Time's up for the average-frustrated-chump-turned-office-predator
Former journalist Akbar has filed a defamation suit against one of his accusers. Pic/PTI
What was she wearing? That's the question often asked about victims," writes Ruth David, before detailing her frightening account, working under the alleged, serial sexual offender M J Akbar.
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One really doesn't want to know what David was wearing that day -fitted white top with a deep green skirt, down to the ankles, and sensible shoes, incidentally - when her friend mentioned that Akbar, her newspaper boss, would certainly "notice" her. I guess he would've noticed her even if she was in a black burkha.
A moment of epiphany for me, on cases of sexual violence, happened recently when a friend said she felt more comfortable walking on Bombay's streets dressed, even if supposedly provocatively, in western wear. Chippad lechers automatically assumed she belonged to the upper class, and in fact, left her alone. Not sure if this tallies with others' experiences.
But it does prove something essential about the #MeToo campaign, which is also addressing sexual harassment at workspaces, in the same way that Nirbhaya (2012) showed monsters prowling Indian streets: The predator only does what he feels he can get away with. And it's about perceived power, not just sex.
Nirbhaya, in its instant outrage, left too many rightly confused folk looking for all kinds of reasons for why Indian women weren't safe in public places. One of the random excuses that came up was Bollywood showing persistent stalking by the hero (more so in the '80s), and objectification of women through item numbers ('90s onwards). Slightly facetious? Only for the fact that nearly all Bollywood movies end with good winning over evil. By that logic, the world itself should be a better place by now. Clearly, it isn't.
There is much less confusion over perpetrators in #MeToo, because its boundaries are more clearly defined: the office, the workplace, where the guy heading a big corporation, or a small sweatshop, is the king of the hill.
He feels his time has come. What good is that fancy, lonely hotel suite if he can't even bring over a woman, wholly enamoured by his wealth and success, to give him a well-deserved ego, and body massage? What's the point of all the authority and adulation if it isn't accompanied by validation from the opposite gender that he's spent a lifetime seeking?
Especially from a time he was the average frustrated chump (AFC), tongue-tied in female company, the 'loser' in American dating tips' parlance, who first went up the ladder of attraction, through a few quick empirically proven steps - 'Peacocking' (being flamboyant), 'negging' (putting the girl down) - to become the PUA (Pick-up Artiste), netting whichever female he wants; later, even offering sexual harassment in lieu of great job prospects, when nothing else worked.
The office has to be his playfield. That's where he spends most of his lifetime. And where else can he get away with anything? With great power, apparently, come great possibilities. #NotAllMen? Surely. But the rate at which skeletons are tumbling out of the secret closet, one wonders, #GodKnowsHowManyMen - on a scale ranging from Chetan Bhagat to MJ Akbar, if you may. Why is it that so many workplace sexual harassment cases are coming up now? Quite simply because never in India's history have so many women simultaneously joined the workforce.
Why is the media industry in particular - journalism, advertising, entertainment - throwing up the most names? Evidently, because, female gender ratio is possibly the highest in these fields. Up until the '90s, the only women you saw on a regular day at a film set of a pretty much all-male crew, was the heroine, and the 'Bollywood mom', keeping strict vigil on vultures who could potentially circle her daughter.
Is the objectification of women an outcome of this power structure alone? Oh no. It starts really early - right from school/college, when girls turn into mathematical numbers: The vital statistics. The hotness quotient ("Yeah, she's a 10/10"). Bragging rights over how many you've 'scored'. The three-date rule - a scientific assumption that you should be in bed third time out. The probability, 1:10 - the likelihood of a random woman responding kindly to a brazen, upfront proposal; don't lose heart, must keep trying.
Or how x+y=c, where x=beauty, y=brains, and 'c' is a constant, generating a rectangular hyperbola on the graph, meaning a woman gets stupider as she looks hotter, subconsciously because she's actually out of your league, and out of frustration, you pass loose remarks to her face - "Umm, you're hot!" As if she doesn't know that or the revelation coming from you is instantly going to impress her much. Of course, it gets worse. This simple equation only accentuates with old age, when the accepted formula for who to legitimately hit on is y> x/2+7, where x and y are respectively the female prey's, and the male predator's age.
But, by now, you're a big shot, the PUA (in your head, no more the AFC), the lord of the land/office/shop/set you survey. Did she say no while you sat on the summit? And what good is that summit then, anyway? How dare she? Needless to elaborate, you lose your mental equilibrium. And do things that women, after years, are finally no more scared to speak up, and report.
Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
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