are not as forgiving as our local “madam-ji’s” when they are groped. You are used to groping cute young things in buses and in public places in India. Right? But those white-skinned “memsahibs” can slap you, drag you to court, humiliate you if you do the sort of stuff you do in DTC and BEST buses.
So be very careful when you are in a “phoren” country. Okay?
The gang rape
Today, there is news of a gang rape in Mira road. A teenager invited a girl of his age to his flat apparently for a birthday party. The girl innocently turns up and finds only the boy and his friends. She is given fruit juice laced with sleeping pills. She is taken into the bedroom shown porono films and gang raped.
John P Matthew for the Blank Noise Blogathon (2006)
Street Harassment!
I write this at the risk of alienating, nay, losing all my women friends, of which I have a very few dear, dear ones.
Women consider me one of their own. No, I am not a tranvestite, or any of that tribe that women consider harmless enough to make friends. A colleague was bitching about men in general, turned to me and said, “No, not you, John.” I just quivered with gratitude and wanted to kiss her or something. But I didn’t.
But this must be said, and I guess, this has never been said by a man before. So am I assured of the TRPs, page views, and the links to this post, right? Ah, well, then let me go ahead and shake up women’s perception of men a bit.
Umm, oh, huh...
The subject is “Street Harassment” and I am supposed to write some gyan (wisdom, silly) about it.
Women, there is a revolution on, if you haven’t already noticed. These revolutionaries are everywhere, in offices, in trains, buses, wearing revealing clothes, displaying their attitudes and demolishing male bastions. Imagine all those cave women and kitchen-bound women down centuries breaking out into Latino dances today and you can sense a revolutionary casting away of centuries-old shackles. You will find a new generation waving the flag of liberation the way they walk, talk, and work.
In my school, girls excelled in all subjects, leaving us poor sods gritting our teeth and more than a little chastened. In college women were always on top. In literary fora, their voices are rational, learned and strident. In journalism they virtually overshadow the men with their deft handling of issues and words. In the Knowledge Process Outsourcing and Business Process Outsourcing units that I have worked they are the invisible movers and shakers. They seek and command attention. These are the revolutionaries.
With the revolution has come an insouciance, a feeling that they can do things better where men have managed to mess things up with their excesses. In this new confidence, a man feels inferior, threatened. Women are aggressively pursuing their dreams and leaving their boyfriends and husbands behind. A colleague screams into her cellphone, “It’s over, finished,” and disconnects. The husband calls back immediately and apologizes. Wimp!
Now how are men taking this revolution? Can’t say they are taking it in their strides. They have resorted to drinks, narcotics, endless cribs about women, dirty talk, etc. Any “men only” talk is peppered with the most lurid accounts of women. When men are bitter they bitch worse than women. And their bitching is malevolent, and can turn into violent acts, like rape for instance. Tradition, you know.
Too many rapes happening in this country? That’s why. The reason: Women have outwitted men, and men can’t take it gracefully.
NOW MY SUGGESTIONS TO WOMEN IN THE VANGUARD OF THIS REVOLUTION:
If you are the harbinger of this revolution, if you have attitude, if you are blasé about a whistle, or, catcall, go ahead and do your thing. You should also know karate, be able to sock a man on the jaw. Dress in low-waist jeans, wear that see-through thingy. Well, go ahead, I won’t dare stop you. A colleague does that and men stay away.
When a man whispered, “Hi Sweetie” in her face, she assumed her sweet-girl disposition and said, “Hold on, let me keep this bag aside. And we can whisper sweet nothings.”
The macho dude salivatingly thought this was his big day and that she was giving “line,” “Yes of course,” he said.
She rubbed her hands to sharpen the sting and let him have it on both cheeks.
The macho-ness vanished. He fled for his life. The crowd wouldn’t have spared him.
Atta girl, if you can pull off such stunts.
The crowd would be willing participants if you raise a hand and your voice. I saw it happen. A man molested a woman and ran in the VT subway. She screamed “thief, thief” and a crowd gathered and beat him up, despite his protestations. Do something similar.
