ACTION HERO SUDHA

When have you given back? When have you been an Action Hero?
I have had various incidences when I "gave back", and I am extremely proud of myself for doing so. Like most phenomena associated with women, from motherhood to rape to unwanted hair, street harassment is convoluted to give the woman guilt over what has happened. Its somehow "YOUR" fault that you got cat-called and whistled at on the street. It has to definitely be somthing with your dress, or how you looked at them, or your walk... or the fact that you are breathing. I went through a small part of adolescense actually believeing this and doing what every GOOD girl is asked to do, to save herself from the indignity. Don't walk alone, dress modeslty and keep your eyes on the floor. Do not talk or laugh loudly. But at some stage all girls snap. And realize that its my freedom you are encroaching when I am required to not behave naturally, and follow a code, so that U don't insult MY dignity. Wearing a burkha never saved anyone from harrasment. 

"tumhare koi ma, behan, nahi hain kya?" 

I was travelling alone by train. Second class compartment. window seat. My co-passengers were a family of mom/son/daughter. the mom was a loud lady who immediately started asking me questions. I responded back and she expressed joy at knowing that I speak telugu too. 

They play cards, Iread my novel, come 9 oclock the berths are up. I am woken up when I sense someone touching the side of my body.I see that the son is trying to open some bag on the floor, squatting in between the berths and poking me with his elbow and hand. I move away, sticking my back to the wall of the compartment, and he is still nudging and poking. Now I can see that he actually does not want anything from the bag. He is just acting. I tell him to stop and he says he needs somthing from the bag and I ask him to take his bag away from me. I try to do that loudly, but don't manage to wake anyone up. After sometime I try to pull the window down and he gets down from his berth in a jiffy and sits on mine and starts fiddling with it. This time again I ask him loudly - excuse me, wat r u trying to do? -mumble mumble- no thank you, can u get off my berth now.

I am more watchful now and tense up each time I see him get up from his berth. At about 4, I get up to use the bathroom. I am in there 10 seconds and the door is banged in. The doorknob is shaking vigorously and more bangs on the door. I finish my job thanking God for the strong latch, and step out. He is there and says "oh,sorry" and smiles leeringly. I start scolding him and give him a piece of my mind waking up some people at this end of the compartment. I am not sure exactly how long I did that, but I think it was close to a full minute. I don't remember exacly what I said, but I remember using "asshole and bastard" quite a bit.

Then I went back in and lay down on my birth. To this day I regret not having woken up his sister, who was on the berth above mine, and his mother, berth opposite mine and telling them about this. His footwear was lying on the floor of the train and I had to struggle to control my urges to pick them up and throw them out of the window. He did'nt come back to his berth (diagonally opposite mine) after this. About 7 the next morning, the family had to get down. I slept for the remaining 3 hrs of my journey.

The One In which she is a Whore

This happened when I was living in Chennai. My house was a 10 minute walk away from the local train station, which we used quite frequently on our weekends out. One sunday, I was returning late and alone (11-ish). There was a small, crowded road next to the station which leads to the highway. A few yards on the highway and my house was in a little street perpendicular to it.

I was a minute into this crowded street when I hear a man on a motorbike calling out to me from the other side of the road. He keeps saying "business, business". I hear some ppl around me smirking. I don't understand whats going on and continue walking. He goes ahead on his bikes and a couple of yards away stops and waits for me to pass by and does that again. Now I undertand. He thinks I am a prostitute and is offering me "business". I feel a little relieved thinking that when he realizes I am not one, he'll go away. I am still a little puzzled that I am not mortified about being assumed to be a prostitute. May be I don't understand the insult. May be i think there is no scope for such a mistake. I am wearing jeans and a plain cotton kurta and have no make-up on my face, nowhere near a prostitute out to get "business".

