1. Action Hero Nishant- Battle of the sexes

    I sat in the far end of the café at the end of the world, trying to ignore time and let my thoughts coil and uncoil in the dungeons of my mind. At eight in the evening on a Monday, the world, for all I cared, could march straight to apocalypse now and I would have strewn flowers in its way and smashed a bottle of champagne on its back. There is something manic about Mondays (as the song goes) that calls for a certain morbidity and snap-at-life-ness. However, here, in the sanctum of coffee fumes engulfed, in a snuck corner with nothing but a sheer wall behind me and the rest of the world stretching away from my toes, I felt the self sinking into a comfortable inertia.

    On the table next to mine, gelled and calvin klined, sat five men – specimen of what globalised consumption, rich parents and good education can do to people – talking at the top of their voices, showering hi-fives to each other, laughing, roaring, making jokes, having a ball of a time wrapped in their indifference to therestoftheworld. It was the mobile brigade, their phones always on the beep and their hands punching keys even as they talked under the neon hued tree-scape. I smiled at them, over the rising vapours of my cup, with benign amusement – old age comes with tolerance for that which reminds one of one’s own younger days, when one sat on the roads, around an old wizened man strewing cups of tea served in thick glasses, and felt disconnected from the traffic that passed us by; the hours, the days, the years.

    Time tiptoed around me, knowing quite well that one false step and I would have killed it with a flat note. And just when I was feeling divinely alone – like god in his heaven, flipping over pages in an old, old book – she walked in. I am not particularly sure how to describe her but if Byron were alive, he would have stirred out of his hashish induced stupor and poked me in my ribs with a familiarity that the Romantics had perfected, and issued a small whistle and said, ‘Now that’s what I meant when I said, ‘Walks in beauty like the night’ ’ before sliding back into his hallucinogenic world.

    With quick unhurried steps, she climbed the stairs and made the entire room gasp – a thing of beauty joy forever – and with a smile that would have lit a couple of African nations for a year and a tilt of the head that could have changed seasons, she walked in. Her stride was unconcerned, her hands, covered in many bangles tinkled as they swayed. She punctuated her walk with a comma, perched, as if in mid-air, to sweep the room with her eyes and then traipsed along to the far corner of the triangular room that we were all entombed in. You could see that she was happy. She smiled at strangers – something you generally don’t do in big cities unless you are begging or waiting to be picked up, she irradiated a certain all’s-well-with-the-worldness around her that was infectious. The room felt a better place, now that she was there. In her eyes, one could see traces of a secret joy that she was fostering – nothing in specific, just the joy of somebody who was happy to be alive.

    People smiled back at her; momentarily taken aback, but caught in the wave of happiness that she was riding, but eventually giving in. The waiters all watched with their breaths held up, to see which table she descended on. And as she walked certain steps towards where I was sitting, there was a sudden lull in her stride. A chance word or comment from the GAP Group, as I called them in my mind, stopped her in midair as if she was frozen in time. As she stopped, there was a huge roar of laughter and the more courageous man – one shall call him that for lack of a better word – stood up and walked quickly to where she was standing. On the pretext of going nowhere he brushed against her and let his hand hover over her back, closer to the legs than you would have liked to imagine. And then with a look of a hyena that had found its prey, sauntered back to his table, his head held high and his pants tenting in the traces of a power erection.

    It happened so fast that the only spectator to this whole thing was me and the bastids who were flocked at the table, their faces split in indecent glee and their eyes covered with a sheen of machismo, now that they had collectively conspired against a single woman in a public place. Her face was registering shock, like somebody had suddenly slapped her with a wet sponge. Her eyes were wide with the unexpected and quivering in anger. Her nostrils were dilating and her body was erect, caught in a rage that had no defining. I looked in horror back at her, wondering what to do next. What does one do next? Does one get up and preach to the bastids – the sons of bachelors, the gutter rats? Does one avenge the woman’s ‘honour’? Does one get up and shrug shoulders and leave it at that because that’s how the world functions? Does one join in, showing camaraderie to the macho men that they are? Does one pretend that it never happened? Does one make a mental note in the mind, only to quickly pile it up with something else? Does one naturalise it because come on, it happens every day to everybody, right?

    Questions, at the speed of hemp fumes, rushed in my mind as I half sat and half stood, unable to reach a decision. Our eyes met and silently I offered her any help that she might have needed. But before I could stand up and offer any help of any sort, she turned. Taking slow and calculated steps she reached the roadside romeo who had just violated her, swung her hand in a style that would have made Sania Mirza gasp in envy and gave one tight resounding slap on his cheek. Swearing in styles that would have immediately made the censor board issue an A certificate, calling upon their mothers and sisters to the oldest professions in the world, she emptied a cup of hot coffee on a gelled head and then quietly walked back towards where I was sitting.

    The silence in the room was palpable. The entire populace was staring between the two tables, from her to them, as if it was a tennis match. The rug rats had visibly shrunk, their eyes wide in horror. The Slapped sod was on the verge of tears and the others were doing a fine imitation of a rabbit caught in headlights. One slap and an overturned cup was all that was required to deflate their hormone fed masculinity. In two minutes, they had disappeared, their lesson learnt, hopefully thinking twice before ever engaging in casual eve teasing…

    It needs people like her to remind at least half of MAN kind that even Adam, when he had walked up to Eve and made a pass, had a red cheek and a kick in his balls for the action. Eve teasing is a crime and to let it pass of as a joke, perhaps even bigger. Sexual harassment is an act of violation and violence and deserves to be punished – sometimes informally and sometimes through the law, depending upon the nature of it. It needs people like her to fight it. And it needs everybody who agrees with it, to support the fight. This is not a battle of the sexes – men versus women; it is the battle between people who care and people who don’t. Whether man or woman, if you see an act of sexual harassment, no matter how miniscule it might be, no matter who it is targeted at, do not ignore it or detach yourself from it. What happened to her could happen to anybody we know – men or women. And sometimes just your presence or solidarity gives the victim enough courage to right things up.