But if you are the sensitive, touch-me-not, thinks-too-much kind, a word of advice. Do not dress in any of the thingies mentioned above. Because if you do men are going to whistle, cat call, say “Chamak challo.” Confession: Men are many, many times more sexually excitable than women. Even a rotund shape can be suggestive of oodles of passion. And passion can lead crimes of passion. So, beware.
Dress in salwar-kameezes and saris and please do not show skin. Indian traditional dresses are so designed as to keep feminine-ness and men’s roving eyes in check and at
the same time lend grace and beauty. Wear sindoor in your hair. A former colleague said no one bothered her after she started using this strategy, i.e., wearing sindoor in her hair.
If you still feel you should show your feminine-ness then wear clothes that suit the occasion. That is, don’t wear the mini on a train journey, there will be all kinds of snide remarks and catalls. Imagine all those testosterones that would be released in a busy railway platform like Kurla when a girl in a mini walks past. And all they can manage is a tame wolf whistle, or a kiss sound or a “hey, chamiya.” So much for men’s macho-ness. Wear a mini only if you are in a car and the car would leave you at a party and pick you up after it. Or, better still, take the mini along and change at the party venue.
Agreed? Clear? Now let me have those chappals please! I am already ducking!
I write this at the risk of alienating, nay, losing all my women friends, of which I have a very few dear, dear ones.
Women consider me one of their own. No, I am not a tranvestite, or any of that tribe that women consider harmless enough to make friends. A colleague was bitching about men in general, turned to me and said, “No, not you, John.” I just quivered with gratitude and wanted to kiss her or something. But I didn’t.
But this must be said, and I guess, this has never been said by a man before. So am I assured of the TRPs, page views, and the links to this post, right? Ah, well, then let me go ahead and shake up women’s perception of men a bit.
Umm, oh, huh...
The subject is “Street Harassment” and I am supposed to write some gyan (wisdom, silly) about it.
Women, there is a revolution on, if you haven’t already noticed. These revolutionaries are everywhere, in offices, in trains, buses, wearing revealing clothes, displaying their attitudes and demolishing male bastions. Imagine all those cave women and kitchen-bound women down centuries breaking out into Latino dances today and you can sense a revolutionary casting away of centuries-old shackles. You will find a new generation waving the flag of liberation the way they walk, talk, and work.
In my school, girls excelled in all subjects, leaving us poor sods gritting our teeth and more than a little chastened. In college women were always on top. In literary fora, their voices are rational, learned and strident. In journalism they virtually overshadow the men with their deft handling of issues and words. In the Knowledge Process Outsourcing and Business Process Outsourcing units that I have worked they are the invisible movers and shakers. They seek and command attention. These are the revolutionaries.
With the revolution has come an insouciance, a feeling that they can do things better where men have managed to mess things up with their excesses. In this new confidence, a man feels inferior, threatened. Women are aggressively pursuing their dreams and leaving their boyfriends and husbands behind. A colleague screams into her cellphone, “It’s over, finished,” and disconnects. The husband calls back immediately and apologizes. Wimp!
Now how are men taking this revolution? Can’t say they are taking it in their strides. They have resorted to drinks, narcotics, endless cribs about women, dirty talk, etc. Any “men only” talk is peppered with the most lurid accounts of women. When men are bitter they bitch worse than women. And their bitching is malevolent, and can turn into violent acts, like rape for instance. Tradition, you know.
Too many rapes happening in this country? That’s why. The reason: Women have outwitted men, and men can’t take it gracefully.
NOW MY SUGGESTIONS TO WOMEN IN THE VANGUARD OF THIS REVOLUTION:
If you are the harbinger of this revolution, if you have attitude, if you are blasé about a whistle, or, catcall, go ahead and do your thing. You should also know karate, be able to sock a man on the jaw. Dress in low-waist jeans, wear that see-through thingy. Well, go ahead, I won’t dare stop you. A colleague does that and men stay away.
When a man whispered, “Hi Sweetie” in her face, she assumed her sweet-girl disposition and said, “Hold on, let me keep this bag aside. And we can whisper sweet nothings.”
