Dear India...
I've been dipping in an out of your (dirty) waters for years now, and while I'm certainly no expert on all things desi, I would at least consider myself semi-professional. I kinda get it.
You are magnificent, complex, beautiful, frenetic, multi-faceted and have been a huge part of my life for the past 5 years. I love you, I crave you and I need you...but we need to talk.
Why have you become such an insurmountable challenge to me this time around? Is it me? Did I do something to offend you? Are you trying to break up with me? I don't want to launch into a vitriolic diatribe on all the ways that you have infuriated me of late , so I'll try and keep this (reasonably) polite....
Ok, first up. What's your problem with women? Seriously. The entire subcontinent would crumble if not for the might of female backbone, and yet you continue to marginalise, patronise, objectify and humiliate women on a grand scale. Of course this is not a problem exclusive only to India, and neither is it something practised by every man that I come across. But my experience here suggests that somehow, as I woman, I am:
a) a sexual object
b) the property of a man
c) subservient or subordinate
d) completely brainless and unable to fend for myself
e) always at fault. for everything
These feelings are not unfounded either. I have myriad anecdotal evidence to back up these claims. How long have you got?!
The last time I was here it was 2015 and I was with a boyfriend. Life was easy breezy. People* (by *people, I am generally referring to men) rarely approached me, and if they did, it was as an extension of my boyfriend. They would ask him all the questions, while I sat, obediently, knowing my place. They would ask about his education and his career, offer him cigarettes and ask about me through him. Insulting, yes. But easy.
Fast forward to 2017 and I'm here alone. And how things differ as a woman travelling alone in India! Particularly if you're approximately 4 inches taller that the average person here, and have the pallor of a freshly plucked chicken.
In the past 3 months alone I have been groped (several times), catcalled, verbally abused, had my appearance ridiculed, dictated to, patronised, lunged at, sexually threatened, propositioned, proposed to and had my character ripped to shreds. And then blamed for all of it.
All seemingly because I am a woman, and I am alone here.
I'll start with the groping. How Indian men (again this is NOT a sweeping generalisation or an attack on all Indian men), love a good, tactical grope. Festival season, New Year, crowded streets, dark alleyways - go in for the kill. Grab her by the pussy, right? And why shouldn't they? After all, it's my fault for being in possession of tits and arse. Or so I've been told. On numerous occasions. Even politicians/policemen/allegedly educated people are of the opinion that women are asking for it. Case in point; mass-molestation of Indian women on New Year's Eve in Bangalore. Why? Because those rebellious Indian girls flaunt their bodies like loose and easy "western women." Nothing to do with the mob of perverts at all. They were merely acting upon their carnal, animal instincts. Ladies, accept responsibility!
It such commonplace here that I no longer even feel particularly upset post-grope. It's irksome and frustrating, like falling asleep with a mosquito in your room. But it no longer provokes vitriol or fury or tears. It's just part and parcel of my life here. And that in itself is a sad indictment on society.
Catcalling (encompassing sexual threats, verbal harassment, comments on my appearance and being propositioned), is the sure fire gateway to groping. Not sure how to physically sexually harass a woman? Start with some light verbal abuse, and progress from there. A natural stepping stone. My personal favourite, and one that I simply never tire of hearing is "Madam, can I fuck you?" Or some variation on the theme. I particularly enjoy hearing this one late at night, when it's dark and when said perpetrator is driving past me slowly, and on a quiet street. I should mention that late-night public places in India are generally devoid of women, so being the only female in a street dominated by men only adds to the experience. On the plus side, you did call me "Madam," so I'm expected to be grateful. And 1O points for politeness.
Comments on my appearance are also most welcome at ANY time. Please do continue to pass remark on the size/shape of my boobs and bum, colour of my skin (translucent), eye colour, clothing etc. Men! Patriarchy! I have been awaiting your judgements and validation all this time. PLEASE FUCKING CONTINUE. And while you're it, continue to speak to me as though I'm a completely brainless airhead who sailed in to town on a banana skin. There's nothing a woman loves more than to be patronised. No really. We love it! Feel free to explain (mansplain, right?) the screamingly obvious to me. And definitely ingratiate yourself to me by using key phrases such as "Listen, ma'am," "You don't understand..." and other such wise ditties. You're right. My extensive travels have taught me absolutely nothing. I've been idling through life, waiting on your pearls of utter fucking wisdom this entire time. Thank you!
If you feel it absolutely necessary, please do also feel entirely free to pass judgment on my single status. "Where are your friends?" "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" And my personal favourite; "You're 28 and unmarried?" Followed by obligatory sad/concerned face. My life is obviously invalid, sad and empty sans man. OBVIOUSLY. My naked ring-finger and barren, childless womb make me only a half-woman. I live in sheer and utter hope and desperation that one day some Prince Charming-esque hunk will rescue me from this perpetual torture.
Single female travellers are also far more susceptible to perverse curiosity than say, couples, or groups of friends travelling together. Where are you going? (None of you business). Where are you staying? (None of your business). Do you need something? (Yes; distance, peace and complete isolation from humanity).
