Feminism, women safety, gender equality and other such jargon is very popular these days. I say jargon, since that is what those terms have been reduced to. All the relief and inspiration that I experienced when feminism and women safety issues were brought in the limelight has very rapidly been replaced with cynicism and regret, as is the case with most issues that are ever brought into the limelight. For the more popular and important these issues get, the more opposition they end up receiving from the masses.
The Nirbhaya rape incident was one such incident. What started off as rebellion and anger against the country's sad state of women safety, soon turned into a mad charade of male bashing 'Feminazis' and a blame game between the two genders, and in the process everyone forgot what the probem really even was. Feminists started to label all men rapists, and men started the new trend of 'androgyny', and in the general chaos and mess of it all, everyone forgot their real enemy. The problem isn't in the male population, and the problem isn't even with the female population - the problem lies in just one word - acceptance.
Acceptance. "Chalta hai." "Koi na." "Rehne De." That is where our problem lies. The fact that people manage to get away with acts like rape and molestation is a problem, but what is an even bigger problem is how we accept it as a part of life, and move on.
I am twenty two years old now. The first time I was sexually abused was when I was six years old. It was at my neighborhood club, where I went for tennis lessons every evening. A few men worked at the tennis courts, who used to assist the coaches, pick balls, get water, and mainly just keep the kids in control. There were a few we liked, a few we didn't, and few who just came and went. One of those evenings, as we cooled down after a lesson, one of those men, while giving us instructions, very casually cupped his hand on my chest and made uncomfortable movements, and then he did the same with both the other girls in the group. I never gave it a thought, and continued on with my happy existence. In my world of butterflies, crayons and fairies, no such predators ever existed. He did this again the next day, this time even more intensely, which is perhaps why it was on my mind when I went home and generally mentioned it to my parents. I innocently told them how the 'tennis man' used to touch me and the other girls, and how it hurt. While I was unaware of the gravity of the situation then, yet my parents' anger and mortification made me realise that it was probably a bad thing that happened. I remember my father calling the club, red with anger, and I remember him later, telling me the man would never be there again. I remember him telling me to tell him if a similar thing ever happened, and I remember feeling safe. I played tennis at that club for many years after.
I was six years old then. Since then, I have lost track of the number of times I have been sexually harrassed. It has been a part of my life for the past sixteen years. I remember the time I was eight years old; I used to cycle around my neighborhood, and after a few days, I started noticing an old man who followed me around on his scooter, making obscene noises and gestures. I stopped cycling, or only went out accompanied with a servant. I remember when I was fourteen years old, walking home from a tuition, and a man passing on a motorcycle squeezed my butt. I was talking to my father on the phone, and I screamed . My father asked me what happened, and I remember telling him it was a stray dog, for if I told him what really happened, I would no longer be able to walk home alone in the evening.
I remember when I was on my way to school from Chandigarh in the Kalka shatabdi, and the middle aged man with a receding hairline sitting next to me kept trying to poke me with his elbow while I was sleeping. I kept pushing his elbow away and glared at him a few times, but I never told anyone. I remember the time I went for a rock festival and had to ask the bouncers on three different occassions to throw three different men out for sexually abusing me in the crowd as I headbanged to Tesseract. These were the three men I was able to locate in the crowd. There were many who still remained in that crowd, unseen, unnoticed, only felt. I remember the night my cab broke down, and the terror I felt as I walked the 150 metres to my friend's house in the safest residential area in Chandigarh, as a car with four drunk men catcalled and followed me until I reached.
I remember these incidents vividly, and pangs of fear run inside me as I try to recollect the situations I can't even remember. It instills me with fear, the level of tolerance I have accepted this lifelong sexual harrassment with. I have always prided myself on being independent and courageous. I go out clubbing, I go out at night, I go for festivals and gigs, I drive by myself, even at unearthly hours. My parents have given me freedom and independence, and I have enjoyed my freedom. Yet everything I do, or everywhere I go, I go expecting a certain level of harrassment, with a certain tinge of fear. If I am out at night for dinner with my sister, it doesn't surprise me when a car filled with guys follows us around. When I go out clubbing, it doesn't surprise me if I or my friends are harrassed. It bothers me, yet it doesn't surprise me. And perhaps that lack of surprise is what is really disturbing about our society.
