To be Counted

I wasn't sure if I'd make this post.

When Ash first posted about it, I thought I'd participate in the Blank Noise Project blogathon. Six days later, there was a test to get familiar with, bugs to fix and close in the module I am working on, an SOP to finish. "There'll be other voices giving this better articulation than I can ever dream of. I can read if not write, right?" I reasoned with the twinge of regret early this morning.

My rickshaw ride to work this morning changed that. Posting this is quite bloody important to me now.

Eleven a.m and I asked a rickshaw driver if he'd go to Powai. He agreed and I started into the rickshaw. Casually he leaned back, with his elbow extending out abnormally, to put the meter down, ensuring that he would brush my breasts while doing so. Having had this happen before, I didn't get into the rickshaw but instead completely lost it. I asked him what he was trying to do.

"Nothing, Madam. I was only putting the meter down." Right. The pitch of my voice began to rise as I called him a liar and launched into a rant, and the security guards of my building came closer to see what the noise was. The rickshaw driver looked distinctly cornered and started muttering that I was misunderstanding him. I turned around, disgusted. And violated.

This is only one of many times. How many times has some man I've not had the courage to look in the eye pressed an erection against me in a crowd or a bus? How many times has some old pervert tried to stroke the side of my breast in the two or three inches between the window and the seat of a bus? Or "bumped" into me at a train station or crowded lifestyle store?

Or shall I recount the time I was eight years old, in grade three and getting out of my classroom? Some guy, whose face I can't even remember, stepped in my path and grabbed my vagina through my uniform. I stumbled, fell, and started crying. He was gone before anyone else could see him. A teacher passing by heard me, came to help and made sure I got home. I did not know then why I felt so terrified. But I do now.

Perhaps I could tell you about the time a female friend and I were going to her house for tuitions. We could not have been more than ten or eleven years old. This young man, not more than eighteen, came up to us and asked for directions, holding a piece of paper and his erect penis in his hand. Or perhaps the middle-aged men, sitting in cars with the windows rolled down outside school and masturbating?

Do you know - this is the first time I've ever spoken about these things publicly. My family, not even my brother, still does not know they've happened to me.

When do I stop letting people do this to me? When do I stop being a victim? Every claim I've made to independence, dignity, and other "noble ideals" is worth nothing if I don't live it. I've just realised that I am not as empancipated as I've told myself I am. Time to change that, I think. Time to turn around and slap the guy in the next rick who, at a red light, thinks he can make all the comments he wants, watching me smoke. This post is the first step forward.

I have, for a long time, thought that what this country needs more than anything else is a large-scale sense of social awareness. It is not enough for, or the sole responsibilty of, too few people to say and do something about the abuse and injustice against too many, especially women - of all castes, creeds, and social strata - in India.

All too easy to complain about the state of this country. When do you start making a difference? It doesn't have to be something very big. Something as simple as a post on your blog will do. You live here. Stand up and be counted.

I intend to be.

The Blank Noise Project Blogathon 2006

On A Confusing Aspect of Women

I will start with a confession. I was reading Cosmopolitan last evening.

I will deny this lapse afterward but in this moment of maniacal lucidity, I will tell you this secret.

I was reading a snippet about a guy who went on a date to some nice restaurant. When the bill arrived, his date offered to pay. For reasons best known to him, he took her up on it, without a fight. Later it seems, she told mutual friends that he was cheap.

Just to confirm, are we all on the same page? Do we all agree that the woman was WAAY out of line? Or I have taken my first step in treachery?

Perhaps I was and still am naive in giving this so much thought. Perhaps I should simply let it go. Perhaps I am foolish in writing this post too. And yet, I spent a good deal of time talking this over with a close male friend, trying to understand this because an unspeakable number of women actually feel this way about first dates.

I am afraid I am going to force this down your throats as well. Shall we then?

I assume, like any other rational human being, that two people go out on a date because they feel an attraction for each other. We will not waste time arguing the semantics of attraction – friendship is platonic attraction and there are NO technicalities on that one!

If mutual attraction exists, why expect the onus of anything to be on only the party of the first part… or the second, whichever you prefer. A mite unfair, don’t you agree? And the argument “That’s just the way it is” does not hold because if you want to go with the way of things, don’t offer to pay. Don’t be a superstar.

Choose a point of view: either you go with the flow of “things” or you stand by what you say and are fair. Don’t be a hypocrite because you see, an offer to pay signifies forfeiting your “right” to call the poor bloke cheap. Calling him chintzy then only ensures the negation of most things women have achieved in the past one hundred years or so.

As a woman, I don’t understand this. Why say something you don’t mean and then complain when he believes you? Why expect him to put up a fight and “take care of it”? This is not about “tests” the sexes give each other. Giving the man every benefit of the doubt, should you fail a man on some ridiculous “test” because he respects your equality?

Why does only the guy pay? Stereotypes apart, I’ll be the first to admit I love it when a man holds open doors and puts down his fork and knife in between bites to listen to what I am saying. Ah yes, I should add: this is fun only when it is a part of who he is and not something he is doing to impress me.

But I love it as much when I split the check for a first date. Not only do I feel less obligated to someone I don’t really know for having paid for me, I also love the reminder of my independence. I love it that I have contributed to this first date by doing more than just sitting there, looking pretty and making witty conversation at a table like this one.

May the gods of both Feminism and Femininity have mercy on my unrepentant soul!

p.s. The gorgeous photo - not mine though I sorely wish it were!