Warning: This blog is based on my personal experiences and observations. You have every right to form your own opinion based on your own observations.
Chapter 1
I saw a video on a social media platform where a woman was buying vegetables in a busy Indian market. A man kept touching her butt, and she appeared neither to notice nor bother. She continued haggling with the vegetable vendor.
Then comes the hero.
Another man, who had recorded the entire incident on camera, confronted the alleged offender and started thrashing him for touching the woman inappropriately — as the world would prefer to call it.
But several questions arise here.
Why didn’t the woman warn or confront the man herself? Why didn’t she scream, yell, or create a scene? Why didn’t she make sure the man ended up in jail? How do we know she was not enjoying the attention? And who gave another man the right to record the incident and physically assault the alleged offender?
Why is sexuality always viewed through a framework of modesty created by men for women?
Don’t you think a woman is smart enough and capable enough of understanding the consequences she might face in a busy market? Doesn’t she know how men might behave in a crowded bus or marketplace?
If she understands the situation and still chooses to remain silent, then why should another man automatically assume that she needs to be rescued?
Isn’t that simply masculinity saving women once again?
And isn’t that exactly the opposite of what feminism claims to demand?
Feminism speaks of freedom. Freedom to make choices. Freedom to determine what happens to one’s own body. Freedom to live with the consequences of one’s personal choices.
So why should a woman automatically need a man to protect her?
Protection from men should be the last thing a feminist expects — shouldn’t it?
Oh! Wait a minute.
A woman stays silent because she is afraid?
Try snatching her handbag or her golden chain — and see how silent she remains.
Chapter 2
I once asked a simple question to one of my unmarried relatives who was adamant about marrying only a career-oriented woman.
“What do you think will happen if your wife gets spanked by her boss at the office?” I asked.
He instantly replied, “She will slap the boss, file a case, come home, tell me what happened, and quit her job.”
“If that were true, why do you think all those ‘Me Too’ warriors started crying, complaining, and hashtagging ages after they claimed they were exploited? Why didn’t they react immediately?”
My relative went silent for a while.
“If sexual exploitation is immoral, then hiding it and sitting on it until you have extracted all the benefits—and then waking up one fine day when you feel you can no longer benefit from the situation, only to cut a sorry figure and gain publicity—is immoral too,” I added.
Chapter 3
As a journalist with The Indian Express in Mumbai, I was once walking towards the software department when I saw my VP spanking and squeezing the butt cheek of a woman from the marketing team.
Coming from the cultural background I was raised in, amidst movies like Mother India, I naturally assumed the lady would slap him across the face.
To my utter dismay, she didn’t.
In fact, she blushed and smiled.
Holy cow!
“Maybe she’s one of those bad women,” I thought.
Then I noticed the other women who had witnessed the scene.
“Awww…”
“Uffff… what a naughty boss!”
I was like, what the fuck?
Were they all secretly waiting for similar attention from the VP? I had no idea. I simply walked away and got into my meeting with one of the software engineers.
But the incident disturbed me.
Then another woman colleague gave me what she presumably considered a strong dose of medicine for my emotional wound.
She said, “What you saw ain’t nothing. In other media companies, women sleep with bosses, superiors and seniors for bigger roles, promotions and salary hikes.”
I’m not sure the medicine healed me.
But it certainly made me want to puke.
The media companies that show you the truth, bring you breaking news and put subject experts on live debates—if they ever turned their cameras around and showed you what happens inside their own offices, you might think you were watching a porn movie.
And the most bizarre part?
According to what I witnessed and was told, much of it happens with complete awareness, consent and freedom to choose.
Chapter 4
We had an English teacher in our college who made sure she always wore her saree below her belly button. Her body, her saree, her choice, of course.
Her classes were always full. Nobody bunked them—not because of her teaching prowess, but because the teenage boys wanted to enjoy the show. They attended just to see her navel, and a few even counted the number of times her pallu moved so they could get a clearer view. All the boys discussed at the hostel was not what Shakespeare wrote in Othello or Macbeth, but her navel.
Do you think the teacher didn’t know how many students were staring at her navel? Do you think her husband didn’t know the consequences? Of course they did. It was a choice they made, but every choice comes with consequences.
I never met a student of hers who spoke of her with respect. The conversations were always about her body, reducing her to a sexual object.
Now, you cannot blame the world for that, or men with normal testosterone levels, for reacting to what they see. Men are visual creatures, and how a woman dresses inevitably influences how some men perceive her.
Men, by default, don’t respect women who don’t dress modestly. And anything other than modesty is a natural call for sexual objectification. It is as simple as that.
Chapter 5
When I embark on a journey into the jungles, I sign up for the dangers that come with it. I cannot ask the snakes not to bite me, the bugs not to enter my ears, or the tigers to look at my body but not touch or eat me. I made the bold choice of walking alone, so I become the sole person responsible for facing the consequences of my decision. I also cannot blame the police, the army, God, or the wilderness for fucking with my freedom when I chose to walk into the jungle at odd hours.
If a skimpily dressed woman visits a night bar with her male friends, and you notice one of her friends spiking her drink, as a man, it is none of your business to save her or meddle in what is happening. What gives you the right to assume that the woman didn’t have enough brains to choose her friends? She made a choice, and it is her lookout to save herself, not your opportunity to become a hero she never sought.
Protecting women isn’t a job that was ordained upon men.