This type of curiosity, naturally, breeds gossip. Let me give you a little anecdote. For several months, I was living in Varanasi, in Uttar Pradesh. Volunteering, trying to do a bit of karma yoga, generally minding my own business and getting on with things. But a couple of months living somewhere in India is the equivalent of living your entire life in a small village in Scotland. People talk. And boy do they love to talk! The fishwives came out in force. After a short time, I began to hear rumours about myself; I was drunk in the street, I was on a motorbike with some random questionable stranger, etc. All totally baseless. But enough to make me feel uncomfortable, because it dawned on me that someone, somewhere is always watching. People are tracking my every move. Total strangers (men) would present themselves to me, armed with a fairly robust knowledge of my life. Quite disconcerting, and yet not wholly unsurprisingly.
Who needs CCTV when the average Indian is so adept?
But like I already said, all of these things are entirely my fault. As a single white female navigating the complex terrain of the sub-continent, I should really know my place. That means: no alcohol or smoking (except in the confines of my room), no talking with anyone in the street (particularly men, as I know all too well that even a 10 second conversation with a man can leave your reputation in shreds), no showing of any skin (cover your tempting ankles, harlots!) and definitely don't spend time or give attention to any man, unless you want misappropriated feelings/a proposal/a love letter/them to lunge at you. This includes ALL men; chai-wallah, shopkeeper, snake-charmer, priest, whatever. I used to pass by a chai stall in Varanasi 3 or 4 times a week, stopping each time for around 10 minutes. Cup of tea, biscuit, idle chit-chat, goodbye. This went on for around 4 weeks. So over the duration of 4 weeks, I spent a maximum of 160 minutes at this chai shop. Not even 3 hours. But out of the blue one day, the chai-man (who doesn't speak English particularly well, by the way, and didn't actually know my real name), presented me with a silver ring and a passionate letter, declaring his undying love for me, I am his life, can't live without me, blah blah blah.
"You grew too close with this man, this is all your fault, yaar," one friend unsympathetically informed me.
"But I just pass by for tea!" I protest, to deaf ears. " What, am I supposed to live a life without tea? Impossible!"
It seems that in India, "feelings" develop quicker than a rat scaling a drainpipe, so be warned.
I realise this has probably strayed dangerously in to the realm of "AND ANOTHER THING....," type ranting, which was not my intention, so I'm going to wrap this up neatly here. My love for the sub-continent (believe it or not) far outweighs every negative, and it will take a lot more than an opportunist pervert/smug patroniser/pathetic cat-caller/vicious gossip/lusty chai-man to deter me.
India, I still love you, but please give me - and your long-suffering female population - a break!
I've been dipping in an out of your (dirty) waters for years now, and while I'm certainly no expert on all things desi, I would at least consider myself semi-professional. I kinda get it.
You are magnificent, complex, beautiful, frenetic, multi-faceted and have been a huge part of my life for the past 5 years. I love you, I crave you and I need you...but we need to talk.
Why have you become such an insurmountable challenge to me this time around? Is it me? Did I do something to offend you? Are you trying to break up with me? I don't want to launch into a vitriolic diatribe on all the ways that you have infuriated me of late , so I'll try and keep this (reasonably) polite....
Ok, first up. What's your problem with women? Seriously. The entire subcontinent would crumble if not for the might of female backbone, and yet you continue to marginalise, patronise, objectify and humiliate women on a grand scale. Of course this is not a problem exclusive only to India, and neither is it something practised by every man that I come across. But my experience here suggests that somehow, as I woman, I am:
a) a sexual object
b) the property of a man
c) subservient or subordinate
d) completely brainless and unable to fend for myself
e) always at fault. for everything
These feelings are not unfounded either. I have myriad anecdotal evidence to back up these claims. How long have you got?!
The last time I was here it was 2015 and I was with a boyfriend. Life was easy breezy. People* (by *people, I am generally referring to men) rarely approached me, and if they did, it was as an extension of my boyfriend. They would ask him all the questions, while I sat, obediently, knowing my place. They would ask about his education and his career, offer him cigarettes and ask about me through him. Insulting, yes. But easy.
Fast forward to 2017 and I'm here alone. And how things differ as a woman travelling alone in India! Particularly if you're approximately 4 inches taller that the average person here, and have the pallor of a freshly plucked chicken.
In the past 3 months alone I have been groped (several times), catcalled, verbally abused, had my appearance ridiculed, dictated to, patronised, lunged at, sexually threatened, propositioned, proposed to and had my character ripped to shreds. And then blamed for all of it.
All seemingly because I am a woman, and I am alone here.
I'll start with the groping. How Indian men (again this is NOT a sweeping generalisation or an attack on all Indian men), love a good, tactical grope. Festival season, New Year, crowded streets, dark alleyways - go in for the kill. Grab her by the pussy, right? And why shouldn't they? After all, it's my fault for being in possession of tits and arse. Or so I've been told. On numerous occasions. Even politicians/policemen/allegedly educated people are of the opinion that women are asking for it. Case in point; mass-molestation of Indian women on New Year's Eve in Bangalore. Why? Because those rebellious Indian girls flaunt their bodies like loose and easy "western women." Nothing to do with the mob of perverts at all. They were merely acting upon their carnal, animal instincts. Ladies, accept responsibility!