    It is women’s day today and as a part of the Blank Noise Blogathon, I endorse the need to fight actively against sexual harassment in public spaces around us.

    This post originally appeared on Nishant's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI


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  2. Action hero Mrignayanii- The coward who changed my life


    I used to feel that they’d always intimidate me. That no matter how old I grew, however wise or however brave, I wouldn’t be able to get over that feeling. It’s hard to describe it – I wouldn’t call it fear, for I was never scared of them. Rather, it was a mixture of indignation, intimidation and sadly, even shame. So I’d al: ways be on my guard in busy places, markets, parks, cinema halls – eyes alert, arms firmly by my side, hoping that I wouldn’t feel that purposeful grip or brush against my body – that unsanctioned touch that infuriated me but which I knew I’d do nothing about. They intimidated me, you see.

    That was then.

    In time, I made a strange discovery, one that I hadn’t ever thought possible to be a fact – They were cowards. Inside, they were nothing more than small minded , mouse like, sleazy, cowards. It happened one day when I was walking on a busy footpath. Coming towards me from the opposite direction was a man who seemed intent to walk right into me, despite there being ample space on the either side of me. Attempting to stem the discomfort that was beginning to rise in me, I decided to try a new strategy – I continued walking, raised my head high, shoulders straight back and looked at him. Right into his two eyes. Square. He met my gaze for a while but didn’t hold it for too long. He slowed his pace, the leer on his face began to fade away, he looked away, and stepped out of my way. Not for one moment till we’d passed each other did I break eye contact with him.

    I realised that day, that they were not worth the dignity my meekness had been granting to them. In a way, that day changed my life. After athat, when I detected intimidation rising in my chest, I’d dispell it immediately with the memory of the coward.

    They say you win half the battle when you’ve conquered fear of it. I was determined not to shut up and swallow humiliation anymore – in buses, on streets, in trains, busy market places because I hated what my silence , our silence , had done for them. Small, mouse-like , sleazy cowards. It had elevated them to heights of bravado and arrogance that they did not have in them to achieve in any other way. I decided I wasn’t going to be part of it anymore and I was always going to make a scene.

    And so I did.

    “ Thik se khade nahi reh sakte bus mein?” (can’t you stand properly in a bus?) I’d yell loudly for all to hear. And I’d watch as he shuffled his feet, mumbled something incoherently, and looked away, keeping a great deal of a distance from me now.

    “Move your hand, I have to sit here” I once said loudly to an elderly man sitting next to me in a train, who most coincidently always placed his hand on the seat I was going to sit in before I sat in it.

    Old men, young men, middle aged men, married men, high school boys, fathers, grandfathers. I felt I was going to run out of puke.

    “If you touch me again, I’ll break your bloody hands and then take you to the principal” – this was a college canteen waiter who most unfortunately picked the wrong person to get funny with. I never saw him after that – the man who would lie in wait for me to walk down the corridoor so he could walk past me every day. This was one of the most satisfying days of my life. There were so many people I knew sitting there– students, laboratory assistants, teachers – I felt like just shutting up and just forgetting about it, shoving it to the back of my head. But I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me – it kept reminding me of what this kind of attitude had done for women in my country - Are you going to be part of the problem or the solution, Nayan? - It seemed to scream at me. I had to make a scene.

    It angers me so much now when I see women on streets, in buses, movie halls, shopping malls, trains being harrassed either verbally or physically and keeping their mouths shut. It happens everywhere – they just shut up, forget about it, push it away from their minds. They begin to accept it as a part of their ‘lot’ by virtue of being a woman. It makes my blood boil.

    And yet, there are times I feel that perhaps I’m wrong in thinking like this – after all, it isn’t easy to face one’s fears. And who am I to decide that all women must /are obliged to behave in a way I deem right. There are so many dimensions to the problems and so many sub-issues involved here, the biggest one being the socio-cultural set up in India that moulds the two sexes in different ways – something I believe responsible for most, if not all our country’s problems today.

    “India has finally arrived” , Boink said to me. And that set me thinking. Bush is here with flowers, the arm of friendship, and the offer of collaboration. Our GDP rises steadily, Economy’s going great guns, Sensex breaks new barriers every fortnight, Indian techies seem to be the need of the hour, women have revolutionised themselves with jobs, security, money – independence.

    The tragedy is – the mindset seems to be unchanged. Inspite of all the liberation and emancipation, we’re still intimidated. Intimidated by small-minded, mouselike, sleazy, cowardly men.


    It would be laughable if it weren’t so sad

    This post originally appeared on Mrignayanii's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI

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  3. Action Hero LJ- The right to respect

    I know I am late for The Blank Noise Project blogathon, but better late than never, right? This blogathon is to raise awareness and help prevent Eve-teasing, Street harassment and Abuse.

    I bumped into this Blogathon by chance and was quite surprised by the subject, considering that its pretty taboo and not that very well discussed, even though we are a ‘progressive’ urban society. But after reading through quite a few blogs, surprisingly some written by men too, I was shocked and jolted by the experiences. Shocked not because I could not believe of what these women went through, rather surprised by the fact that these women went through the exact same things that I have been going through, since my rite of passage! It was a revelation, considering that inspite of being from differences cities, towns, educational backgrounds, class, status, none of us escaped being physically and mentally abused. Be it cat calls, being stalked, groped, flashed, jeered, rubbed into, pushed, pulled, threatened, abused, beaten, jolted, ridiculed; the trend was frighteningly similar.