The macho dude salivatingly thought this was his big day and that she was giving “line,” “Yes of course,” he said.
She rubbed her hands to sharpen the sting and let him have it on both cheeks.
The macho-ness vanished. He fled for his life. The crowd wouldn’t have spared him.
Atta girl, if you can pull off such stunts.
The crowd would be willing participants if you raise a hand and your voice. I saw it happen. A man molested a woman and ran in the VT subway. She screamed “thief, thief” and a crowd gathered and beat him up, despite his protestations. Do something similar.
But if you are the sensitive, touch-me-not, thinks-too-much kind, a word of advice. Do not dress in any of the thingies mentioned above. Because if you do men are going to whistle, cat call, say “Chamak challo.” Confession: Men are many, many times more sexually excitable than women. Even a rotund shape can be suggestive of oodles of passion. And passion can lead crimes of passion. So, beware.
Dress in salwar-kameezes and saris and please do not show skin. Indian traditional dresses are so designed as to keep feminine-ness and men’s roving eyes in check and at
the same time lend grace and beauty. Wear sindoor in your hair. A former colleague said no one bothered her after she started using this strategy, i.e., wearing sindoor in her hair.
If you still feel you should show your feminine-ness then wear clothes that suit the occasion. That is, don’t wear the mini on a train journey, there will be all kinds of snide remarks and catalls. Imagine all those testosterones that would be released in a busy railway platform like Kurla when a girl in a mini walks past. And all they can manage is a tame wolf whistle, or a kiss sound or a “hey, chamiya.” So much for men’s macho-ness. Wear a mini only if you are in a car and the car would leave you at a party and pick you up after it. Or, better still, take the mini along and change at the party venue.
Agreed? Clear? Now let me have those chappals please! I am already ducking!
Great Bong for the Blank Noise Blogathon
Leaving aside my objections to BNP and its branch of militant feminism, the cause is worthwhile and some posts, which transcend street harassment and talk about sexual harassment in general are worth reading— making you uneasy and at the same time stunning you into silence by their explosive nature.
There is not much for me to say about this topic that has not been said more eloquently and more fervently elsewhere. However one wonders—do blogathons really help the harassed woman on the streets? Do roadside Romeos read my blog? And would reading this change them in any way?
There is not much for me to say about this topic that has not been said more eloquently and more fervently elsewhere. However one wonders—do blogathons really help the harassed woman on the streets? Do roadside Romeos read my blog? And would reading this change them in any way?
Jai Arjun Singh for the Blank Noise Blogathon (2006)
The divorced woman as easy prey
(Originally wrote this for the Blank Noise Project blogathon – I’d been told the post didn’t necessarily have to be on street harassment. Oh well, it can sit here now.)
I was nine when my parents separated and my mother and I moved into a new flat. My relationship with my mom had always been very candid, and so it was that even at that early age I developed an understanding of the perceptions many men had about divorced women: that they were available, desperate for any form of companionship – and even fundamentally loose-charactered (it being a major step in our society for a woman to leave her husband’s home, and therefore indicative that she was unconventional in her thinking = not a sweet, submissive Bharatiya naari = Westernised = unprincipled).
One of the first friends my mother made in the new colony was this slightly sad-faced lady (I’m not sure if she was like that from the very beginning or if I’ve ascribed those qualities to her retrospectively) who I’ll call Ritika aunty. She would often visit, sometimes with her husband Rajiv, and mum and I would occasionally go across to their place as well. I can’t recall what I thought of him back then – my memory is so clouded by what happened later – but I probably thought he was an okay sort: the adult male figures in my life up to that point hadn’t exactly been paragons of normalcy, and compared to them most uncles would have seemed okay-sorts.
Ritika and Rajiv seemed the picture of a “normal” couple – well-settled, living in a decent-sized house with two small children and one large dog. Which is why it’s easy to imagine how shaken my mother was when one day – a year or so into our acquaintance with them – Rajiv called her up late one evening and, after initially asking if his wife was around, started making overtures. The kind of talk that begins with “What do you do all day, it must get very dull” and progresses with surprising swiftness to “Is the kid asleep? Should I come over?”
