Being Indian: Silence v2.0

Recently I had the most prestigious opportunity of meeting a man, only about a year younger than me. We had a lot in a common, which is rare. He had lost his mother recently as I have and he also suffered from frequent panic attacks. So we got along very well and texted often which progressed to speaking on the phone during his breaks at office. Amidst one such conversation, he told me about how he hated Tamilians. How they were pseudo because they listened to Justin Timberlake. And in this conversation as he went on to demean an entire race, he mentioned how Justin Bieber, Justin Timberlake, Rihanna and Lady Gaga should all be put in one room and bombed. Since I hate music fanaticism, I was left flabbergasted and went on to pose the question,

“What about the men who were responsible for the Delhi gang-rape?”

“Oh I don’t give a shit about that!”

I gasped on this end of the phone line and we went on to discuss many many other things. Rape, homosexuality, racism and sexism.

I’d love to give you a transcript of what that conversation went like and I by no means intend to quote this man out of context. I continued to rationally interpret what it was that this man meant.

“I don’t care about rape. It doesn’t affect me. But listening to Justin Timberlake does, so yes, I want to see that end.”

“Gay people are so unnatural. They don’t need to do that. Why should they do that when women are around?’

“Any man who listens to Justin Bieber is not a man, he is a woman”

“Tamilians are just assholes”

The slurs continued. At his end he continued to laugh every time I revolted against everything he said. The conversation ended when I frustratingly hung up the receiver when he said,

“Gays should stay away from society. They should be banished…”

I met this individual in a pub and I really thought I connected with him. He studied in the best of schools in the city, had knowledge of every rave in Goa and was quite the brand-whore. He had no dirth of access to knowledge. But yet, in our first conversation he thought that I was just kidding about the Shiva lingam being a phallic symbolism. He called it blasphemy. This brings me to the most infuriating thing he said,

“You are a blasphemer, and that’s worse than being a rapist or a murderer”

I couldn’t believe what I was listening to. How can renouncing a religion be worse than forcing one to have sex without their consent, taking a life or being so judgemental of one’s choices that you’d rather have them leave society than change your uninformed opinion.

In our following arguments, he went on to say that

“Gays should be quarantined and if they try to leave, they should be shot on sight”

We argued until my throat went bad, until I was left alone in the dark crying and wondering how I ever encountered such a heartless individual. In all of that chaos, he very plainly asked,

“Why do you care? I think people have problems that they should deal with. I am not gay. I have not been raped and will never be raped. I don’t think anyone will abuse me. Why should I care? You should only worry about yourself. People should worry about themselves. You shouldn’t care about these gays or rape victims, how does it matter to your life?”

It does. I have been silent for long. And I know this silence has bought me much pain and misery. Some of it, I still struggle to digest.

Five years ago, it was a regular night in the university town I studied in. I was out with some friends and was looking forward to the barbecue party at home. There was this one guy, Vinay (name changed), a friend who I bumped into at the pub I was out at. I invited him and his friend to the barbecue.

The barbecue was great. The chicken was tangy and tender and music was live and peaceful. Vinay and I bonded over our love for music and I invited him over to my room to see the posters. And within minutes the tension unfolded and we kissed. Things got heated.

It had only been fifteen minutes since it had begun and I realised I wasn’t ready for where this was headed. I told him that I wasn’t ready and in response he pulled out a condom. I told him I didn’t mean protection, I just wasn’t ready to do anything more. My memory after this seems to be missing a few frames. I remember being slapped and his hand against my mouth. I remember his other hand clasp on to my neck as I tried to bite his hand off my mouth. I felt powerless and angry. But as a skinny tiny person, I couldn’t do anything to let go. I couldn’t stop this monster from overtaking me and putting on the damn protection. The last thing I remember is being slapped really hard across the face.

I woke up some time later naked next to him. I ran to the several corners of the room looking for my clothes. I could still hear the loud jam outside and the laughter. I asked him to get out of my room. I could feel pain in several places. I thought of the short story I wrote when I was seventeen years old about a woman who was raped by her husband on her wedding night. The veins pulled together. Things burned. I was not a virgin but I could feel something was lost that night. I put on my t shirt and sat in the corner of the room in the darkness and saw his silhouette leave with the little source of light from the living room. I cried for hours into the morning.

The next morning, I texted him saying I remembered what happened and that what he did wasn’t right and that I was going to tell.

“Complain if you want. My dad’s a high powered lawyer. Nothing will happen.”

I called a couple of my closest friends and told them what happened. One said, I deserved it for inviting him to the party and one, that I deserved it for kissing him. My roommate asked me the same afternoon, suggestively,

“How was last night?”