    For many, eve teasing seems like a very harmless sport. C’mon every one of us has flirted or joked around with the opposite sex sometime. But where do we draw the line? When does it turn into abuse from harmless flirting?
    I guess that’s where we all need to be taught, enlightened and disciplined. When people take effort to teach us the way to eat, write, walk, learn, think and even talk right, then why can’t we teach how to identify abuse and face it?

    The world is a scary place, but each one of you feels safe in this cocoon hoping that as long as it doesn’t happen to us, we don’t need to be bothered. I guess this false hope of safety is what has led women to be this brutally abused EVERYDAY. If my parents, relatives or teachers had warned me about these perverts and their evil tricks I would have been prepared the first time I was groped, instead of feeling dirty, demeaned, ashamed, angry, and cheap about my body, doubting what had I done wrong? I wouldn’t have been scared shit when a freak followed me back from school if someone on the street had seen my plight and come to my rescue. I wouldn’t have been embarrassed and disgusted if my college management and police had done something to stop the flashers and eve teasers out side my college! If only I was safe, I wouldn’t have been this broken, shit scared woman who grows apprehensive when the sun goes down, who would rather spend a bomb on autos than take a bus home, who wouldn’t go to late night movies, restaurants, parties and even mid-night masses without a male escort, who would have to pick me up and drop me back home.

    But then inspite of all the fear, anger, helplessness, shame, ignorance, self-doubt, disgust, agony and anger, I have made an effort to stand up to these perverts.
    If someone touched me now without my permission, I would beat the living day lights out of that bastard, like I did on my trip back to Bangalore from Mangalore, a year back. I had to resort to beating him because; inspite of repeatedly complaining to my aunt about this guy who was feeling me up from the ‘front seat’ in a bus full of sleeping people, my aunt asked me to ignore him and I did. But there’s only that much a girl can stand. When that bastard didn’t stop inspite of my angry retorts, I pulled out my water bottle, stood up and beat the hell out of that guy. The bus was stopped, the conductor came running, I narrated what happened, people woke up from their slumber and grumbled, my aunt seemed embarrassed (can you believe that?), I looked at that creep trembling with fear and he seemed to be just a ‘college kid’!!!

    And even after everything that had happened, the conductor asked me not to make a fuss and ‘disturb’ my fellow passengers!

    I was fuming with rage. People didn’t support me, my own aunt did not come to my rescue, the conductor asked me to hush and sit tight, but none of this mattered, because when I reached Bangalore, I was a new woman, a stronger, braver, redeemed woman. That one moment of retaliation wiped away all the pain, anger, shame, anguish and disgust of the earlier abuse. It was a start and I have never been sorry about it. But even today I can’t forgive my aunt for not backing me up!

    From then on I haven’t been afraid to walk with my head held high rather then fold my hands across my chest, scare these pricks away with a glare when earlier I wouldn’t even look up, now I resort to screaming and self-defence rather than walking away and sometimes even helping out other women.

    A faint ray of hope is that when I tell my mom about this, she is proud of me and backs me up. Thanks Mom for understanding and encouraging me to face the world, one less grope at a time.

    But this doesn’t mean that I am still a free bird. I follow every rule in the book.
    Don’t go out alone after dark.
    Avoid lonely streets.
    Don’t talk to strangers.
    Don’t wear revealing clothes and accessories, which draw attention.
    Don’t pick up fights unnecessarily.
    Always know your limits and dangers.
    Always be alert and on guard.
    Save emergency numbers on the phone.
    Grow longer nails.
    And never ever forget to pack your courage and presence of mind, while stepping out of home.

    Anyways now back to the point of this Blogathon- Awareness.
    Keeping this is mind, I forwarded a few of these blogs to my friends and colleagues, and I was quite taken back by the response. While most women recognized with the experiences in the blogs, most men seemed genuinely surprised that women actually go through this kind of abuse everyday and everywhere. This either shows that men just turn a blind eye and justify these atrocities or they were truly never aware of mistreatment of women. But I have intentionally skipped the third category, they being perverted themselves!

    I don’t know if I can change the minds of those who justify eve teasing or they themselves part take in it, but through my experiences and hundreds of other women’s blogs, I can at least enlighten the ignorant of the atrocities meted out to their mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, friends, nieces, girl friends, aunts, babies and even grand mothers on a daily basis.
    That’s the reason I am writing this blog. And for those of you who are rolling their eyes thinking ‘oh c’mon not one more of those Women’s day feminists’, let me make this clear that I am not here for male bashing or asking for any kind of reservation for women. I am here to plead for a life without constant fear. I am asking for the most basic of rights, the right to self respect and dignity.

    I am not going to discuss what provokes these perverts, how they are mis-guided by the media, society and peers or why men think the way they think . Darn I don’t even want to know how many meters of clothing a woman should wear to avoid being eve teased?

    All I want is a little awareness and acknowledgement of the fact that these atrocities happen, right under the noses of the family, friends, police, public and government. Not many women complain because they are scared, ashamed, embarrassed, discouraged, lose hope and give up and those who complain are harassed by the bureaucracy and red tape . I can guarantee you that every single woman in India has been molested atleast ONCE! Most of us, millions who travel venture out of our homes daily to ply by public transport, pass through streets, shopping malls, colleges, schools, temples, churches, markets, layouts and in every damn god forsaken public place, we are abused day in and day out. I cant even begin to imagine what happens among poor, illiterate women in villages and cities!

    Men should be privileged that you do not encounter perverted pricks out to harass you sexually, daily. They are not waiting for you on lonely streets, in bus stands, grouped under a tree, behind the tinted glass of the passing car, riding on bikes and cycles, in the bus’, trains, autos, taxis and not every shadow or foot steps evoke fear and terror in you all the time.

