Blaming the man on the street for the Bengaluru molestation incident is an easy way of absolving ourselves from our responsibilities
A woman was molested by two men on a bike in Bengaluru on January 1. File pic
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Public memory is short. The incident of mass molestation in Bengaluru on January 1 had a whole lot of people frothing at the mouth, going on and on about how Bengaluru is unsafe for women, how it has given men a bad name, and how the city is as awful now as Delhi has always been. Women changed their profile photographs on Facebook in mark of solidarity, while men on Twitter created hashtags to prove they weren’t like the molesters of Bengaluru. I would like to point out, however, that the Bengaluru incident was similar to one that happened outside the Gateway of India on New Year’s Eve, exactly a decade ago.
Let me refresh your memory. A woman in her mid 20s was reportedly molested by a mob, in full public view, despite the presence of cops nearby. She was photographed screaming for help while a few men attempted to tear her clothes below the waist. Her male companion was assaulted as more men tried to molest the woman for almost ten minutes. Exactly a year after that incident, in 2008, a mob of 70 to 80 men groped and molested two young women for approximately 15 minutes in Juhu, in the wee hours of the morning.
It’s easy to blame men on the streets, of course, and attack the women because that comes so naturally to us in India anyway. It’s easier to say that this happened on the streets as the men in question were obviously uncouth, possibly illiterate and definitely drunk. All that is speculation though. There must have been hundreds of men in both cities who were neither illiterate, nor drunk. It’s as if we have come to the conclusion that the only Indian men who attack women are those who do not represent so many of us. And there lies the problem.
I have, since this latest incident, been thinking about the way we speak of women constantly. By ‘we’, I mean people who have been to schools and go through life fairly sober, at least on weekdays.
I worked at a start-up in South Bombay, not too long ago, that was managed by men who were well educated (one supposedly at Cambridge, although he never displayed signs of intelligence), sober and brought up by middle and upper middle class families. I recall conversations about women that were routinely held among this group, all of whom looked upon women in the organisation as little more than commodities. The COO of this company routinely referred to them, disparagingly, as ‘talent’. They were hired on the basis of how they looked and not on their qualifications. And the HR department, ironically headed by a woman, did nothing to stop this “casual sexism” that pervaded every corner of the organisation, despite my repeated complaints.
Days after the incident in Bengaluru, a major Bollywood star ranted about how India appears to be moving backwards instead of forwards. What made his statement reek of hypocrisy was the fact that he had never had any qualms about starring in films that routinely degraded women, bringing them on board as eye candy and for the odd item number, because we are told that is the only kind of cinema that earns money in our sexually repressed country.
Casual sexism abounds everywhere, if we take a few minutes to look for it. It’s rampant in Indian advertising, obvious in the pay structures across corporate India, and blatant in any Indian city the minute a woman decides to walk down a street wearing shorts.
It’s also why a woman who smokes is still capable of attracting a small crowd, even in a city as supposedly progressive as Bombay.
To blame men on the streets for doing what they did to those women in Bengaluru is an easy way of absolving ourselves from our responsibilities. What movies are you taking your children to? What are you telling your sons? What are you telling your daughters? Do you simply acknowledge the fact that India’s streets are not safe for women, or do you try and analyse why that is by recognising symptoms of that same disease at home, in your locality and the office you work in?
If you let your sons get away with casual misogyny, you are part of the problem. If you buy tickets to movies that paint men who harass women as heroes, you are part of the problem. And if you tell your daughters what they can and cannot wear, you are certainly part of the problem.
When he isn’t ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira. Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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