“It was kind of rough”

I responded.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone what had happened. I blamed myself for a long time. My thighs hurt for weeks. I couldn’t go to the toilet without it burning for almost two months. I had visible cuts around my vagina and bite marks on my stomach. I tried to tell some people but they never believed me. A year later, it came back to hit me when I saw him again. And I had a meltdown and told people. My sister, my friends, everyone. They all wondered why I of all people chose to be silent about this. They were angry with me for being silent and I was too.

I still am. I can’t see the current me walking away from this in silence and taking defeat. I’ve met him on a few occasions after that, some of which ended with me violently punching him. I thought with every punch, I’d let go. I thought when I’d write this, I’d feel better. And I just realised I don’t.

So mister, it does matter to me. I know how it is to choose silence. I know how it is to be blamed for something that I will carry for the rest of my life. I am that woman who has been raped or that homosexual who has been ridiculed – they are not all in the newspapers. They are not in cities far away, they are not in villages in secluded farms. They are you and me. They are next to you on the bus. They are in the table next to you drinking coffee. They are having a drink in the bar with you. They are voting with you. They are talking to you. And all in the silence of the shame you contributed to.

Being Indian: Gender Discrimination

I'm sure that as a woman, it is only expected that I write something about gender discrimination. The entire discussion of gender equality has been done to death and therefore I'm not going dwell on it. What really bugs me however is gender stereotyping. Boys don't cry, men don't gossip, women love commitment and so on.

When I browse through Facebook, I often find these lists and posts that pin specific characteristics on a gender. There are a number of lists about things men should know about women and vice versa. What men and women like. How they behave in relationships. Social networking sites are practically self-help books with dating tips. The sad part about this entire thing is that if a man expected me to have these qualities, he would be more than disappointed.

I don't take 45 minutes to shower. I have had a bigger fear of commitment than some men I have dated. I have not been planning my wedding since I was 10. I don't expect you to pay the bill on a first date, in fact, I would be offended if you did. I believe chivalry is not just a man's job. I don't fancy muscular men, bar fights and trash talk. I like fart and poop jokes. And yes, I'm very much a woman.

Now, I have been told by many that maybe I'm the exception and not the rule. Some men even tell me that they get along with me more because I'm not very feminine. What I'm trying to say is that even with these gender stereotypes, my lack of femininity gives me brownie points. But when it comes to masculinity, the stereotyping is a lot more aggressive and is strongly reinforced by the media.

Men are expected to be strong in every way – physically and emotionally. The ideal image of a man in advertisements and film is that of a muscular and well trimmed man who has great physical strength and is less likely to get into a situation, he can't fight his way out of. Emotionally, men are portrayed as less communicative – they are rarely seen in situations where they are vulnerable. The media projects an image of a man who is unreal and predictable – creating a pseudo standard by which we measure the real men we interact with.

What agonizes me the most is that I feel that by pushing this stereotype on the men we meet in the real world, we are denying them the opportunity to live up to their full potential of feeling and understanding certain natural emotions. I honestly like men who tear up during an emotional discussion. I have seen many men cry and not once have I felt that these men are not masculine enough. Also, I have found myself tongue-tied during emotional conversations wherein the men have actually led the talk to a productive conclusion. While physical appearances are a personal choice, for me bulky muscular bodies are a complete turn off. And still there are articles circulating the web telling men that women like their men muscular.

Thank you for taking the time to speak on my behalf but I'd rather you not.

The birth of these lists and posts comes from the age old obsession of the two genders trying to understand one another. I solely think the problem arises when you attempt to understand somebody based on their gender rather than plain simple human beings. Yes, scientifically, I will suck at driving whenever I learn to do that. But analysing my likes, dislikes and habits based on my gender has no logic at all. A friend of mine recently saw my room and exclaimed that for a woman, I was quite messy. The truth is for a human being, I'm very messy. I have no sense of cleanliness whatsoever and it is not because I'm less feminine. I'm simply lazy and have less discipline when it comes to keeping my room clean.

I have met many kinds of men and women. I never have trouble understanding most of them because as a mish-mash of these so called masculine and feminine characters, I feel that these traits belong to people of both genders. There will always be exceptions to the rules because there are no rules. The only things these so called rules do is create false expectations not only from others but from ourselves.

Some part of me hopes that these lists were created in absolute humour with the sole intention of making people laugh. But then again blogs like these make me realize that there is a huge market out there that relies on these gender stereotypes. Sadly, we are in that market and until we realize that all this is a bunch of rubbish, we will probably expect every woman to gossip and every man to fear commitment.