    You men are lucky to have privileges like taking a long peaceful walk on a moonlit night, watching late night movies, eating out in a restaurant post 9, traveling alone at 2 am, getting a breathe of fresh air in your own compound or terrace, all these are just mere routine for men, but an impossible dream for Indian women!

    I know that things won’t change overnight and India will not turn into heaven immediately, but we can make a start somewhere. That’s why I request all you men and women to try and follow a few basic rules:

    Women, there is no point in a few of us screaming for justice and dignity, if you yourselves do not take any initiative. I have seen so many of my friends, family and strangers bear the abuse silently and do not even muster enough courage to glare at the offender or even ask for help! Most of the abuse is spoken about, only after the guys walk away and its too late!
    I know that every one of these women, has never been able to forget the snigger of those perverts, the lust in their eyes or have never stopped fearing the approaching hand. I am sure that their bodies and minds still feel dirty and no amount of shudders and baths can take away that feeling of disgust . They still vent their anger at their helplessness and ignorance. But there is no point in belated fury, while you let that bastard walk away?

    So wake up, take control of your bodies and be on guard.

    Scream, fight, scratch, slap, cry, castrate or just plain abuse them. Use any weapon that you can; be it safety pins, chilly powder, nails, teeth, pepper spray, water bottles, bags, umbrellas or karate, do not hesitate. People may or may not help you, police may save or harass you, your companion may turn away or your own family may hush you, but don’t let them stop you. Believe me even though that man did abuse you, you will have the satisfaction of fighting back against that ass hole and made sure that the he will think atleast million times before he abuses another girl.

    I know how scary it is to face these perverts; I know how humiliating it is to tell people that someone just grabbed your breasts or tell your dad that a stranger just brushed against you. But girl you have to do it, to save yourself and others from being raped every day, piece by piece, part by part, inch by inch, before there is nothing left of your dignity, self respect, courage, education, talent or emotions. You will just be a empty shell of a woman, believing that you are just another set of boobs, ass and vagina!
    So girls do something, do anything.

    Next comes Family, you have the biggest responsibility. Why is it that when parents and elders can warn their kids against taking food from strangers or scare kids about being kidnapped, cant explain what kind of abuse men are capable of?
    What stops you- shame? How does your embarrassment to explain these things, help your kid who has just been groped and doesn’t understand why she feels so dirty and disgusted? How does your denial to educate your kid save him or her from self doubt and low self esteem?

    You have no right to have kids if you can’t provide, protect and educate them.
    And a kind request to all those friendly, out going and easy to mingle aunts and uncles, do not let your kids sit or play with strangers and acquaintances. Don’t just trust people blindly. Always ask your sons and daughters about anything strange that they have encountered and always be on guard. It’s your duty to protect your kids, lest something unforgivable happens.

    Of course last but not at all the least, support and trust your sons and daughters, rather than doubting them. They are your flesh and blood, your hopes and dreams, the object of your love and affection, the least you can do is take their side and, heed and lead.

    Public support can help curb a lot of evils be it robbery, assault or abuse. Support the victim and not the perpetrator. Most timid public, like the ones in Bangalore would rather be silent by-standers than active supporters. All it takes is a little initiative, a little intervention; all it takes is one helping hand or a raised voice.

    So please spread the word and make it clear to people that things like this do happen whether its in Forum Mall or City Market. Only awareness can lead to prevention and hopefully even eradication. At least this won’t give the snobbish, blind, self righteous pricks a chance to hush these things up and pretend nothing happened or claim that women brought this up on themselves!

    I don’t exactly feel proud to ask men for help but fathers, brothers, uncles, grandpa’s, friends and boy friends, it is your duty to take care of us girls, protect us, educate us, support us, help us and prevent these perversions. And of course teach your sons, grandsons, brothers, nephews and friends to respect women and please do not encourage abuse.

    When I narrated these horrors to one of my closest friends, he was shocked, hurt and apologetic. I know how most of you men must feel when we started revealing our painful ordeals. Remember that we are not generalizing and we are definitely not blaming you all. We know that there are a few good men, rare but they are there. And it is because of these few good men, women still trust men and muster courage to brave that crowded bus, markets, streets, malls, fests, schools and colleges,knowing that inspite of these evil creeps, there are a few good men who will come to their rescue.

    Lastly I salute the undying spirit and strength of women, who rise like a Phoenix no matter how many times her will and dignity are trampled on.

    I was always proud to be a woman, today I am prouder because of you fewbrave women . Thanks to the Blank noise project for initiating this drive and spreading awareness.

    Please remember, support the victim, not the abuser!

    This post originally appeared on LJ's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI


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  4. Action Hero Kavitha - Cast away thie veil, this veil of disgrace

    I remember the first time it happened - I broke down and cried.

    No one, not one person in the entire street raised their voice as I stood mortified, watching them lower their eyes and slip by. But what hurt the most was that I was stunned into silence myself - unable to protest or to react. I couldn't find my own voice.

    Shame flooded my body and I ran across the street - my face stained by the time I knocked on my door. I resented myself as I sank on a pillow, for not having said and done enough while he had stared belligerently after trying to grope and violently grab me.

    With his eyes he had mocked whilst they hesitantly watched, and I couldn't find my own voice.

    --------

    A thousand mutinies in the world but the streets are not yet safe for me, you and us.

    They insist our skirts are too short, our blouses too tight and our hips sway both the sides - so it's seriously all our fault.

    They advise we should have walked faster ahead, we should have ignored the glances, the voices and their touches and later, that we should forget that it ever happened - for this is how society always is.

    They believe that it's how things will be and how society shall remain - because we afterall are frail women.

    I was a victim once, but I found my voice. And I wonder, as I pause and stare into the vacant space, when will I hear the others speak?

