I am angry.
I had an awesome day, and it got all messed up by a stupid 15 year old boy. There is a social happening in India that is euphemistically known as, "Eve teasing", in which men touch women and get away with it. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eve_teasing. In my estimation, eve teasing is the product of a sexually repressed culture, compounded by a culture in which women are often object, maneuvered by and subject to men. India, for all it's beauty... this too is India.
So: I was walking along with Amy tonight after being out to the store, and it was just starting to get dusky. This boy pulled up, and asked us the way to Dodda Gubbi, the nearby village, and we started giving him the rather simple directions. He stopped us, indicating that he only knew Kannada, and so we pointed the way. He looked a bit confused, but started pulling away on his bike... until about 5 meters away, when he stopped. We kept walking -- it's always best in these situations to keep walking, walk purposefully, and not mention where exactly you're walking to. He kept this up, asking if he can take us part of the way, asking where Dodda Gubbi is, pulling up, and asking all over again. Then, when it was getting dark and the road opened up to show that no one but Amy and I were around, and he raised his hand to point down the road towards Dodda Gubbi, and instead moved his palm against my breast.
Well.
I threw his hand away, and said, rather stupidly, "Dodda Gubbi is that way, and do not touch me again," jabbing my finger in the air in his direction. I think he started to appreciate that I had him by 10 years, 5 inches and 50 pounds, and that the game was very, very much up. He turned and drove off, and I stupidly (again) didn't get his vehicle registration.
The whole thing was passing, and it was stupid, and it was inconsequential, but it was also deeply upsetting. How is it that such an incredible country has such... issues? Not that this is entirely India's fault -- the way that Americans behave in media -- and really, the way Americans behave in person -- can lead one to believe a lot of things about the way that American girls would act in such a situation. What does Kate Winslet do in Titanic? And don't even get me going on whatever nutwit thought it was a culturally good idea to export Baywatch. But still, I am careful to wear clothing that is conservative (I do in the US as well, for that matter) and I am careful not to hold eye contact for too long, careful not to touch men, careful careful careful. And I hate it that some ridiculously inept, horny 15 year old can impede on that, violate that, especially by taking advantage of someone's willingness to try and help. I had half a mind to run after him and give him a thrashing with Amy's umbrella.
What's perhaps worst is that when we got back, all the women were very concerned, clucked about his brazenness, and nodded with understanding. They have all been there, and probably more constantly, and probably to much greater degrees.
I don't tell this story as more or less than an anecdote. I was so shaken by the encounter simply because it was so unexpected, so uncommon in my experience. India is not full of sex crazed scary men intent on fondling women on dark roads, but nor is it wise to ignore the significant hurdles that many women face here to enjoy rather mundane standards of dignity and respect.
And so, I close with an Americanism -- boo on crappy people, wherever they may be.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Bangalorean Day
I am currently sitting at the lovely "Cafe Coffee Day" to write-- it's one of the more Western places in Bangalore, and has computers for use for 60rupees per half hour. I don't like it, particularly, but the monsoon has brought irregularity to Visthar's connection, so I'll take what I can get! However, if my spelling and punctuation are erratic, be aware that I am working on a keyboard that is perhaps slightly past its prime. And then, I just received a complimentary cappuccino and airline-style packet of cookies, so perhaps not all is lost :) There is some sort of techno Europop restyle of 7 Nation Army on the loudspeakers, a bit too loud for 2 in the afternoon. It's an interesting mix of east and west, to say the least.