It such commonplace here that I no longer even feel particularly upset post-grope. It's irksome and frustrating, like falling asleep with a mosquito in your room. But it no longer provokes vitriol or fury or tears. It's just part and parcel of my life here. And that in itself is a sad indictment on society.
Catcalling (encompassing sexual threats, verbal harassment, comments on my appearance and being propositioned), is the sure fire gateway to groping. Not sure how to physically sexually harass a woman? Start with some light verbal abuse, and progress from there. A natural stepping stone. My personal favourite, and one that I simply never tire of hearing is "Madam, can I fuck you?" Or some variation on the theme. I particularly enjoy hearing this one late at night, when it's dark and when said perpetrator is driving past me slowly, and on a quiet street. I should mention that late-night public places in India are generally devoid of women, so being the only female in a street dominated by men only adds to the experience. On the plus side, you did call me "Madam," so I'm expected to be grateful. And 1O points for politeness.
Comments on my appearance are also most welcome at ANY time. Please do continue to pass remark on the size/shape of my boobs and bum, colour of my skin (translucent), eye colour, clothing etc. Men! Patriarchy! I have been awaiting your judgements and validation all this time. PLEASE FUCKING CONTINUE. And while you're it, continue to speak to me as though I'm a completely brainless airhead who sailed in to town on a banana skin. There's nothing a woman loves more than to be patronised. No really. We love it! Feel free to explain (mansplain, right?) the screamingly obvious to me. And definitely ingratiate yourself to me by using key phrases such as "Listen, ma'am," "You don't understand..." and other such wise ditties. You're right. My extensive travels have taught me absolutely nothing. I've been idling through life, waiting on your pearls of utter fucking wisdom this entire time. Thank you!
If you feel it absolutely necessary, please do also feel entirely free to pass judgment on my single status. "Where are your friends?" "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" And my personal favourite; "You're 28 and unmarried?" Followed by obligatory sad/concerned face. My life is obviously invalid, sad and empty sans man. OBVIOUSLY. My naked ring-finger and barren, childless womb make me only a half-woman. I live in sheer and utter hope and desperation that one day some Prince Charming-esque hunk will rescue me from this perpetual torture.
Single female travellers are also far more susceptible to perverse curiosity than say, couples, or groups of friends travelling together. Where are you going? (None of you business). Where are you staying? (None of your business). Do you need something? (Yes; distance, peace and complete isolation from humanity).
This type of curiosity, naturally, breeds gossip. Let me give you a little anecdote. For several months, I was living in Varanasi, in Uttar Pradesh. Volunteering, trying to do a bit of karma yoga, generally minding my own business and getting on with things. But a couple of months living somewhere in India is the equivalent of living your entire life in a small village in Scotland. People talk. And boy do they love to talk! The fishwives came out in force. After a short time, I began to hear rumours about myself; I was drunk in the street, I was on a motorbike with some random questionable stranger, etc. All totally baseless. But enough to make me feel uncomfortable, because it dawned on me that someone, somewhere is always watching. People are tracking my every move. Total strangers (men) would present themselves to me, armed with a fairly robust knowledge of my life. Quite disconcerting, and yet not wholly unsurprisingly.
Who needs CCTV when the average Indian is so adept?
But like I already said, all of these things are entirely my fault. As a single white female navigating the complex terrain of the sub-continent, I should really know my place. That means: no alcohol or smoking (except in the confines of my room), no talking with anyone in the street (particularly men, as I know all too well that even a 10 second conversation with a man can leave your reputation in shreds), no showing of any skin (cover your tempting ankles, harlots!) and definitely don't spend time or give attention to any man, unless you want misappropriated feelings/a proposal/a love letter/them to lunge at you. This includes ALL men; chai-wallah, shopkeeper, snake-charmer, priest, whatever. I used to pass by a chai stall in Varanasi 3 or 4 times a week, stopping each time for around 10 minutes. Cup of tea, biscuit, idle chit-chat, goodbye. This went on for around 4 weeks. So over the duration of 4 weeks, I spent a maximum of 160 minutes at this chai shop. Not even 3 hours. But out of the blue one day, the chai-man (who doesn't speak English particularly well, by the way, and didn't actually know my real name), presented me with a silver ring and a passionate letter, declaring his undying love for me, I am his life, can't live without me, blah blah blah.
"You grew too close with this man, this is all your fault, yaar," one friend unsympathetically informed me.
"But I just pass by for tea!" I protest, to deaf ears. " What, am I supposed to live a life without tea? Impossible!"
It seems that in India, "feelings" develop quicker than a rat scaling a drainpipe, so be warned.
I realise this has probably strayed dangerously in to the realm of "AND ANOTHER THING....," type ranting, which was not my intention, so I'm going to wrap this up neatly here. My love for the sub-continent (believe it or not) far outweighs every negative, and it will take a lot more than an opportunist pervert/smug patroniser/pathetic cat-caller/vicious gossip/lusty chai-man to deter me.
India, I still love you, but please give me - and your long-suffering female population - a break!