    Will you stand in a corner and hide? Will you lower your eyes and step back? Will you cover your mouth and gasp in plain horror?

    Or will I hear you speak - for yourself and for others.

    This post originally appeared on Kavitha'sblog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI


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  5. Action Hero Deepali- Tainted?

    Papa called her bahadur beta. Mummy called her sher.

    But when she stepped out, where did her Mummy's sher beta run off to? For she no longer felt like she was brave.

    How could she? They never let her- no, not since she had started to grow up.

    Intelligent,sensitive,shy,- read her report cards. But when she walked past them she felt like the figures in her Biology textbook.


    She felt she was the girl in those pictures. Naked. Exposed. Her privates labelled out with large arrows so no one would miss them.

    Nothing else was brought into focus. No one labelled her smile as sweet. Or her eyes as twinkles in the amavas night. Or how her broad forehead certainly betrayed her quiet intelligence. They didn't want to know what she liked. Who she was. They didn't even want to know her name.

    She was nameless, just a pair of breasts and ass and that was enough for them.Clearly labelled for all to see. By Them.

    Like the girl in those pictures. Ch-13- Reproductive System.

    She showered each day, twice, like good Brahmin children. She still felt filthy.

    Their roving eyes cast black over body. No not like soot, which came off with a slight wipe off a wet finger. Like artificial colours of Holi, unnatural, impure- clinging to the skin , that a few hard scrubs couldn't take off.

    Neither could Lux nor Dove. Nor Nirma nor Surf.

    Industrial detergents only burnt that offensive skin. But it would grow back, fresh for countless coats of humiliation brushed on with fervour by those who unclothed her daily.

    Their glances suffocated her in a sea of black ink- like the voter's dot on the index finger, hard to see and hard to clean.

    Surely Eve must have lived even if Mummy had said no. She thought she must have, for she was Eve every day. Impure, unclean.Damned until her flesh withered away.

    So she removed herself from that body. The body that brings in so much pain, humiliation and shame. The body that was brushed by 'accidently'. That was felt on crowded buses. That was smacked in throngs of people in the bazaar.

    "No this body can't be mine", she thought, "Which is unclothed by their eyes everytime I pass by. Unclothed against my will. Unclothed when I thought these layers, metres of cloth, without form or attraction, could hide this body of mine. This body that becomes part of public, to be seen, felt, used to suit whosoever wishes to. Will this body ever be only mine?"

    She was Papa's bahadur beta and Mumma's sher.

    But if she was brave, then why did she die everytime they saw her?

    But if she was a sher, why did she feel hunted,why was she the prey?

    Men are individuals with free will. Excercise it- control your actions.
    A woman's body is hers and only hers alone- not one to be treated as part of public property.
    Street harassment is a crime.
    Stop street harassment of girls and women.

    Update: While I avoided writing a personal account /testimony of street harassment, for those memories come with their share of pain, humiliation and helplessness, Annie didn't and I think those who questioned the 'purpose' of this blog-a-thon might want to read it.

    If nothing else you'd see how women are made to depend on men, why we cannot be alone, why we need separate lines and compartments. And if nothing else, you can remind yourself to not brush away our pain, our humiliation. To not brush us off as weak.

    Lastly, I'd like to add, this isn't restricted to India. I experienced it first-hand in the Middle East.


    Afterall, geography doesn't limit a man's ability to be an asshole.


    This post originally appeared on Deepali'sblog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI

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  6. Action Hero Chandrahasa Reddy- Blank Noise Project

    Today on the way to work I was as usual listening to Radio City… There was this interview with a creater of an organization called “Blank Noise Project“. The project seeks to recognize eve teasing as a sexual crime and establish the issue as something that may be normal, but is unacceptable.

    Today March 7th 2006 the site is organizing a Blog-o-thon, where people talk about eve teasing in their blogs and let people know what they feel… The event is a huge success and its amazing how common this problem is…

    Frankly only today I realized the depth of the snake pit and reading some of the entries I was saddened at the state of affairs and the way we treat women in our country. Read it your self to discover the thoughts in a woman’s mind and when she feels threatened.

    Its a sad thing that in a country that can make its own nuclear weapons almost half the population hv to live in the fear of the other half.

    As for how to stop the injustice… Making every man to realize the error of his ways seems ideal but lets not get carried away that will not be happening this week… The idea of carrying pepper sprays ect seems like a good idea, the system looks like its working in other continents(America).


    I am throughly impressed by the quality of work these people have put up and Kudos to their effort…

    This post originally appeared on Chandrahasa's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI

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  7. Action Hero Aurina- For the Blank Noise Project: Scraps.

    The following post is for the Blank Noise Project Blog-a-thon which seeks to record testimonies, thoughts, analyses etc of street harassment. Please go read what other people have to say too. There are some really horrific, insightful, intelligent, despairing, heart-breaking posts out there.

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

    Written in 2002.

    I don't want to be here. Odours silence my restive cries as my mouth opens and closes several times like a fish. I lay still on a red and black seat - torn in places with cotton peeping through - as disembodied hands slide under the red tee-shirt I thoughtlessly chose this morning. Reality borrows the clarity of dreams, but disposes of the promise to wake me up. From the corner of my eye I can see the taxi driver through the rear view mirror looking forcefully at the streets ahead of him. I know I will die today. I know I will be cut into four pieces, tucked into a V.I.P duffel bag and tossed into the Arabian Sea."You're so beautiful..you're so beautiful", the words segue into noisy orgasms that only I can hear. I'm losing track of what's happening. A tongue entangled in mine...cars frantically making their way to work....my bra is being masterfully unhooked...we're taking a left turn...maybe it's a right turn...? "You shouldn't dress so provocatively...because..you're so fucking beautiful..fucking beautiful..." The rest of the sentence merges into the restlessness of a Bombay weekday. Abruptly,the cab stops at a red light. He sits up straight, stretching his hands. Then, he opens the door and steps out, peers in through the slightly open window and smiles. "Thanks".

