I’M A MAN (?)
She was travelling in a car with
friends. A mob stopped the car. She and her friends were dragged out and
beaten. Her top was torn off and she was paraded topless. She sobbed and
pleaded. Bystanders stood watching, doing nothing to stop the men. She tried to
board a local bus. Passengers of the bus pushed her off. Finally, someone with
a bit of humanity still left inside him took off his shirt and covered the girl
up.
No – this did not happen in
badlands of UP. No – the men who ripped off the girl’s top were not part of
gangs of Wasseypur. And no – it wasn’t my daughter ... or yours. Thank God.
It happened in a city that boasts
of its “cosmopolitan” culture and “obvious influence” of ex-pat community of
highly educated IT professionals. This happened in a city which is far luckier
than scores of other cities of India – a city on international travel lists. A
progressive, modern city of India. A city where a woman should feel safe in
public space.
I hope it makes us all reflect
and shudder at what awaits a woman in those countless cities and towns and
villages tucked away in the heart of darkness.
(Not a photo of the episode referred in this blog but equally disturbing image)
A mob is a violent, mindless
creature. I understand that. It is born of conjugation of individual angry
minds and that collective progeny is a monster that would be unrecognisable by
the very individuals whose minds created it. I understand that. The girl’s
shirt was ripped off in anger. I understand that.
Or do I?
When I feel angry at an incident,
I may want to throw a stone at a passing bus which knocked down a local boy.
But I won’t do that because I am alone. However, if there are 50 other men
standing with me, feeling the same anger, I might be the first to pick up and
throw the stone.
But if I knew that my father or
mother or anyone dear to me was travelling in that bus, I would never throw
that stone – no matter how angry I felt about the bus knocking down a
pedestrian. I would also try to stop others from doing so.
So what happened in the incident
we all read about?
Some man would have reached out for
the girl. I am trying to think what I would have felt in her place as another man
grabbed my waist, or hand or other body parts. Yet another inserted his fingers
inside my top. His hands would have touched my skin, clawed my flesh. And then
he would have pulled hard enough for the fabric to tear. I would be whimpering,
trying to fight back but would have been overpowered. I would have called out
for help – and seen inscrutable faces looking back at my humiliation.
And when my top tore open did it
make the men smile? Did I see the gleam of voyeuristic possibilities in their
eyes? And then when the torn fabric was thrown away, and my breasts exposed to
public view, I would have felt shame, rage, helplessness. I would have rued
being a woman. I would have uncontrollable tears streaming down my cheeks.
Maybe I would have heard a grunt...a snigger from the men. Maybe a paw would
have scraped against my exposed skin. I would have tried to cover my breasts
with my hands. Maybe someone kept pulling them away. I would have heard the
deathly silence of the bystanders. I would have run to a passing bus hoping to
find refuge there. I would’ve seen some women in the bus too.
But when I was pushed away and
thrown out of the bus – what hopelessness would I have felt? In that moment,
would I have felt pride in being a woman?
Which man does not understand
that ripping away a woman’s top is not the same thing as ripping away a man’s
shirt? That pushing around a topless woman in public view is not the same as
doing that to a man? Which man would stand and watch his mother, sister,
daughter, wife or female friend being subjected to that? And yet, the men in
that mob did it to a woman.
As a man I feel ashamed. Has
thousands of years of civilisation, “sanskriti” and “sanskara” left me with
this?
What tortured minds of fathers
and mothers would have raised those men who could strip a woman in public
because they were angry at someone else? What relatives, neighbours and friends
would have socialised with those men who could slap around and parade a half
naked woman in public view? What teachers and mentors would have taught those
men and women in the bus who looked at a hapless, denuded woman crying for help
and brutally threw her off the bus – refusing to grant her shelter? What God of
those men stood by and let them do what they did?
What did our National Poet mean
when he wrote:
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake
When will my daughter...my niece...your daughter, sister
or niece feel safe in our country?
Even the much maligned Manusmriti says at one place:
यत्र नार्यस् तु पूज्यन्ते रमन्ते तत्र देवताः।
यत्र एतास् तु न पूज्यन्ते सर्वास् तत्र अफलाः क्रियाः ॥
Which when translated means:
"Wherever women are given their due respect, even the deities like to reside, and where they are not respected, all action remains unfruitful."
यत्र एतास् तु न पूज्यन्ते सर्वास् तत्र अफलाः क्रियाः ॥
Which when translated means:
"Wherever women are given their due respect, even the deities like to reside, and where they are not respected, all action remains unfruitful."
When will we be able to teach our sons that? When will men become men?
That’s a thorn in my side.