I get on the highway and it happens a third time. I wait till he moves a little ahead and then cross to the other side. I see he has stopped again and is looking back, waiting. Though I feel a little safer my heart is still pounding hard. My hands reach into my pocket and take my mobile out. I debate whether it is more useful to call my female flatmate or a male friend/colleague who lives nearby. Its quite late and I pray that either of them is awake. And then I snap. I know, I can't describe it as anything else. Somthing inside me snapped. I should not have to wake up my friends because YOU are being an asshole. I started walking towards him not knowing what I actually want to do. He sees I am coming and smiles at first. But as I come closer he starts fidgeting and starts his bike and makes a run for it. I am still surprised at how much of a coward he turned out to be. I yell somthing after him and some people around me join in. I recognize some of them as the same people who smirked when he first did this. Its bad enough when you are a passive spectator. Its simply worse when you take turns between being a voyeur and a hypocrite.

Posted 22nd March 2007 by J

ACTION HERO TANGLED

Last Monday, a week ago, in fact, I got to work early. Early, and fuming.

I'd taken the scooter to work that day. Regular (leave me my timid fantasies, dears) readers of the blog may remember the aforementioned as a rather elderly Kinetic Honda, scene to King stories. I'd remembered that there was no petrol in the scooter, so I left extra early to fill some at the petrol pump near home.

And there, at half-past eight in the morning, I was ignominiously cheated. Well, an attempt was made. I still, at first pass, ended up paying Rs. 102 for something approaching one-third a litre of petrol. Of course it was partly my fault for not instantly screaming about the failure of the attendant to show me the zero mark. But I was in a hurry, I hadn't been paying attention, and I was wary of creating a scene. (this is how these people always end up getting away with this kind of behaviour in the first place.)
So I stood there, like a silly little cuckoo, and (horrors) decided that, despite my immediate feeling that I had been made gull of (oh, and believe me, it was immediate. the attendant had been pouring the petrol into the tank for no more than a few seconds, and the tank looked startlingly empty, and i thought "fuck, i've been cheated"), I would wait to make sure that I was before I began yelling. (i am rather wary of open-foot-insert-mouth. it makes for too much embarrassment.)

So I drove along for a while, and watched the tank indicator. It didn't move past the quarter mark. And then I knew. To confirm, and to gain some more courage, I drove home to check with the father. The father confirmed my fears, but, to my horror, seemed to think I would let the matter slide.
Do you want some more money to fill petrol, he said. Go somewhere else and do it, he added. Shock! Aghastness! Other similar feelings!
I refused to stand for such tame acceptance, so I scorned his kindly attempts at consolation, picked up my jacket from the house (one of T's little life lessons: never pass up an opportunity to pick up things you have forgotten.) and drove back to the petrol pump.

There, I proceeded to throw a right royal tantrum (which I enjoyed very much), and gave the attendants a piece of my mind - demanding to know whether they thought I was an idiot, whether they thought they could fool me just because I was a woman, showing them the petrol level in the tank and asking them in what planet that looked like two litres, threatening to call the cops...
It was a short, but powerful, performance. I wish I could have seen it from the outside.

"Put one and a half litres of petrol in this tank right now, or I'm calling the cops!", I screamed, hair on end and spit flying everywhere.
After five sentences, one of the attendants filled the tank with thirty rupees worth of petrol. I drove away feeling distinctly that I had been cheated again
I'm going back there this evening to get a litre's worth., I told myself.

The end of the tale is rather tame in comparison, though. Anticlimactic, even. I returned to vent the rest of her anger, and found that the morning attendants were off duty.
I then went in and complained, in an exceedingly boring and dignified manner, to the supervisor. He then put a litre of petrol in my vehicle, gave me a bill for the morning's two litres into the bargain, and sent me on my way.
Either I'm very persuasive, or this thing happens often enough that a litre makes no earthly difference.

Posted 22nd March 2007

HIT hard at the hideous face of harassment

Everybody needs an Action Hero and mine is from the other Land of the Rising Sun.

No place is safe and no person is trustworthy – for a woman. It isn't just the faceless man on a nameless street that is a threat, even a classmate in the confines of her own high school could be a harasser. It is at times like this that solutions like building a (physical and emotional) cocoon around women to protect themselves lose all meaning. There has to be a place where one can be free and open to new experiences – for that is where life unfolds and people grow.