Cafe Coffe Day stands in a nice counterpoint to the rest of the day, which up until this point has been a lovely day of wandering the city and tagging along as Barbara, the Swiss girl teaching English at Visthar, shops for small things to take home with her when she leaves at the end of the month. It reminds me of how hard it was for me to leave Bangalore two years ago, and I feel for her, and I understand the love in her eyes as we ride around in a rickshaw through the heart of the city. We went to City Market for spices: saffron, turmeric, garam masala and chilie. City Market is easily one of the busiest, dirtiest places in Bangalore, the meeting place where everyone gathers to exchange in day to day commerce -- fruits and vegetables and flowers strung in chains and cooking vessels and simple clothes and spices. It is dizzying, with people shoulder to shoulder, and the merchants shouting over each other their products and prices, and bullocks blocking the way, insence burning too thickly to cover the smell of rotting produce. On the ground, fruit peels mix with straw, making it slippery in the monsoon drizzle, which seems not to stymie the men carrying huge baskets of pomegranites on their heads but only me. Barbara bought a cooking vessel for making idli, and as we sat, we had a long conversation with a Muslim steel merchant about President Obama, who he is in favor of (though, had to clarify that Obama is not actually Musilm-- a worldwide misconception?), the excitement of travelling in Rajasthan, and marriage. Thankfully, he was 26, two years our senior, and not married, so he gave Barbara and I a pass for being too old to be unmarried. We are usually not so lucky :) He was a little surprised that we had no arranged marriage in the US/Switzerland, and recommended that we look into it - much better success rates than love marriage. These are conversations I relish, these moments of meeting across the divides of culture and class and gender and religion to have a small cup of chai and a discussion about the things we love.
Bangalore is a place in constant transition -- transition that moves much faster, in my estimation, than most places. There is a constant requirement of focus, and consideration (cross the street now? No, huge truck coming... now? No, no! Now? Run! The rickshaw will stop!) It makes the city exciting and exhausting, all at once -- and it makes returning to the gentle peace of Visthar so wonderful at the end of the day. The pollution of the traffic and the city lingers in your hair, and on your clothes, but also some of the beauty. It is that beauty that brings me back, over and over and over again.
Cafe Coffe Day stands in a nice counterpoint to the rest of the day, which up until this point has been a lovely day of wandering the city and tagging along as Barbara, the Swiss girl teaching English at Visthar, shops for small things to take home with her when she leaves at the end of the month. It reminds me of how hard it was for me to leave Bangalore two years ago, and I feel for her, and I understand the love in her eyes as we ride around in a rickshaw through the heart of the city. We went to City Market for spices: saffron, turmeric, garam masala and chilie. City Market is easily one of the busiest, dirtiest places in Bangalore, the meeting place where everyone gathers to exchange in day to day commerce -- fruits and vegetables and flowers strung in chains and cooking vessels and simple clothes and spices. It is dizzying, with people shoulder to shoulder, and the merchants shouting over each other their products and prices, and bullocks blocking the way, insence burning too thickly to cover the smell of rotting produce. On the ground, fruit peels mix with straw, making it slippery in the monsoon drizzle, which seems not to stymie the men carrying huge baskets of pomegranites on their heads but only me. Barbara bought a cooking vessel for making idli, and as we sat, we had a long conversation with a Muslim steel merchant about President Obama, who he is in favor of (though, had to clarify that Obama is not actually Musilm-- a worldwide misconception?), the excitement of travelling in Rajasthan, and marriage. Thankfully, he was 26, two years our senior, and not married, so he gave Barbara and I a pass for being too old to be unmarried. We are usually not so lucky :) He was a little surprised that we had no arranged marriage in the US/Switzerland, and recommended that we look into it - much better success rates than love marriage. These are conversations I relish, these moments of meeting across the divides of culture and class and gender and religion to have a small cup of chai and a discussion about the things we love.
Bangalore is a place in constant transition -- transition that moves much faster, in my estimation, than most places. There is a constant requirement of focus, and consideration (cross the street now? No, huge truck coming... now? No, no! Now? Run! The rickshaw will stop!) It makes the city exciting and exhausting, all at once -- and it makes returning to the gentle peace of Visthar so wonderful at the end of the day. The pollution of the traffic and the city lingers in your hair, and on your clothes, but also some of the beauty. It is that beauty that brings me back, over and over and over again.
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