    *****************************************

    A few months ago, I was at Bandra station at about 6:30 in the evening. As I made my way through the throngs of clammy chaos - dodging stray elbows, lewd comments, lecherous stares, "accidental" run-ins - I spotted a group of young men congregating by the rickshaw stand. I made a mental note to stay away from them; they wore the kind of sneers that meant trouble. A few minutes later, I saw a girl barely 18 or 19 years of age. As she walked by them, the young man closest to her reached out and hit her breast forcefully with the back of his hand. The others laughed exaggeratedly and congratulated his audacity with high fives. The girl - like everyone else who'd witnessed the incident - simply walked away.

    I wanted to see if she was okay, but she'd scurried into a rickshaw already. Regardless I knew exactly how she felt. I knew her eyes were probably stinging with tears of frustration, humiliation, helplessness, anger. I knew that she regretted walking away, that she was probably rehearsing an appropriately scathing response for the next time it happened. Worst of all, I knew she knew that there would be a next time.

    I don't know why we're so apathetic to street harassment - the majority of public spaces in this country are cesspools of misogynist behaviour. To me, being leered and leched at is as much a part of my every day life in Bombay as brushing my teeth. I'm not even really sure what gratification someone gets from calling a female passer-by a "saxxxxy item." You've all heard the feminist rhetoric before but it all does go back to power; they get off on knowing they can get away with their impudence.

    It's only recently that I've realised that "eve-teasing" - I hate that word with a passion, but there it is - is actively condoned by Bollywood. I get the feeling that when a 15 year old whistles at me, he half expects my initial spurn to transform into perfectly choreographed pelvic thrusts, with hot-pink clad dancers mimicking my every move.


    No, seriously, who remembers the song "Aankh Maare?" or "Aaja Meri Gadi Mein Bait Ja?" or really, any of the other 5462 Bollywood songs where a roadside romeo follows (read: harasses) a girl, interpreting her blatant lack of consent as coyness or irritation or a personality quirk? He is, of course, right and eventually she falls desperately in love with our eve-teasing protagonist who turns out to be quite the paragon of virtue.

    I'm not saying, of course, that it's all Bollywood's fault, but my point is that we live in a culture that breeds and encourages sexist behaviour. We teach our daughters to "dress properly" and "behave modestly" but why can't we teach our sons to be more respectful, less aggressive?

    In the words of one of my favourite sociologists, "The rules of masculinity and femininity are strictly enforced, and this difference equals power. The difference between male and female sexualities reproduces men’s power over women and simultaneously the power of some men over other men, especially of the dominant, hegemonic form of manhood – straight, white, middle class – over marginalized masculinities. (…)"

    I used to carefully calculate my outfit before leaving the house - I had to make sure my shirt wasn't too tight, my bra strap was safely invisible, my jeans weren't too low, my skirt wasn't too short - and despite the (positively oppressive) precautions I took, I still got pinched, poked, grabbed. Day after day after day.

    No more.

    Now I wear what I want because it doesn't make a difference. I didn't ask for it, I don't ask for it. I never will ask for it.


    I try relentlessly to stop feeling shame, to treat my own body with the respect it deserves. It's an arduous journey, but slowly and not without setbacks, I - like several other women I know - am getting there

    This post originally appeared on Aurina's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI

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  8. Action Hero Ashweeta- blogathon thoughts

    As a woman, it was cathartic for me to write about my own experiences. At the same time, as a blogger, I felt that my post had nothing new to say. So many women were writing the very same thing. And then I realised, that’s the point , isn’t it ? All of us women, from various walks of life, talking about virtually identical experiences. Which just goes to show how ubiquitous street harassment is.

    Another thing that made my stomach churn was that nearly ever post began with “I remmeber when I was twelve/thirteen”, and some even with “I remember when I was eight”. Children. We were mere children, innocent kids, girls. And our innocence was stolen in an instant, leaving us bewildered and suddenly aware of the world.

    Extempore says,
    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.

    I read that, and I just wanted to reach out and hug her, because I know. I know how that feels. The inability to express that fear to your family. The hidden secrets that have never been spoken. There was a reluctance to transfer my fear, humiliation and anger to my family. I felt that it would be best to forget, to ignore. An impossible task. And I wonder how old I will be before the secrets spill out …

    Some have questioned the purpose of the blogathon saying that bloggers in general belong to a category of people who do not indulge in such activities, and the blogathon will teach them nothing. I point them to Karthik, who admits,
    I’ve seen a lot. In buses and movie theaters, upscale malls and vegetable markets. From catcalls to breathing down the neck, from elbowing a fellow passenger to things a bit more than elbowing. Everytime, a silent “What the…” and I’ve moved on. Sometimes, not even that.

    I do not think that street harassment is restricted by class or by education. It really has no boundaries. All the nameless, faceless people who play the villains in our posts have come from all walks of life. Young and old. Poor and rich. Illiterate and educated.

    Patrix says,
    I do not wish to project an image of suave machismo but I guess the sense of protection accorded to the womenfolk is hardwired into the male genes. How can some men transcend complex biology and stoop to the level of inflicting the treatment that they wouldn’t tolerate on their loved ones on to other women is honesty beyond me.

    So many times we talk of guys acting too tough, too macho. Being overly possessive and protective. The ingrained me-big-man-me-protect-little-woman instincts. Where are these instincts in the bastards who feel us up ?

