Garmi ke aise dino mein,
jee chahta hai, jaaoon jhool,
iss ped se jhoola laga kar,
aur upar se barse tesu ke phool.
Clicked while driving, to be more precise – in a hurry, while watching out for the signal to turn green. Who says there are long stops at traffic signals?
“You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere“..”kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky“. A lot of guys think that’s what women are for. Writing a post on such issues like the ones that blank noise project (which incidentally got mentioned in boingboing too) covers, had always been on my mind but never did that earlier, because I never wanted reactions amounting to martyrdom, like “oh you poor thing, you had to go through so much”. I am glad I wrote, nevertheless. No, not because I had to vent it all out or that it would be cathartic. I didn’t need to do that. Those things had been purged by my mind a long time ago. And all women learn to do that eventually. They block out such memories in their entirety and lead their lives as if nothing happened. I am glad I did it because of the kind of reactions that I have received from people, many of whom are male. I anticipated that almost all women would be writing similar stories (and actually I was sick reading the same stuff). What I didn’t anticipate was that most men are completely oblivious of the “magnitude” of the situation. I am glad that this series had them enlightened (read “shocked” in their own words).
I am also hoping that it would have definitely helped many women realise that they aren’t the only ones going through this. Everyone and I mean every single one has to go through exactly the same shit. I also hope that women actually learn to “raise their voice” (literally) against it. I noticed that some of us felt “dependent” on men. I would like to point out that largely everyone in the society is dependent on each other for some reason or the other. But dependency to the extent of not being able to go out to a movie or a mall or to the market, unescorted, is pure crap. I know women (not child women but grown up adults) who can not even cross the road on their own without someone holding their hands! I know women who need “company” while going to the loo because they are scared (of the dark or of the loneliness, only they would know)! It irritates me to no end to see people perfectly capable of taking care of themselves (and others at that), being so dependent on others for such small little things. May be it’s because they have been sheltered all their lives and the reason for that would be the kind of experiences women face here. It’s a vicious cycle of sheltering and dependency which only leads to further dependency. It needs to be broken by the *women* themselves, by realising that dependency to some extent is unavoidable but it is only by breaking that mental dependency that they would learn to take care of themselves. This is the only way they would ever be able to get the strength to get back at the people who are largely the reason for such harassment on the streets, in public places and even in one’s own home.
In this country which has such high female infanticide rates, and has all kind of discrimination against the girl child, I have been fortunate enough to get a good education and parents who don’t have such a mindset. But I see several others who are as fortunate, still stuck mentally in a rut which makes them feel “helpless” and “dependent”. Just taking up a job and being a working woman is not called being “indpendent”. Independence stems from one’s own mind. There are females who can not take a single decision independently. Not for others and not for their own self. Whether or not it’s life altering, doesn’t matter. Taking someone’s opinion or consultation is definitely good, but having someone else take entire decisions for you is different. I know women who are grown up adults and can not get themselves from point A to point B all by themselves. Whether Point A is their own home and Point B – their next door neighbour or the Louvre in Paris, it doesn’t matter. They are not limited physically or monetarily. Mentally is the only way they are. I stay alone in the same city that my parents stay in (though it took me a year to convince them to be able to) and I do it because I *can* and want to, and not as a solution to any problem. I am tired of repeated clarifications (most of them, to women) to inconsequential stuff to the effect of, “I do NOT get scared of the dark or for that matter spiders, rats, frogs, lizards and what nots”, “I can take care of myself”, “I can run the house independently”. My only (of course unsolicited) advice to such “oppressed” women would be to wake up and stop being “Barbies” themselves. Only then can they expect others to NOT treat them as the same.