The first thing mum did was to tell me about it. The second thing (and this is something not many women would have had the courage to do) was to call Ritika aunty over and give her the whole story as calmly and straightforwardly as possible. I think it’s equally creditable (given how women in Indian society are conditioned to be fiercely loyal to their husbands just to maintain appearances, “family honour” etc) that Ritika accepted the story without fuss, admitting that she had long suspected Rajiv was up to all sorts of things behind her back, but had resigned herself to it. I imagine she confronted him about it later, and of course that was the end of any contact between him and us. They’re still very much together, though I don’t know what sort of a relationship it must be.
The incident had a major effect on my mother. She no longer felt as free or as comfortable talking with her friends’ husbands as she had before – even with the ones she had known for many years and genuinely believed to be decent men. This most relaxed, unselfconscious of women started feeling the need to measure everything she said at get-togethers. She told me once that she didn’t know anymore whether to laugh at a risqué joke told by a male friend, even if it was in his wife’s presence – because if another such incident ever occurred she might be accused of having brought it on herself by being over-familiar. As tactfully as possible, she made it clear to her closest friends that she was more comfortable when they visited alone rather than with their husbands. Inevitably, the strings of some of those friendships were loosened as a result. And all because of one stupid episode.
I’d like to think things have changed since those days in terms of how men look at a divorced/separated woman – or in terms of people being more accepting of independent women in general. But every once in a while I’m reminded they haven’t. A friend who recently got divorced told me about how she’d been getting strange, scarily persistent phone calls and SMSes from male acquaintances: come-ons based on the assumption that she must now be lonely or insecure. These included guys who were themselves married or in relationships, and who had never been anything more than pleasantly cordial to her when she was married. And I’m talking here about a woman with a thriving career, financial security and parents who were supportive of her all the way through. I can only imagine what it must be like for others who aren’t as lucky. It makes it easier to understand why thousands of women in this country persist in sticking on in bad marriages.
P.S. I still see Ritika aunty around the colony sometimes, looking tired and careworn, usually leading a big dog listlessly around. (It’s almost always a different dog – none of their pets lives very long because this isn’t a family of animal-lovers, they just keep getting dogs to fill the empty spaces in their lives.) She even drops in briefly once every few months but the friendship between her and my mum has never been the same since
(Originally wrote this for the Blank Noise Project blogathon – I’d been told the post didn’t necessarily have to be on street harassment. Oh well, it can sit here now.)
I was nine when my parents separated and my mother and I moved into a new flat. My relationship with my mom had always been very candid, and so it was that even at that early age I developed an understanding of the perceptions many men had about divorced women: that they were available, desperate for any form of companionship – and even fundamentally loose-charactered (it being a major step in our society for a woman to leave her husband’s home, and therefore indicative that she was unconventional in her thinking = not a sweet, submissive Bharatiya naari = Westernised = unprincipled).
One of the first friends my mother made in the new colony was this slightly sad-faced lady (I’m not sure if she was like that from the very beginning or if I’ve ascribed those qualities to her retrospectively) who I’ll call Ritika aunty. She would often visit, sometimes with her husband Rajiv, and mum and I would occasionally go across to their place as well. I can’t recall what I thought of him back then – my memory is so clouded by what happened later – but I probably thought he was an okay sort: the adult male figures in my life up to that point hadn’t exactly been paragons of normalcy, and compared to them most uncles would have seemed okay-sorts.
Ritika and Rajiv seemed the picture of a “normal” couple – well-settled, living in a decent-sized house with two small children and one large dog. Which is why it’s easy to imagine how shaken my mother was when one day – a year or so into our acquaintance with them – Rajiv called her up late one evening and, after initially asking if his wife was around, started making overtures. The kind of talk that begins with “What do you do all day, it must get very dull” and progresses with surprising swiftness to “Is the kid asleep? Should I come over?”