    Annie talks of the rules – some spoken, some silently understood – that govern the very way we live. That mock the freedom and independence we claim on the basis of our education, our intelligence, and our strength. Aishwarya talks about being dependent on her guy friends to drop her home at late night. The dependence on men, that is necessary. And that embarrasses our embrace of emancipation.

    Sujatha wonders,
    Why are not women seen as another being, having the right to walk carefree on a street or ride on a bus and to reach their destination without being abused, assaulted and battered, without feeling frustrated, guilty, angry, simmering with rage, reconciled to being violated, tearful, afraid for their safety, feeling like shit, feeling dirty, or without feeling like an object of someone’s uncontrolled lust?

    Why indeed ? Is it no wonder that I have no desire to return to a society that treats me like this ? I never thought about it, but certainly this would be an unconscious factor driving me away from returning. Thalassa Mikra rightly terms us the world champions of sexual hypocrisy. Why would I want to return to a place where my daughter will be humiliated in this way ?

    A wise man, viz. Saltwater Blues, says,
    A women is like a flower, and the moment you attempt to violate her, you are causing harm to something that adds beauty to what is otherwise a very drab world.


    A mushy thought, but I wish more guys thought that way.

    This post originally appeared on Ashweeta's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI




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  9. Action Hero Ashweeta- Speak Out

    I was about 12-13, I think. I would join a friend who lived nearby and we’d walk to the neighboring naval colony to play hopscotch with our school friends. There was a small gang of scruffy looking boys who’d lounge by the roadside and snigger at us as we passed by. And then one day as we walked home, we found huge hearts drawn in chalk on the road, with our names and rude comments inscribed within. We were mortified, and furiously tried to rub the marks away. But they remained, jeering at us for a few days. I was most ashamed that the sweet old auties and uncles who knew us would read those disgusting words ont heir daily walks.

    That was my first memory of eve-teasing/harassment – an experience that is perfectly normal, and indeed expected, by an Indian woman.

    When I first started traveling in Bombay – using the buses and trains, I was 15 and still naïve. Men would stand too close, or brush up against me, and initially I always wondered if I was being overly sensitive, and that perhaps the crowded situations were to blame for these ‘imagined’ touches. But bitter experience taugh me to trust my gut instincts and never, ever second-guess myself.

    There are incidents too many to recount here. There was the time in an over-crowded bus when I felt a stranger’s fingers creep an inch under my loose top and stroke my waist. I whirled around, only to find a dozen male strangers nonchalantly minding their own business. Who could I blame ? Then there was the time when I was sitting in a crowded bus seat on the side, and the man standing next to me kept using the bus’s motion to shove his crotch in my face. The many times when I’d travel in a crowded train compartment and feel the men pushing against me as we struggled to get out of the compartment. Rarely was there a clear perpetrator whom you could identify and jab with your elbow (or even better, your umbrella), and create a hue-and-cry.

    And sometimes even that didn’t help matters. The offense so quick and fleeting, the perpetrator so nonchalant and quick, that I would be left in humiliated self-doubt and frustrated indignation.

    Another touchy issue is dealing with the stares. Those utterly male stares that mentally strip you and make you feel completely exposed. The leering grins that make your teeth clench. The salivating looks that make your toes curl up. That make you want to shove your knee in their groin and scratch their eyes out.

    And it’s worse when they were in groups. All that co-mingling testosterone seems to bring out the predators in them. The less dangerous ones would pass insolent remarks, or sing demeaning Bollywood numbers. The more dangerous ones would stalk you, and follow you around. I was plain enough to not attract such stalkers, but I have friends who suffered.
    I have always worn an invisible armour in India. Apart fromt the universal fear of death in dangerous situations, was a fear, unique to women, that cloaked me all the time. An armor that I shed when I came here to the U.S. Oh don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of dangerous places here too. But the danger is of losing my life. And the danger of being an immigrant. But rarely the danger of being a woman. I went back to India this Decemeber, and found myself wearing that lost armor again.

    The funny thing about all this is our general attitude to it. It is something that we women expect to experience. We ‘modern’ women may have stopped taking it lying down, and take action when we can. Nevertheless, it’s a sad fact of life that eve-teasing is a normal part of life. We Bombayites even considered ourselves luckier, because at least we weren’t like our sisters in Delhi – who’d travel in busses with their arms crossed at their chest, pointed needles poking out of their fists at either side!

    We must recognize eve teasing as a crime, something that may be normal, but nevertheless unacceptable. And the responsibility falls not just on women, but equally on men too. I’ve found that a lot of these boors prey on women, only because they take advantage of the skewed power balance between the sexes. Add a man or two to support the woman’s side and the cowardly perpetrators will quietly slink off. Male or female, our job is to speak up. Us womenfolk have to treat eve-teasing as absolutely unacceptable and speak out against every act of harassment. And you men cannot stay silent – you must speak up, speak out, speak against. Do not stand quietly by as such things happen. Use your voices.

    Project Blank Noise is doing a good job at this. They’ve organized this Blog-A-Thon to bring attention to the issue. Do join in with your own posts, comments, thoughts

    This post originally appeared on Ashweeta's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI





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  10. Action Hero Apurva Mathad- Of women and men...

    There is no privilege like the male privilege. We are born with it. It is like a birthright that is biased against women by its very nature. Men and women are treated differently right from the day they are born. So different that in quite a few places in India, the female child is killed; sometimes as sacrifice to the Gods asking for a male heir. That is an extreme case and most urban, middle-class families would distance themselves from such practices but it does not mean that the longing for a male heir does not exist in their minds. And boy (pun unintended) do they wish it! In the cities, they are more sophisticated and female infanticide becomes female foeticide. I am not against abortion but what I am against is the selective abortion of children based on this privileging of the male child.