We have accepted these incidents and this behavior as a part of our lives. We have accepted this ugliness, this disease that riddles our lives. Which is why, when Indian media and social media started paying so much attention to feminism and women safety, I was beyond happy. It was hope. It appeared like a Bat signal in the sky, like a signal to women, and just everyone, that change is coming, help is coming. Yet, we misinterpreted this omen, too, as usual, and turned it into a power play of the genders.
Men are not the problem. When I go out with my guy friends, or my brothers, or any male companionship at all, I feel the safest. I feel invincible, secure, knowing that as long as I have them around, I am safe. When I accidentally got caught in a mosh pit during Megadeath, at least fifteen guys rushed to help me when they spotted me caught under a pile of metalheads. That's why, to all the Feminists out there who blame all of the male population for all their problems, men are not the problem. As with people with general, there are good ones, and there are bad ones. You can't generalise and blame the entire gender for it.
Really, it is we women who are the problem. Not because we wear make up and short dresses or go out at night. Not because we ignore our safety and choose to travel or live alone, and definitely not because we wish to be at equal terms and status as men. No. We are the problem, for all the times we say "Nevermind." We are the problem, for all the times we are harrassed, and accept it as the social situation we live in. We are a problem, for ignoring that guy that flashed at you while you were driving home. We are the problem, for keeping quiet, and for accepting our daily doses of perversion as a way of life.
I vividly recall a scene from a movie I watched a few years ago, where a girl is felt up in a theatre by the old man sitting next to her, and quietly just keeps pushing his hand away. I spent a few years after that movie being paranoid at movie halls every time a guy sat next to me. I always kept my guard up, looking for even the slightest hint of an advance. Yet I relaxed over time, and I gradually dismissed that fear as irrational on my part. Tonight, as I watched Ant Man crawling through an air vent, I felt a hand crawl on my leg. I immediately jerked my leg away, and dismissed it as an accident on my neighbor's part. However, just a few minutes later, from the corner of my eye I spotted his hand inching again towards me. I had smelled the alcohol on his breath the second he sat next to me, and I tensely watched his hand move cautiously, stealthily slowly towards me. The second his hand touched my leg, I immediately snapped at him and told him to keep his hands to himself. I could feel my heart, beating faster with rage and terror, and while I focused on calming myself down, the guy got up and left. Later, on the drive home, all I kept thinking was that I should have said something more, perhaps asked management to escort him out.
I come from a well off home. My father is a government official, my mother is an independent working woman, and my sister is a DJ. I have a car I drive, I always have a cell phone I can use to call help, and I have a constant network of support and help from my family and friends, who would come to my aid in a heartbeat. I live in Chandigarh, which is one of the safest cities in the country. I know martial arts, I'm not scared, and I'm not one to usually accept bullshit or bullying. Yet, everytime I go out of the house, I am always a little worried. I feel safe within the interiors of my car, or with my friends. Yet my heartbeat flutters everytime I notice a car behind mine for longer than a few minutes, or anytime someone accidentally touches me. Yet, everytime I go for festivals, I walk with my hands behind my back. Yet, when I go out late at night, I feel safer when I have a guy friend with me.
This is why we need to fight for Feminism, and this is why we need to fight for women safety. Yes, we need to change the behavior and the social standards in the country, but before that, we need to change this acceptance in us. We need to remove this tolerance. We need to stop accepting and tolerating things that invade our privacy and our safety, even our freedom, and we need to start taking action. The next time a guy follows you home, call the cops (or better yet, have him unwittingly follow you to a police station), or report him. Call out the next guy who tries to abuse you and reveal his ugliness to the world. Don't accept it. Raise your voice, and raise your standards and expectations of life.
This complacency towards our lives and the world we live in is our biggest obstacle. Complacency is eating us alive. I have female friends who aren't allowed to go out past eight pm from fear of rape or harrassment. I know people who have never traveled because it is not 'safe', but they accept it as a way of life. Don't let yourselves be held back and inhibited by fear. As long as you're trapped in your homes for safety, or counting on men or other people for your safety, you're living like a bird in a cage. Forget complacency, forget tolerance, forget acceptance, and start fighting for your freedom - freedom to live without constant fear and mortification. As long as you keep turning a blind eye or letting it go, there will always be a next time; if not for you, then for someone else.
