Sex
on REM Zoe Lara (in India) (India), 02/May/2011 06:18, 34 days ago
When I am outdoors in Delhi, I am followed by pairs of eyes. I have lived places where this has happened before, but the prickly feeling is magnified by the population density here and the fact that there isn't a uniform sense among men that what they are doing is rude. When I catch the eyes of a man ogling me, he'll often happily meet mine and then go back to looking at my breasts. Staring isn't the worst that happens. Inarrowly avoided being rapedin my first few weeks in Delhi– though luckily, nothing like that has happened in the seven months since. About three times since I arrived, I have had my breasts squeezed in crowded places, under the guise of 'accidental' crowd-brushing, When it happens, I find that the first words that bubble up in my throat are actually hindi swear words, though in the end, I’ve only ever saidMaat karo(‘don’t do it’) very loudly. The man froze then backed off, embarrassed that I had made his actions public.I have tried to work out how scared I ought to be. In my head, I know that I could have experienced a narrow escape in any major city; and just because ogling is tolerated more in Delhi does not mean that there are not cultural taboos against sexual assault. Many stares might be harmless foreigner-fascination, not unmasked menace. Official statistics from the National Crime Records Bureau actually suggest Delhi isrelatively safe for women. The city is has earned the dubious distinction of beingthe rape capital of India, but the number of reported rapes is actually very low in comparison to other world cities. London, for example, has half Delhi's population but hadsix times as many reported rapes in 2010.The real question, of course, is how many cases of sexual assault go unreported here– and it wouldn't be unfair to say that the cultural and institutional difficulties associated recording gender-related crime are far higher here than in the UK. Institutionally, the judicial system is overburdened and the chances of cases relating to any matter being sorted quickly – criminal or otherwise – is very low. In the Delhi High Court alone, the backlog of cases would take an estimated466 years to clear. In cultural terms, the equal rights enshrined to men and women in the Indian constitution– and by all laws except religious laws – do not bear out in practice. The practice ofsati– burning a widow at the funeral pyre of her husband – has largely ended. However, honour killings persist; and though the institution of the dowry – the practice of giving money, jewellery, even houses to the family ‘taking on’ the bride – was abolished by law in 1961, it remains commonpractice in cities as well as rural areas. The institution puts financial pressure – sometimes more than bearable – on families with daughters; and the implication remains that women are commodities to be ‘sold’ to men. When I look at the matrimonial adverts in newspapers (a little like thedating classifieds that we have, though advertising for husbands for daughters rather than date-mates or sex partners), I can read unspoken expectation of dowry from the fact that families unwilling to pay feel the need to speak up about it in their ad ("no brother, no dowry").Linked to this, population statistics indicate the worry associated with the girl-child. The 2011 census counted914 girls for every 1000 boys in India, the best indicator we have that female foetuses are still being aborted or murdered at birth. Sex selective abortion is such an issue here that gender testing of foetuses has been banned in India, with limited success. My colleagues tell me that in rural areas where there is not enough food, sons are often fed first; and daughters only if there is any food left over after sons are satiated. Mothers eat last. Divorce is more taboo than in the West and I know from friends that there is a (non-uniform) cultural expectation that a wife ought not to leave her husband, even if he beats her. I know of cases of domestic violence just from my circle of acquaintances here. When I fill out any official form, my father’s name is always asked for before I am awarded anything – but there is no place on the form to write down who my mum is.None of this, of course, necessarily mandates the expectation of a higher number of sexual assault cases here than the UK– but it does set the tone for male-female gender relations and the anticipation that women are less likely to protest when men treat them badly. Is it this understanding of gender relations that lurks in the subconscious of men in the street who feel they have a right to ogle me, the men who honktheir horns even when the streets are clear and sometimes shout sexual comments when I pass them on my way home from work? One startling thing about my area in South Delhi is the lack of presence of women on streets after dark – I get the sense that we are not given the ‘right’ to be there onan equal basis as men – in fact, that we ‘ought’ to be inside the houses. Staring and heckling is always much worse for Katie and I when we leave a place at night time and break that expectation that women will remain in their homes at night. Interpretation is subjective and can be inaccurate; but I detect a power element much more strongly at this time – a sense that we are being put in our place.No woman in Delhi is immune to sexual harassment, but there is an added element of skin colour and complexion to the stares and catcalls that I experience here. Thanks to the portrayal of Western women in Western media that makes its way to India, I am considered much‘easier’ than Indian women – actually, ‘up for it’. Wearing Indian dress makes little difference for me. The stereotype is perpetuated in Indian music videos: all the sexiest, most stripped-down dancing is done by white women, even when the video is predominantly Indians (hereis an example). My male neighbours have innocently asked why western women are freer with their bodies than Indian women. I asked them why they thought this, and my neighbour cited‘American Pie’ and the common practice of unmarried couple cohabitation in the West. I complained about being harassed once to Anil, the lovely man next door who runs a shop in our street. He told me it was because I have blonde hair and white skin and I should consider it a compliment. Delhi deals with harassment by segregating male and female spaces – such as ‘ladies only’ carriages on the metro (marked at station platforms with pink writing and doodled flowers). The idea is that the police won’t stop public transport staring and/or groping – still euphemistically referred to as ‘eve teasing’ – so we better just sit together away from the men.Staring and verbal harassment is the worst for me because unlike groping, it happens often enough to be a part of my daily routine. Since I don’t know how afraid to be, I am often on edge that stares are not harmless, particularly when they develop into catcalls. I limit my behaviour because of my fear. They’re just little changes, but the cumulative effect has been living life outdoors a little on edge, and spending more of my time indoors than I would otherwise choose to. I carry a rape alarm. I don’t go out after dark without someone to accompany me – except for very quick trips to the shops on my street, where I am known. I suppress my instinctive reaction to oglers, which is to stare back and challenge them. I’ve triedgiving ‘evils’ back in the direction of the once-over, but invariably, this is interpreted as a come-on: it results in a huge smile, a ‘whoop’ if it is a group of guys, or worse, being approached – which makes me more insecure, particularly when I’m alone and outnumbered. So I avert myeyes. The effect is a feeling that when I’m being sexually harassed, my freedom to look where I want is constricted at the same time, too.Finally, I am sometimes unfair to well-intentioned men and I feel awful about it. I jog in a small residential park twice a week, which, at the time I go, it is mainly occupied by young men playing cricket. They sometimes stop the game to stare at me running past the hedge; and I feel most vulnerable here because it is less crowded and easier to block my escape route if assault were to take place (I am told that the park is safe and it won’t). Two days ago, a young man I passed in the park stopped and asked me what I was doing there. I didn’t respond and he stood still, waiting for me to pass him on a second lap. When I jogged past a second time, he tried to stop me and speak to me. Out of fear, I took my headphones out my ears and yelled “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get away from me”. Then I bolted out the park, feeling awful, because I had no way of knowing whether he was just curious at my foreign-ness (and would have been mortified at the reason for my reaction) or a potential assailant.Sexual harassment is one component of life in this city that I will not miss. I am grateful to my male friends here that are affronted by the practice and insist on making sure that I get home safely. But I wish that I didn’t have to rely on them to be my protector (what a manufactured dependence that I need a man to make me safe from men!); and my own vulnerability – just because of my gender – drives me mad.Update: A‘safe Delhi’ campaign by a local NGO has madethis video, which is a positive - if overly light - start.