    Even if women survive this initial period of their lives (over which they have no control over whatsoever), they have a lifetime of segregation to face. They would have to hear comments like, "you have to learn cooking because that's what will help you keep your husband happy" and "you are just a visitor who will leave for another home soon" and "what will you do studying so much; they will not help you", almost all their childhood and adolescence. This is still overt and there are subtler ways of putting a woman down. Even if you do not say those above words, those intentions and thinking behind those words would still be there and is quite perceptible to children who are so sensitive to adult behaviour.

    Even if a woman does get educated well by her family and does manage to get a job in the world, she faces problems just because she is a woman. Women are harassed on the streets, in public places and there is nothing they can do about it expect carry pins and respond violently to the harassment. One feels disgust reading the testimonial of Annie and that of others who have responded in the comments with stories and anecdotes of their own. I have blogged about this before and you could also follow the link there and read the stories there too. Today is March 7, 2006, a day declared by Black Noise Project as a day for Blog-a-thon 2006.

    Of course, this is not the only the only problem that women face in the male-dominated world but this is one of those problems that pervades their life everyday, at all times, and something that they are vulnerable to.

    As a man, it disturbs me to see that it is so pervasive and so problematic to women and it seems to be quite universal. Every woman has a harassment story. Most women face harassment every single day. It seems to be a socially sanctioned practice that hampers the everyday life of millions of women. I take special care on buses to stay away from women because I am afraid that I might unknowingly/unwittingly cause mental stress in the woman standing next to me just because the driver thought it was prudent to brake so hard. In Madras, there were special 'Magalir mattum' (for females only) buses that used to (still might be in operation) run during rush hour that alleviated the stress that women felt in the mornings going to colleges and offices. I strongly recommend such buses as I do not see the situation improving overnight. I used to wonder why educated women would leave a prospect of a promising career and become housewives but the more I read the testimonials of these working women, the more I realise that it is not such an easy question to answer.

    How do you tackle this problem? There are numerous suggestions that keep popping up in my mind.

    1. Make legislation that metes out harsh punishments to people who harass women.

    2. Spread awareness of this issue and how women feel about this in society

    3. Learn marital arts and beat up every single person who does something undesirable.

    4. Take their pictures and post them in a public place like Holla Back NYC (it does not necessarily have to be a blog. It could also be a news channel) and hope that it embarrasses them so much so that they won't behave like that again.

    The problem with the first suggestion is that there is already existing legislation does not seem to be effective. If it was, 'eve-teasing' would not be called by its harmless sounding name and it would not be so pervasive that Indian movies would not show them as a valid wooing technique!! And there is one story by a female commentor on the one of the above mentioned blog posts which seems to suggest that the police are indifferent to this kind of mistreatment of women. The problem with this kind of offence is that of proof. How will you prove that a certain person groped you? How would you convince the people who saw the whistling/eve-teasing to come with to the police station and testify? How would you convince the policeman that you were not over-reacting and you don't want to just let it go? In other words, how would you break the barrier created by gender stereotypes that typecast women who fight back against such men as evil, conniving, lying feminists who hate all men?

    The second suggestion is what Black Noise Project is all about and I think it is the most effective one because it seems to target the thinking of people in society. Spreading awareness of this issue is an important step towards making the world more equitable for women. Changing the perception of the people is a slow process, one that is probably going to take a couple of generations and it does not alleviate the problems faced by women today.

    The third suggestion is something that is already in place. Women do learn martial arts to be able to defend themselves on the street but it cooks my goose that they have to live by jungle rules to be independent, working women! It seems to put the onus of defending herself on the women and seems to suggest that men would always be like that and women should expect such behaviour from them and they should defend themselves as it is unlikely that the society would come to their help. Saying that, it is still a very practical approach and one that is strongly recommended. Martial arts / expertise with handling pins / using heels as toe-busters are all useful skill in the present scenario!

    The fourth suggestion is a question of feasibility. If you take the picture of the guy who is harassing you, he could easily misconstrue as a statement of interest and harass you further. Also, no public place is that public, is it?

    Saying all this, I wonder about all the men who do such heinous work. What do they really think? I suppose there might be some distinction amidst them. There would be the gropers, the whistlers, the starers, the 'eve-teasers'. It is not necessary that all harassers do all of this. There would be some who would 'eve-tease' thinking it is just teasing but they might never grope. Most men are starers, particularly when the object of their stare is at a distance and not looking in their direction. But even here, there is finer distinction. There are those who make it a point to stare and hang out in public places to leer at women passing by, there are those who do not do it regularly but would leer if some well-endowed woman passes by, etc, etc. But I think that in all these cases, the problem is the same - the objectification of women. And our popular media seems to reinforce that idea in the minds of the people. The bollywood movies, the remix videos, the bangra videos, the fashion shows, etc, etc. I personally think that the image of women in media has to change. Today, I saw an ad in the paper that shows a woman with a child on her lap, talking to some one on the phone, and working on a laptop, the tagline was "Women can multitask. Blah blah blah." The implied meaning being that men can't multitask. Such an image of women serves as an excuse to expect them to do all the housework, take care of the baby and pursue a career. It is either this or the portrayal of a woman as a vamp whose overactive sexuality lures men left and right.

    Given all this, I am surprised that women don't screw men over whenever they get the chance (some women do but not all) because men (again, not all men) screw them over (pun intended) all the time. I am also surprised that in spite of going through all this, they never say all men are like that (and it is true). I wish Black Noise Project all the best in their efforts to change the perception of the world and I hope that we can make a better world where men and women would be truly treated equally.

    This post originally appeared on Apurva's blog and was written as part of the Blank Noise Blogathon in 2006. How did YOU learn to say, 'NO: I NEVER ASK FOR IT'? Share your Action Hero story here. Or Tweet your testimonial with the hashtag, #INAFI





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