The Nirbhaya rape incident was one such incident. What started off as rebellion and anger against the country's sad state of women safety, soon turned into a mad charade of male bashing 'Feminazis' and a blame game between the two genders, and in the process everyone forgot what the probem really even was. Feminists started to label all men rapists, and men started the new trend of 'androgyny', and in the general chaos and mess of it all, everyone forgot their real enemy. The problem isn't in the male population, and the problem isn't even with the female population - the problem lies in just one word - acceptance.
Acceptance. "Chalta hai." "Koi na." "Rehne De." That is where our problem lies. The fact that people manage to get away with acts like rape and molestation is a problem, but what is an even bigger problem is how we accept it as a part of life, and move on.
I am twenty two years old now. The first time I was sexually abused was when I was six years old. It was at my neighborhood club, where I went for tennis lessons every evening. A few men worked at the tennis courts, who used to assist the coaches, pick balls, get water, and mainly just keep the kids in control. There were a few we liked, a few we didn't, and few who just came and went. One of those evenings, as we cooled down after a lesson, one of those men, while giving us instructions, very casually cupped his hand on my chest and made uncomfortable movements, and then he did the same with both the other girls in the group. I never gave it a thought, and continued on with my happy existence. In my world of butterflies, crayons and fairies, no such predators ever existed. He did this again the next day, this time even more intensely, which is perhaps why it was on my mind when I went home and generally mentioned it to my parents. I innocently told them how the 'tennis man' used to touch me and the other girls, and how it hurt. While I was unaware of the gravity of the situation then, yet my parents' anger and mortification made me realise that it was probably a bad thing that happened. I remember my father calling the club, red with anger, and I remember him later, telling me the man would never be there again. I remember him telling me to tell him if a similar thing ever happened, and I remember feeling safe. I played tennis at that club for many years after.
I was six years old then. Since then, I have lost track of the number of times I have been sexually harrassed. It has been a part of my life for the past sixteen years. I remember the time I was eight years old; I used to cycle around my neighborhood, and after a few days, I started noticing an old man who followed me around on his scooter, making obscene noises and gestures. I stopped cycling, or only went out accompanied with a servant. I remember when I was fourteen years old, walking home from a tuition, and a man passing on a motorcycle squeezed my butt. I was talking to my father on the phone, and I screamed . My father asked me what happened, and I remember telling him it was a stray dog, for if I told him what really happened, I would no longer be able to walk home alone in the evening.
I remember when I was on my way to school from Chandigarh in the Kalka shatabdi, and the middle aged man with a receding hairline sitting next to me kept trying to poke me with his elbow while I was sleeping. I kept pushing his elbow away and glared at him a few times, but I never told anyone. I remember the time I went for a rock festival and had to ask the bouncers on three different occassions to throw three different men out for sexually abusing me in the crowd as I headbanged to Tesseract. These were the three men I was able to locate in the crowd. There were many who still remained in that crowd, unseen, unnoticed, only felt. I remember the night my cab broke down, and the terror I felt as I walked the 150 metres to my friend's house in the safest residential area in Chandigarh, as a car with four drunk men catcalled and followed me until I reached.
I remember these incidents vividly, and pangs of fear run inside me as I try to recollect the situations I can't even remember. It instills me with fear, the level of tolerance I have accepted this lifelong sexual harrassment with. I have always prided myself on being independent and courageous. I go out clubbing, I go out at night, I go for festivals and gigs, I drive by myself, even at unearthly hours. My parents have given me freedom and independence, and I have enjoyed my freedom. Yet everything I do, or everywhere I go, I go expecting a certain level of harrassment, with a certain tinge of fear. If I am out at night for dinner with my sister, it doesn't surprise me when a car filled with guys follows us around. When I go out clubbing, it doesn't surprise me if I or my friends are harrassed. It bothers me, yet it doesn't surprise me. And perhaps that lack of surprise is what is really disturbing about our society.