This is the story of Sunanda, my Action Hero. Sunanda was a year ahead of me in high school (I was in 10th grade then). She was a tall, intelligent, beautiful girl with an infectious smile. I had bumped into her quite a few times in school. But it was fighting that brought us together. :) We went to the same Karate Dojo, twice a week. And over a year we had been sparring partners a lot of times and had gone through many a grueling (to us, then) long run, frog jump or pushup session. Those were times when I could only envy her toughness, and her ability to always leave me with more welts than I could ever manage to inflict on her.

The incident that made her my hero however occurred not at an evening session at the Dojo, but one sunny morning, about quarter to nine, at school. There were still 15 minutes before the entire school met in the quadrangle for the morning assembly. I was at my desk, wrapping up some homework problems (perhaps) or maybe chatting with friends. Since my seat was next to the window, I looked out and saw Sunanda standing at the far end of the corridor on the first floor [1], where both our classrooms were. She was looking over the playground, with kids running around, playing etc. Suddenly Rakesh (her classmate, who rode the same airforce shuttle – a school bus of sorts) appeared and tried to smooch her [2]. I am still in awe of her amazing reflex – she immediately swung her arm and gave him one tight slap – one so hard – that I could see blood splatter from his mouth though I was about 10 meters away. He was in so much pain and such shock, that all he could do was stand there stunned and unable to move.

There were very few witnesses to this event, a few of her classmates and a stray audience, liek me, who happened to be looking out the window, at that exact moment. But this did end pretty badly for the boy (suspension from the school etc). There were speculations as to why he did something this stupid and it turned out to be a dare, some petty bet with his friends, who had egged him on to go kiss her. This is in my mind a more serious problem - how women, even your own classmates are so easily objectified.)

She was an instant hero in our school, and to say the least - our Dojo [3]. But the rest of the world did not think so (or so we were told). We were asked to maintain her anonymity, for knowing who she was would (supposedly) only encourage other (hooligans) from trying to harass her on the streets!

She might not be Rosa Parks, but to all of us who saw her that day, she showed us the power of standing up and hitting hard at the hideous face of harassment wherever it loomed.

[1] The 2nd floor in the US

[2] Well, I need to explain that this was not a standard occurrence at our school. People might have held hands or kissed each other in some remote corner, where such “dark deeds” did take place, but there was no room in our school campus that allowed such behaviour,...

[3]All that our Sensei had to say was, “Why didn’t you use your perfect roundhouse kick, while you were at it?”

[4] On a slight tangent, here is David Unger's hilarious, informative (but ouch) report on a Krav Maga school in LA.

ACTION HERO - DA BLACK MAMBA

Posted 22nd March 2007

Help in Need

Last year, Blank Noise asked us for testimonials witnessing street sexual harassment. This year, they asked for testimonials of our action against harassment, and I joined the blogathon on the other blog. And I decided to join it on this one too; but not just cross post from there.

So, I thought I’d make this post about some other action heroes: the men who fought for me when I couldn’t fight for myself, when I asked them for help and when I couldn’t.

A long time ago, a cousin who yelled at someone who ‘passed a comment’; do you even remember, anna?

Not as long ago, but long enough. The first floor of the academic block, outside the corridor of teachers’ offices. Waiting for a viva, I think. A friendly argument over something (I don’t even remember what) ends with me standing with my back pressed against a railing, and the guy I was arguing with standing in front of me, his arms on either side of me gripping the top if the railing, barking in my face. I am scared but determined not to show it; how dare he think he can intimidate me?! He moves away when N touches him on the shoulder, and as he goes away, N asks with a look, “why do you let him get away with it?”

Forward a few years, but still a few years ago. A bus trip in Rajasthan on a rickety old bus. Sitting in the aisle seat, a guy standing next to me starts pressing against me. I look up and ask him to stand properly. He pretends not to understand, as do the men around him. I look to my companions, N and S; S switches seats with me, and the man backs off.