The first thing mum did was to tell me about it. The second thing (and this is something not many women would have had the courage to do) was to call Ritika aunty over and give her the whole story as calmly and straightforwardly as possible. I think it’s equally creditable (given how women in Indian society are conditioned to be fiercely loyal to their husbands just to maintain appearances, “family honour” etc) that Ritika accepted the story without fuss, admitting that she had long suspected Rajiv was up to all sorts of things behind her back, but had resigned herself to it. I imagine she confronted him about it later, and of course that was the end of any contact between him and us. They’re still very much together, though I don’t know what sort of a relationship it must be.
The incident had a major effect on my mother. She no longer felt as free or as comfortable talking with her friends’ husbands as she had before – even with the ones she had known for many years and genuinely believed to be decent men. This most relaxed, unselfconscious of women started feeling the need to measure everything she said at get-togethers. She told me once that she didn’t know anymore whether to laugh at a risqué joke told by a male friend, even if it was in his wife’s presence – because if another such incident ever occurred she might be accused of having brought it on herself by being over-familiar. As tactfully as possible, she made it clear to her closest friends that she was more comfortable when they visited alone rather than with their husbands. Inevitably, the strings of some of those friendships were loosened as a result. And all because of one stupid episode.
I’d like to think things have changed since those days in terms of how men look at a divorced/separated woman – or in terms of people being more accepting of independent women in general. But every once in a while I’m reminded they haven’t. A friend who recently got divorced told me about how she’d been getting strange, scarily persistent phone calls and SMSes from male acquaintances: come-ons based on the assumption that she must now be lonely or insecure. These included guys who were themselves married or in relationships, and who had never been anything more than pleasantly cordial to her when she was married. And I’m talking here about a woman with a thriving career, financial security and parents who were supportive of her all the way through. I can only imagine what it must be like for others who aren’t as lucky. It makes it easier to understand why thousands of women in this country persist in sticking on in bad marriages.
P.S. I still see Ritika aunty around the colony sometimes, looking tired and careworn, usually leading a big dog listlessly around. (It’s almost always a different dog – none of their pets lives very long because this isn’t a family of animal-lovers, they just keep getting dogs to fill the empty spaces in their lives.) She even drops in briefly once every few months but the friendship between her and my mum has never been the same since
Ventilatorblues for the Blank Noise Blogathon (2006)
Mr. H.
[Thank you, Blank Noise Project]
I went to a Protestant school in Kolkata, where I had many Anglo-Indian teachers. One of them was Mr. H, who was an old boy, and taught us English literature. Now, Mr. H. was one of my favorite teachers in school. Full of personality and attitude, and a huge physical frame to go with them, he was the one teacher all of us loved as well as feared. At a school like mine, grades mattered, and Mr. H. was very generous with his grading. Surely this had something to do with the fact that he did not think class tests to be very important, but also, he was an alcoholic, and so, often, very amenable to all kinds of pressure tactics from students post-test. Mr. H. was also heavily into sports, having earned school colors in boxing, swimming, rugby and athletics in his day, and he was also the school swimming instructor. So I knew him outside the class as well, by virtue of being in the school swim team, which every year would participate in an inter-school competition. Now, at the swimming pool, unlike in class, Mr. H. was a strict disciplinarian. He was a passionate taskmaster, and not averse to physically "setting right" anyone that was not pulling their weight. Looking back, those hours in the swimming pool, and the times I spent with Mr. H. outside the pool, traveling to swim competitions, are some of my happiest memories of school.
One day, I think it was in Class VII, Mr. H. and an old boy, SS, walked into our class in the middle of another teacher's class and hauled out one of my classmates. Lets call him K. Before going any further, let me add that this was totally unprecedented. Teachers did not just walk into others' classes and pull students out unless the matter was serious - leave alone teachers accompanied by old boys (SS had been in the swim team too, in his day). As it turns out, the matter was serious. K had been eve-teasing women outside Victoria Memorial after school hours. Yes, K was in Class VII and apparently, these things start early. But he had made the mistake the day before, of directing his advances towards a lady who turned out to have been SS's sister. Mr. H. and SS marched K into the Round Chapel in school, closed all the doors, and ...................... well, let me just say that we did not see K in school for a few days thereafter. And when he did return, his body was still hurting. The whole incident created a huge stir in school, but as far I can recall, the school authorities did not interfere at all, and matters died down very quickly.