We have accepted these incidents and this behavior as a part of our lives. We have accepted this ugliness, this disease that riddles our lives. Which is why, when Indian media and social media started paying so much attention to feminism and women safety, I was beyond happy. It was hope. It appeared like a Bat signal in the sky, like a signal to women, and just everyone, that change is coming, help is coming. Yet, we misinterpreted this omen, too, as usual, and turned it into a power play of the genders.
Men are not the problem. When I go out with my guy friends, or my brothers, or any male companionship at all, I feel the safest. I feel invincible, secure, knowing that as long as I have them around, I am safe. When I accidentally got caught in a mosh pit during Megadeath, at least fifteen guys rushed to help me when they spotted me caught under a pile of metalheads. That's why, to all the Feminists out there who blame all of the male population for all their problems, men are not the problem. As with people with general, there are good ones, and there are bad ones. You can't generalise and blame the entire gender for it.
Really, it is we women who are the problem. Not because we wear make up and short dresses or go out at night. Not because we ignore our safety and choose to travel or live alone, and definitely not because we wish to be at equal terms and status as men. No. We are the problem, for all the times we say "Nevermind." We are the problem, for all the times we are harrassed, and accept it as the social situation we live in. We are a problem, for ignoring that guy that flashed at you while you were driving home. We are the problem, for keeping quiet, and for accepting our daily doses of perversion as a way of life.
I vividly recall a scene from a movie I watched a few years ago, where a girl is felt up in a theatre by the old man sitting next to her, and quietly just keeps pushing his hand away. I spent a few years after that movie being paranoid at movie halls every time a guy sat next to me. I always kept my guard up, looking for even the slightest hint of an advance. Yet I relaxed over time, and I gradually dismissed that fear as irrational on my part. Tonight, as I watched Ant Man crawling through an air vent, I felt a hand crawl on my leg. I immediately jerked my leg away, and dismissed it as an accident on my neighbor's part. However, just a few minutes later, from the corner of my eye I spotted his hand inching again towards me. I had smelled the alcohol on his breath the second he sat next to me, and I tensely watched his hand move cautiously, stealthily slowly towards me. The second his hand touched my leg, I immediately snapped at him and told him to keep his hands to himself. I could feel my heart, beating faster with rage and terror, and while I focused on calming myself down, the guy got up and left. Later, on the drive home, all I kept thinking was that I should have said something more, perhaps asked management to escort him out.
I come from a well off home. My father is a government official, my mother is an independent working woman, and my sister is a DJ. I have a car I drive, I always have a cell phone I can use to call help, and I have a constant network of support and help from my family and friends, who would come to my aid in a heartbeat. I live in Chandigarh, which is one of the safest cities in the country. I know martial arts, I'm not scared, and I'm not one to usually accept bullshit or bullying. Yet, everytime I go out of the house, I am always a little worried. I feel safe within the interiors of my car, or with my friends. Yet my heartbeat flutters everytime I notice a car behind mine for longer than a few minutes, or anytime someone accidentally touches me. Yet, everytime I go for festivals, I walk with my hands behind my back. Yet, when I go out late at night, I feel safer when I have a guy friend with me.
This is why we need to fight for Feminism, and this is why we need to fight for women safety. Yes, we need to change the behavior and the social standards in the country, but before that, we need to change this acceptance in us. We need to remove this tolerance. We need to stop accepting and tolerating things that invade our privacy and our safety, even our freedom, and we need to start taking action. The next time a guy follows you home, call the cops (or better yet, have him unwittingly follow you to a police station), or report him. Call out the next guy who tries to abuse you and reveal his ugliness to the world. Don't accept it. Raise your voice, and raise your standards and expectations of life.
This complacency towards our lives and the world we live in is our biggest obstacle. Complacency is eating us alive. I have female friends who aren't allowed to go out past eight pm from fear of rape or harrassment. I know people who have never traveled because it is not 'safe', but they accept it as a way of life. Don't let yourselves be held back and inhibited by fear. As long as you're trapped in your homes for safety, or counting on men or other people for your safety, you're living like a bird in a cage. Forget complacency, forget tolerance, forget acceptance, and start fighting for your freedom - freedom to live without constant fear and mortification. As long as you keep turning a blind eye or letting it go, there will always be a next time; if not for you, then for someone else.