S; S switches seats with me, and the man backs off.

ACTION HERO - TIPSY

Posted 22nd March 2007

KICK SOME ARSE

My Blank Noise Project Action Hero is a former colleague. Let's call her Xena coz she chooses to remain anonymous.

On her way back home from work last month, journalist Xena was walking down a deserted street in central Delhi when two men tried to grab her. It took her a few seconds to react to the sudden assault and then Xena fought for her life.

She bit, she screamed, she elbowed, she kicked and sure enough - the two men left her and ran away. She hadn't even seen their faces in the dark.

Knowing there was little she could do about the incident, Xena enrolled for a martial arts programme the next morning.

It's only been a couple of days since she began the course but now Xena is confident she can handle any attacker (and kick him where it really hurts).

There had been a pepper spray in Xena's handbag but the sudden attack had rendered it useless as she had no time to take it out. Does that mean picking up karate skills is the only way to combat street sexual harassment?

ACTION HERO - TONY

Posted 22nd March 2007

STARE It down

Last year on Women's day I had written about my experiences which formed a part of the blank noise projectblogathon. This year the blogathon is back. The theme this time is "Action heroes" where bloggers are expected to blog about the times when they fought back sexual harassment. Though I had already written those instances last time, I am reproducing them here in this post as well.

There are ways and means to tackle that colleague who talks to your breasts or that elderly relative who pretends to be fawning over you but is actually lusting (you can always tell). One sure shot way to ward of a starer is to stare back. It's not so easy. Staring back. One feels disgusted merely by glancing at the eyes which seem to be ripping your clothes apart. But DO stare back and very piercingly at that. One'll instantly feel the urge to cast ones glance in some other direction quickly but DON'T. KEEP at it. However obstinate a starer may be, his testosterone still does not surpass his selfconsciousnness (in almost all cases). He'll instantly look down, beyond, or back whereever he's supposed to be looking. Of course, one needs to weigh ones options and actions a little bit keeping in mind all odds. One does not go ahead and take pangas with a gang when one is alone. But one can definitely be alert and quick (not just physically but mentally as well).

There has happened a particular incident of ballooning around holi where the guy made the mistake of being visible while throwing the balloon. He happened to work at a local barber shop, which I immediately stormed into and gave him a piece of my mind and some of the choicest abuses I knew. A guy there (a client) egged me on to give him a tight slap as well. I quietly ignored him since I didnt want the situation to get so heated up and that guy seemed to be egging me on just for kicks. I cant say that what I did, would have made the ballooning guy stop it for his life. But it's always best to bring the "situation" into notice. The fear of embarassment is enough for some to at least think twice about it next time. There was another guy who tried brushing past me on a main road while I was waiting to cross it. The whole damn road was empty, but he thought that he would have a piece of my butt before I reached the other side. That guy was unaware that he was going to get the shock of his life. Though I felt like killing him, I merely held his collar with both hands and shook him so badly that he didnt know what hit him. He tried running for his life, but he couldnt. I was surprised with my own grip. Eventually he managed to pull off and ran for his life. It was only when everything was over and done with, that the "crowd" asked me what happened and if he was trying to snatch my purse.

There are umpteen such situations in everyday life and they would perhaps never end. Not only is it difficult to try and give such sick men their due, it is very much a difficult thing when you are left in a doubt about the intention of someone. At times things happen accidentally and unintentionally too. But at most times they are obvious enough to be brought to public notice. Even if the "crowd" does not react (and only watches) one should definitely make sure that one does not ignore it. A confrontational attitude is certainly better than an escapist one. In public transport one can always request ppl politely to stop pushing or plainly to stand a little away. The way one does it makes sure that even the ones who did it accidentally arent offended by your request and the ones doing it intentionally can not just go scot free. When it happens repeatedly in spite of polite requests, it's time to stomp that high heel onto his foot or to shove ones elbow into his balls.