As I sit down to write for the blank noise blog-athon, I wonder where I could begin. Should I start chronologically from the age of 7, when a man servant felt me up in places I can still not get myself to write down? Or should I go ahead to the age of 14 when a guy rubbed himself into me in a not so crowded bus in Nepal, all this when my parents and sister were in the same bus, but I didn’t dare to move, for the sad reason that at that age, I didn’t know how have the guts to react in that kind of a situation. Or should I just jump past all those daily experiences of men feeling me up, pushing themselves into me in public transport, or staring at me or winking at me or passing lewd remarks or pinching my butt or singing songs or throwing balloons at me every damned holi or autodrivers offering me “lifts, jahan bhee jaana ho” or cars stopping by when I am walking alone on a main busy road, following me for some time, assuming that I am on sale or “boys” aiming small paper pellets at my butt or men hitting my butt by driving too close to me while I am walking my dog or guys speeding on a bike hitting my chest so hard that I almost fall with the sheer force (apart from the shock)… I am out of breath already and this sentence doesn’t even seem to be anywhere near ending. Maybe I should just land up at the incident which happened at some new year party when I was 16 and at that age, like everyone else I had the humble desire a young girl would have – that of being asked for a dance (not even a ballroom dance, it just a jam session). Little did I know that the request for a dance was a pretext for masturbation in a public place with the guy trying to make me fondle his dick. By that age, I was thankfully not so ill-equipped in terms of presence of mind (had enormous experience of such incidents by now) and I shoved him away with all my might. But till this date, only one person on this planet knew about it and she actually thought that I had imagined it all, since guys in those social circles are supposed to be “decent”. Nothing really “harmful” (this term is so damn subjective) happened then. I tried dealing with that incident in an adult manner (in my mind i.e.) so that my self esteem didnt get hit (“did I really look the cheap variety or did I look the “unable to do anything variety” to attract the wrong guys” kind of doubts).
There are ways and means to tackle that colleague who talks to your breasts or that elderly relative who pretends to be fawning over you but is actually lusting (you can always tell). Of course, one needs to weigh ones options and actions a little bit keeping in mind all odds. One does not go ahead and take pangas with a gang when one is alone. But one can definitely be alert and quick (not just physically but mentally as well).
There has happened a particular incident of ballooning where the guy made the mistake of being visible while throwing the balloon. He happened to work at a local barber shop, which I immediately stormed into and gave him a piece of my mind and some of the choicest abuses I knew. A guy there (a client) egged me on to give him a tight slap as well. I quietly ignored him since I didn’t want the situation to get so heated up and that guy seemed to be egging me on just for kicks. I cant say that what I did, would have made the ballooning guy stop it for his life. But it’s always best to bring the “situation” into notice. The fear of embarrassment is enough for some to at least think twice about it next time. There was another guy who tried brushing past me on a main road while I was waiting to cross it. The whole damn road was empty, but he thought that he would have a piece of my butt before I reached the other side. That guy was unaware that he was going to get the shock of his life. Though I felt like killing him, I merely held his collar with both hands and shook him so badly that he didn’t know what hit him. He tried running for his life, but he couldn’t. I was surprised with my own grip. Eventually he managed to pull off and ran for his life. It was only when everything was over and done with, that the “crowd” asked me what happened and if he was trying to snatch my purse.
There are umpteen such situations in everyday life and they would perhaps never end. Not only is it difficult to try and give such sick men their due, it is very much a difficult thing when you are left in a doubt about the intention of someone. At times things happen accidentally and unintentionally too. But at most times they are obvious enough to be brought to public notice. Even if the “crowd” does not react (and only watches) one should definitely make sure that one does not ignore it. In public transport one can always request ppl politely to stop pushing or plainly to stand a little away. The way one does it makes sure that even the ones who did it accidentally aren’t offended by your request and the ones doing it intentionally can not just go scot free. When it happens repeatedly in spite of polite requests, it’s time to stomp that high heel onto his foot or to shove ones elbow into his balls.
The best way to actually try and reduce something like this is to spread awareness amongst women that they can actually protest against it. I have grown up watching things happen to me and around me and even though I knew it was wrong I didn’t know what to do about it (till some point in my life). One needs to ignore minor happenings but one also needs to make sure that the ones which can be avoided, are. Things can get as ugly as molestation of ones own children or marital rape. There is no dearth of the levels till which harassment can go. Be aware, be prepared, be alert and be proud to be a woman in spite of the shit that happens.
(“Frequently asked questions” for the uninitiated)
Spoiler warning – Plot revealed
Rating?
2.5 out of 5. Good timepass. At least one doesnt feel that the money went waste.