I see videos in which a woman or actress is wearing a tiny dress, and a man sitting nearby tries to adjust her bra straps. He is hailed as a gentleman. Huh!
You think the woman doesn’t know that her bra strap will be visible? You think she doesn’t know which part of her dress might fall apart? You think she doesn’t know where men will be staring? She knows everything, but enjoys the power of being in a position to offer temptation with a warning: You can see, but you cannot touch.
Now, what is your problem with simply enjoying the show and leaving it at that? Why do you want to adjust her dress and prove your uncalled-for masculinity?
Chapter 6
There was this Jodi Porutham reality show on Sun TV in the 90s, and the team had come to Coimbatore to select married couples for the show. Many of my hostel mates—bachelors—got ready to attend the event.
All my life, I have hated crowds, so I gave it a pass. But I was curious to know, “Why are these idiots going to an event where only married couples would be selected?”
“We shall tell you when we come back,” one of my friends said, and they left.
They returned late in the evening, rejoicing as if they had been selected as a couple themselves. But the whole night, all they talked about was whose butt they had squeezed, whose breasts they had caressed, and whom they had tried to kiss.
One of them honestly confessed what he had learnt that particular day.
“When I get married, I am not taking my wife to a crowded place.”
They are all grown up now. One is a HOD in a reputed college, another is an IAS officer, and one among them is an Inspector.
It is simple logic. When you get into a crowd of men, your safety isn’t guaranteed. Men are predators, always on the prowl. Expecting a crowd to be safe is like getting into one and insisting that a stampede should never happen. It can happen.
In a crowd, even a man’s life isn’t safe. Then why get into one in the first place?
And if, in the name of freedom, you choose to enter such a crowd, don’t assume that it is a man’s duty to save you.
You knew the risks, you chose to be there, and hence, it is your responsibility to safeguard yourself.
Don’t cry halfway through your journey. Freedom and rebellion are the first half; taking responsibility and facing the consequences are the second half.
Chapter 7
After 48 days of complete abstinence, I had visited Sabarimala through the big path (Periya Padai) for seven years. And during one of my pilgrimages, I met someone who shook my belief system.
He was talking about the movie actresses and TV actresses he had slept with and the respective charges he had paid them. I obviously didn’t believe him. I couldn’t change my perception of actresses I had admired all my life just to reduce them to women who had a price tag attached to sleeping with them.
He showed me a few phone numbers on his mobile phone and asked if I would like to meet them. I said, “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.”
It was much later that I came to know that there are certain men in society who prefer to sleep only with actresses and TV personalities, and many of these men hold powerful positions, ranging from CEOs to ministers.
I was at complete peace with my own perception of the world until I bumped into another guy—the son of a very famous actress who also produces movies and TV serials.
He quoted exactly the same prices for the same actresses!
And the stories he told me about them indeed made my ears bleed.
Who slept with whom to get a movie role. Who slept with whom to get a sea-facing bungalow. Who got a house in Poes Garden to leave whom. Which IT guy gifted a flat to which actress. Who sleeps with which channel owner to get prime-time slots. Which businessman meets which actress in which hotel. Which husband pimps his own wife to get movie roles.
I was shaken, but this time I couldn’t call them all lies because the two men I had met were not related to each other in any way.
When Subramanian Swamy recently posted a video about how women slept around with top leaders to get ministerial posts, most people mocked him. Many called him a bitter old man, while others simply called him a liar.
There is a reason for this. Men don’t want to deliberately believe these stories because the truth hurts, and living in falsehood makes you feel far better.
The stories of sexual exploitation that surface once in a while in the news probably represent just 0.1 per cent of what is happening. The rest happens with 100 per cent consent from all the parties involved. And there are professional brokers and mediators in the whole process. What you should provide and what you shall get in return is discussed long before the meeting takes place.
The saddest part is that the very people involved in these arrangements are the ones who deliver gyaan on feminism on TV channels and social media, and you happen to watch them! Many of them are also Me Too crusaders, and a few have even found their way into politics.
It is not power dynamics. It is a business deal. And it can no longer be called sexual exploitation but sexual empowerment, where women choose to sleep with the right men in exchange for fame, power, success, money, real estate, and foreign travel.
Chapter 8
When you eat at a multi-cuisine buffet in a five-star hotel, wearing your best costume and perfume, surrounded by the elite and the rich, that is only 50% of the process. The second part is this — you need to shit, wash your ass, and clean the commode. That, too, is your responsibility. You cannot simply say, “I will only eat good food, but the rest is not my lookout.” God has not created the world like that.
If you want good food, the farmer has already done his part of the dirty job, and your job is to wash the vessels after eating. Both are part and parcel of the same process.
If you want the good, you have to accept the bad that comes along with it. You have no choice. If you think freedom is the most important thing in life, then you have to accept the possibility of remaining unmarried and childless. If you think your career is more important, your marriage may be fucked. There is no balance.
As a woman, if you want to go on a solo trip in your prime years, men will approach you, ask you out, buy you free food, and want to fuck you. That, too, comes as part of the freedom you wanted to enjoy. If you think that is the bad part, you have every right to think so. But you cannot simply wish it away, because God has made things that way.
As individuals, we have every right to live our lives the way we want. But every choice we make comes with consequences and, sometimes, repercussions. And we alone are responsible for them.
You simply cannot escape the other 50% — because God has not made the world like that.