The best way to actually try and reduce something like this is to spread awareness amongst women that they can actually protest against it. I have grown up watching things happen to me and around me and even though I knew it was wrong I didnt know what to do about it (till some point in my life). One needs to ignore minor happenings but one also needs to make sure that the ones which can be avoided, are. Things can get as ugly as molestation of ones own children or marital rape. There is no dearth of the levels till which harassment can go. Be aware, be prepared, be alert and be proud to be a woman inspite of the shit that happens.

ACTION HERO - TWILIGHT FAIRY

Posted 22nd March 2007

Karma Feels good

One summer afternoon in 2004, a friend and I played God. We were walking down the stretch of isolated road between Architecture block and The Times of India building on Bahadur Shah Zafar Marg, more or less satisfied with our day’s work. We’d gotten up really early, after a late night of making a model to explain our concept for an urban design scheme, and even managed to finish colouring our plans and sections before class. We’d defended the scheme, well enough, and convinced the old farts, well enough, that we were on our way to a passing degree in architecture. We thought we deserved a day of fun (Silly Singh and Gross Bose’s day of fun!!!) and were on our sunshiny way to catch a bus to Priya Cinema, when it happened.

It wasn’t a unique occurrence, we’d been cat-called at many a time, and in this very place. Especially when it used to be a regular slum – Real India, It was called for some obscure reason - to buy pencils and cigarettes from in times of need. SS had once been loudly admonished for wearing sleeveless clothes to college by some drunken reprobate (aise aise kapde pehenke lehrati hai, phir chedo to accha nahin lagta); RM’s left boob was hastily fondled by a 14 year old with braces, after which she CHASED him till he was trapped between the gate and a mob of her classmates who soundly thrashed him; SB’s trousers were much appreciated one morning, whereupon she told her admirer – teri maa ki hai, tere padosi ne diye – and RAN. Ours, on that happy sunny day wasn’t an exceptional experience at all.

‘Mere saamne do gulab jamun ja rahi hain….’ he said to his cohort on the phone, loudly, lasciviciously. ‘Ek ne tight si kameez pehni hai… ohooo… bahut saaman hai, madat kar doon? Tujhe lagta hai thanks bolengi?’ We did the usual thing... ignored for the first two minutes then turned to glare. ‘Hai, wo mudhi! Mujhe bula raheen hain! Jaoon?’ By now we were livid, and yelling. He revved up his macho TVS scooty and swished by us, helpless in our fury, laden with pieces of a model, huge rolled up sheets, bound up breasts, stiffening buttocks, vaginas completely hidden, and tingling smarting flesh. I always knew my foul mouth would amount to something one day. As he went by I peaked, saying ‘Ruk ---------!’ I suppose his victory felt incomplete, having had to hear that, so he stopped. The moron actually stopped.

Well, that had never happened before, so we kind of just went with the momentum of our tempers and strode up to him, cursing all the way. ‘Kyaaaa… mujhe gaali kyun di? Mujhse badtameezi!’ he blustered. collectively, I suppose we must have been loud. Gaonwaalle jama ho gaye the. As we had an increasing audience, his accusations turned to defence. ‘Main apne phone pe baat kar raha tha, inse kyun bolunga. Main to inhey jaanta bhi nahiin, main kyun bolunga!’ One wise old gaonwalla had taken out the key from his ignition by now and handed it to Silly Singh.

We’d dreamt of this moment many a time. When we would march an ‘eve-teaser’ to the police. When he’d be at OUR mercy. When he would really really repent. And really really learn something, and really honestly change. And stop doing this, this terrible sick thing. We marched away, leaving him in the hands of the audience. Soon though, he was following us at a safe distance. ‘Kya hai? Aise kaise? Kya kar rahe ho? Meri chaabi waapis karo! Chor!!’ he bleated now and again. We were gleeful, victorious. Plans for a movie thrown to the winds, we were on our way to make the world a better place.