Like many other bloggers who have been writing about sexual harrassment, I too have never experienced it first-hand. And like my friend Tabula Rasa, who asks how we can change the status quo, I too have no stock answers. Lust is a primal human drive, and if Hindu scripture is to be believed, it has the same physical origins as the will to create. As such, there is no easy way of cleansing the human mind of this vicious drive, except to greet it with the strongest reproach every time it arises. Mr. H. understood this, and his approach to this problem was, in my opinion, bang on target.
I should add that about two years after I finished school, Mr. H. died at the age of 40, from liver complications. I had gone away to Delhi for college, but I was lucky to be in Kolkata when the school decided to host a commemoration ceremony for him. At the ceremony, I met all my swim team buddies, and we all remembered Mr. H. and thanked our stars that we had had the good fortune to pass through school while he had been around.
I hope that all my classmates from that day will carry the memory of that incident just as vividly as I do. Most of all, K.
[Thank you, Blank Noise Project]
I went to a Protestant school in Kolkata, where I had many Anglo-Indian teachers. One of them was Mr. H, who was an old boy, and taught us English literature. Now, Mr. H. was one of my favorite teachers in school. Full of personality and attitude, and a huge physical frame to go with them, he was the one teacher all of us loved as well as feared. At a school like mine, grades mattered, and Mr. H. was very generous with his grading. Surely this had something to do with the fact that he did not think class tests to be very important, but also, he was an alcoholic, and so, often, very amenable to all kinds of pressure tactics from students post-test. Mr. H. was also heavily into sports, having earned school colors in boxing, swimming, rugby and athletics in his day, and he was also the school swimming instructor. So I knew him outside the class as well, by virtue of being in the school swim team, which every year would participate in an inter-school competition. Now, at the swimming pool, unlike in class, Mr. H. was a strict disciplinarian. He was a passionate taskmaster, and not averse to physically "setting right" anyone that was not pulling their weight. Looking back, those hours in the swimming pool, and the times I spent with Mr. H. outside the pool, traveling to swim competitions, are some of my happiest memories of school.
One day, I think it was in Class VII, Mr. H. and an old boy, SS, walked into our class in the middle of another teacher's class and hauled out one of my classmates. Lets call him K. Before going any further, let me add that this was totally unprecedented. Teachers did not just walk into others' classes and pull students out unless the matter was serious - leave alone teachers accompanied by old boys (SS had been in the swim team too, in his day). As it turns out, the matter was serious. K had been eve-teasing women outside Victoria Memorial after school hours. Yes, K was in Class VII and apparently, these things start early. But he had made the mistake the day before, of directing his advances towards a lady who turned out to have been SS's sister. Mr. H. and SS marched K into the Round Chapel in school, closed all the doors, and ...................... well, let me just say that we did not see K in school for a few days thereafter. And when he did return, his body was still hurting. The whole incident created a huge stir in school, but as far I can recall, the school authorities did not interfere at all, and matters died down very quickly.
Like many other bloggers who have been writing about sexual harrassment, I too have never experienced it first-hand. And like my friend Tabula Rasa, who asks how we can change the status quo, I too have no stock answers. Lust is a primal human drive, and if Hindu scripture is to be believed, it has the same physical origins as the will to create. As such, there is no easy way of cleansing the human mind of this vicious drive, except to greet it with the strongest reproach every time it arises. Mr. H. understood this, and his approach to this problem was, in my opinion, bang on target.
I should add that about two years after I finished school, Mr. H. died at the age of 40, from liver complications. I had gone away to Delhi for college, but I was lucky to be in Kolkata when the school decided to host a commemoration ceremony for him. At the ceremony, I met all my swim team buddies, and we all remembered Mr. H. and thanked our stars that we had had the good fortune to pass through school while he had been around.
I hope that all my classmates from that day will carry the memory of that incident just as vividly as I do. Most of all, K.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