By the time we got to the closest thana, the guy had figured that we were in earnest and he was probably in some shit now. But he hadn’t apologized even once. Hadn’t thought of it, even. It was only when the policemen told him that he was facing 7 non-bailable days in jail, and he should start being very sorry, now, that he turned into a whimpering mass of ‘Maaf kar do didi. Aap to meri maa ho. Behen jaisi ho.’ The policemen were enjoying it, make no mistake, rattling their chains, and asking for his personal possessions at very precise moments in the drama. An hour later, it seemed we had a choice. We could forgive him and let him off the hook, or we could tell the truth, in writing, and condemn him to a life with a police record, a possible estrangement from his fiancée (yes, he blubbered his life history out to us in an attempt to make us empathise) and a very very sad mother.

I dunno who decided really. Or maybe it was indecision that simply made us sign stuff put before us and say ok to everything we were told. I kept thinking - does this guy, for this one incident, deserve to have all these things happen to him? After all, I had been molested way worse than this, on the bus, in an auto, at college, in the market. There were many other men who deserved phaansi even, but did this guy’s crime today deserve the punishment he was getting?

But this was the one chance I was getting to ‘get my own back’, to ‘teach them a lesson’, to ‘be heard’, and by God I would bloody well take it. I don’t think I came out a better person that day than I was before. It didn’t feel good to try and ignore the quivering sobbing heap in the corner, who was there just because another man had given us the reigns to his life and his TVS Scooty, and just because his ego made him stupid enough to stop and fight after making a comment he probably makes twice a week anyway. I don’t think the guy really learnt anything. He was ready to enact fright, pitiful sorrow, dysentry, anything, just for us to let him off this one hook. If anything he would come out with a vendetta against the two women who were so snooty and so self obsessed that they sent him to jail.

The law simply allowed us to play God, just as our sick tradition of blind patriarchy allowed our harasser to play with us. We felt avenged for maybe 2 hours, after which we were back in the real world, where men are the keepers, appropriators, jailers, tradesmen and abusers of women’s bodies.

ACTION HERO - WENDIGO

Posted 22nd March 2007

PRIDE replaced SHAME.

I am now 21 years old.

A citizen of Beautiful Bombay.

I came across the concept of eve teasing when I was around 11 years old. I saw it happen to a friend when I was maybe around 12. All of us were too scared and shaken by the incident, and none of us spoke about it. It was only later that we “children” decided to call the incident what the world calls, “eve-teasing”.

We hated it. We hated the fact that we grew up so soon.

One of the incidents I clearly remember was when I was 18. I was on my way to college. I had some exam that day and I had a writing pad in my hand to which were clipped sheets of paper, which I was studying from. It was a desperate situation I am sure. Who studies while walking on the road?

The street was crowded with office goers, hawkers, vehicles jostling for space. As a voice in my head was memorizing the notes, I heard another voice. I do not remember what the voice was telling me, but I know I heard a few words that I was not “supposed” to hear. I was enraged and I was terrified. I slowed down and made him over take me. He was looking at me from the corner of his eye as he was over taking me. I knew he was guilty of a crime, which I had not noticed until then. He began speeding up. Literally trying to run. However, I did not give up. I continued walking after him. I wanted to ram his head with my writing pad.
But I didn’t.
I just walked.
I let him go.
I don’t know what happened to the voice memorizing answers, but now there was another voice in my head.
I shouldn’t have let him get away with it. I tried to justify saying that I was too scared to function.
I just could not forgive myself.
If I could not stand up for myself, what more could I expect from myself?
I wanted to see him once again. I knew it was impossible, I knew that life does not really give anyone a second chance.

But there is an exception to every rule.

I saw him on the railway platform. He walked behind me doing to another woman what he did to me. I heard the words. I was enraged.
After he finished his daily dose of harassing I guess, he decided to take the train.
He stood at the edge of the platform waiting for the train to arrive among numerous other men. I walked up to him and I asked him in a loud voice to jump off the platform. He looked at me bewildered.
All the men around looked at the two of us.
This person looked around and just went away.

I felt foolish about having waited for so long. I should have done something on the road itself not waited.
But i still feel glad when i think about what i did.
Not necessarily as oppressive or heroic, I know there was something more that I could do and at the right time. 

However, pride has replaced shame.

ACTION HERO - WHITE DIARY

Posted 22nd March 2007

Face it , Fight It :

Today evening as I left work, I was in a good mood. It was drizzling slightly and I simply love the rains. I usually take an auto back home but I saw the bus approaching which goes to my home, I decided to hop in. Happy that it was mostly empty, I got a window seat in the left aisle and sat down.

Sitting behind me were two men, one who seemed half asleep and the other just sitting nonchalantly. As soon as I kept my rucksack (yes I carry a rucksack to work!) on my lap, I felt a hand move, trying to touch my back. Now living in a city like Delhi, you always feel that you are about to be groped, especially in a bus. I got a little wary though giving benefit of doubt to the men behind me. I mentally chided myself for imagining things as I continued to enjoy the scenery outside, lush green trees and a beautiful evening sky. Suddenly I felt a hand groping my back. Not a hand carelessly brushing past my back, a hand which purposely touched me. I turned back to address the culprit. One man was sitting with his hands folded and the other was asleep. I couldn't figure out who did that to me.

I turned towards my right now, almost facing the right aisle and in the corner of my eye I could see the movement of hands of both men. I was fuming from inside, feeling humiliated and treated like an object of someone's pleasure. Ten minutes later, the supposedly sleeping man did the same thing again.

Unable to control my fury, I got and up pulled his hair, so he could face me and slapped him. I told him to keep his hands to himself and after his protest that he was not doing anything wrong, I slapped him again. Everyone in the bus was looking at me, this was like a free ka tamasha for all and not a single person stood up to support me. Not that I expected anyone to.

After the fury subsided, I felt scared. What if he would have whipped out a knife or a pistol? What he comes tomorrow with four other men and tries to take 'revenge'? My pepper spray or karate moves will be of no help at all. Police inaction is well known too. It is this fear that mostly stops women from speaking out.

And even though incidents like this cannot break my spirit, as a woman living in this country I wonder how many will I feel violated and agonized? How many times will I retaliate and how many times will I fight? How many times will I keep quiet? Will I ever be able to use the public transport without feeling wary, without being on guard? Will I be able to walk on the streets without prying eyes looking at me? Will I ever be free?

P.S : I hope he learnt his lesson well and will never try to grope another woman ever. If he hasn't... there is no hope for this country.

ACTION HERO - ZEPHYR

Posted 22nd March 2007 by J

Strength in the air

Over the years, all my harassers have been nameless, faceless men who did what they wanted to do and slowly melted in to the crowd, made themselves invisible in a flash, or even continued to stand and stare lecherously, defiantly, feeling brave in the company of their cronies. But this guy, the one I am going to write about, takes the cake. Every slice of it!

He tried to grope me on a near empty plane in mid-flight, while sitting in the window seat behind mine. Buses, empty streets, crowded and encloses spaces… I'd been through it all, till this happened...

I was on my way home - from Bombay to Bangalore - and was down with a flu or something. I was tried, drowsy from the medication and was trying to lean back and sleep. It was a late evening Air Deccan flight and it was flying half empty. Just when I was dozing off, I felt a hand caress my upper arm from behind – through the gap between the window seat and the wall of the plane. My middle and aisle seats were empty and I remember I was wearing a sleeveless top. I didn't react immediately; it was a plane for god's sake and I was half drugged… was I imagining things? I waited for a few seconds and sure enough, there it was again, only less reluctant this time.

I whipped around in my seat and let our a string of expletives asking Mr. Window Seat (WS) what in *bleeps* name was he doing. And the guy just sat there, looking perfectly calm… even his protests were not very forceful – he said something about trying to shut the window. (On a late evening flight? To keep out the sun? The wind? The mosquitoes? Btw, even his middle and aisle seats were empty)

One of the flight attendants came running to check, and still furious, I asked her to change his seat pronto. (As an aside, through all of this, NO ONE on the plane even breathed a word of support or help or concern). The attendant must've been a junior and she was easily intimidated by WS who asked her to ask me to change my seat since I was the one with a problem while he was *just shutting the window*. She started to mumble and looked at me helplessly… just then, her supervisor arrived though I don't remember whether I asked for her or whether she came on her own accord.

Though I didn't expect much to happen, she simply looked at the guy and said "If the lady has a problem and wants you to change seats, you will have to do it, sir." She was pretty emphatic I think; he didn't whine much and vacated.

I thought that would be the end of it. I though public humiliation (albeit in front of a mute public) was as much as I could do for WS and that was that. Just as I was recovering, the flight supervisor came to my seat and sat next to me, offered me water and asked if I was ok. And then she apologised on behalf of the airline and asked me if I wished to do something about the incident. Like file a complaint. Of course, I said, I bloody well would like to!

As an aside, despite my numerous complaints about low cost as well as full fare airlines with poorly trained executives in customer facing roles, I must say this lady was very professional and showed a great deal of calm and maturity in dealing with something as sticky and embarrassing as this.

So this lady told me that she would radio the ground security folks just before the flight lands and she would move me to a front row seat, so that I could disembark first and identify WS. But by then, his face was already a blank. I told her as much and she agreed to come along and identify him.

The ground security guys (yes, in plural… there were about three or more I think) "escorted" WS and me in a separate coach. His protests didn't amount to much. And once we reached the carousel, it was high drama; more policemen arrived though there were still pretty clueless about why they were taking in WS. They asked me, they asked him, they talked among themselves and there was much excitement about the guy who had "misbehaved" with the lady over there. And then a guy started taking official notes and asked for both our coordinates.

And with that, unlike my previous harassers, WS suddenly had an identity. He was 29 years old, was married, was a software engineer, was a non-Kannadiga, was from some place up north. It turned out that he worked and lived close to my family home in Bangalore. And with that bit of info, the cop taking notes perked up even more; he wanted to know if WS had been stalking me for some time now!

Done with the formalities, the airport security folks asked me to accompany them to the nearest police station to file a formal complaint. By then, WS looked like a mess and was mumbling apologies (I think) to no one in particular. It didn't help that he didn't speak the local language either; the cops had one more reason to be peeved about the "outsider" who was also a pervert. WS's broken English smugness had dissolved by now; he even said something like "ma'am I think you are taking this too far" or something to that effect.

I drove in a friend's car and WS came with the cops. I filed the complaint at the HAL police station.

And by now, with the adrenaline receding and the flu getting worse, I was beginning to feel drained and WS was reduced to feeble mumbles. As part of my last retort, I said something about getting in touch with the HR folks at his work place. And there came my retribution, suddenly. WS said, "I'm sorry ma'am, I got carried away" and trailed off.

I didn't much care what happened to him after that; at best the cops would follow up the case, at worst, they would fleece him of a few hundred rupees and let him go. I turned to leave and told the Sub Inspector just one thing; inform his wife. She should know about this.

I don't know what happened to WS, whether anything happened. But I had never felt better.

I think about it often though… what was he thinking?! On a plane with people in it?! Did he think I would bite my lip and let it pass? Did he think I would invite him to sit in the vacant seat next to mine or hop across to the one next to him? Did he think I would actually enjoy it and jot it down in my list of kinky plane journeys and fantasise about it at night? Just WHAT was he thinking?

We all know that perversion can wear starched white collars too. But till his happened, I had somehow thought that other than in extreme cases (where the perpetrator has strong alibi and a good chance of going free), the garb of civilization keeps depravity in check. At least just enough to stay out of serious trouble.

But I am glad I met WS; it's somewhat easier to yell at or slap the tapori who hangs out near the paanwala at the street corner or the half-drunk, pot-bellied man who is falling all over you in a crowded bus. Till this happened, I would have been hesitant about exposing "someone like us." Some urban, someone who has a corporate job, someone "respectable", someone who looks like a colleague, someone who lives in the same world that we do. But not any more… Not any more.

-  Action Hero Hema

Posted 25th October 2007 by J