Who all are starring?
Nana Patekar, John Abraham, Sonali Kulkarni, Sameera Reddy. Sonali is wasted. Sameera? She was there for just sashaying in and out of John’s life.
What’s the storyline?
After the first half full of funny potshots and some myriad startling shrieks (the aim of which isn’t quite clear), the second half gives one a feeling of watching “Iss raat kee subah nahi”. John Abraham and Nana Patekar keep trying to outdo each other, using every means in the dictionary. Ultimately they call for truce and realise that they benefit each other by helping each other. Nana Patekar gets his lesson on how to be a good husband/father and John Abraham realises that money isnt everything though it sure attracts everyone. For good measure, Piggy Chops (the name is now so popular that this is what is mentioned in the cast) is thrown in for John Abraham once he’s lost everything, but gained his senses.
Can John act?
No.
Is John HOT?
Undoubtedly.
Can Sameera act?
No way.
Is Sameera HOT?
Undoubtedly not.
Who has contributed most to the movie, acting wise?
Well, as usual, Nana Patekar was his usual hyper and sarcastic self. The rest of the cast just reacts to his crazy potshots in the first half and his attacks in the second.
How’s the musical score?
After waiting for the entire movie duration, for the much promoted song (Meter down), I got it only after the movie ended. There was another eminently forgettable song, when the story takes the expected climactic turn. At the end of the movie, (Meter down) is growled by our very own John Abraham and Nana Patekar. But one does not understand why the background score consists of those startling shrieks. Was it a horror movie that I was watching?
Who are the extras?
Priyanka Chopra (aka Piggy chops) and Sanjay Dutt (lends his voice for some initial narration). Sonali was roughly wasted the same way.
Corny scene?
Both Nana and John happen to have their birthdays on the same day. Of course, the movie was all about that day.
Locales?
Mumbai. More Mumbai and more Mumbai. Only Mumbai. Mumbai-ites would have a nice time figuring out where they were during the shooting.
Pace?
Fast. Racy. Speedy.
Stunts?
Good. Especially the one where (supposedly) John Abraham has to dodge oncoming vehicles while rolling on the road.
Point to Note?
The producer must have some insurance agents as his friends. The number of vehicles destroyed or damaged in this movie is quite noticeable.
Do I go and watch the movie, now that the finer nuances are revealed already?
Do. Especially if you want a roller coaster ride. One repeats those too, you know.
Who needs a time machine when one has one’s imagination to ride on? And a “ticket to ride” is provided by the immense heritage that is all around. On Sunday I attended, one of the India Habitat Centre organised “History Walks”. I had been wanting to attend one since years, but somehow I would always miss the opportunity or I would not be able to drag myself out of bed at unearthly hours on Sunday mornings. This Sunday however saw me determinedly see to it that I at least go and take a peek at what the concept of history walk entailed. It had been quite some time since I had gotten up as early as 6:30 am on a Sunday. This used to happen more in childhood, when we would get up early even on sundays, so as to get ready, eat breakfast and be free by the time “Rangoli” would get aired at 7:40am on good old Doordarshan. For, after that initial kickstart, the whole day used to be a non-stop, funfilled, TV affair and not a single kid I knew would miss it. If one didn’t get the hurdles like bathing and eating, aside, before Rangoli started, they would stare at you in your face when it would be siesta time. Anyhow, this is not about that personal history called childhood. This is about the history walk conducted by a historian who took us around Qudsia bagh, Nicholson Cemetry and other late Mughal and British areas around Kashmiri gate.
So here I was, after waking up at that unearthly hour on a Sunday morning to boot, with “project hairwash” aside (it *is* a project with complete planning, execution and maintenance), on my way to Masonic club, Jamuna road. I managed to reach there in time, in spite of hardly having seen this part of Delhi, ever in my life. Whatever is left of Qudsia Bagh, is apparently inside Masonic club. 
The greater part of the garden was destroyed to make way for Inter State Bus Terminal and the adjacent tourist camp site. With the newly built metro in place, the Kashmiri gate station is nearby. The moment one enters Masonic, it seems one has come to a different Delhi. The place is abuzz with activity, fortunately of the birdie kingdom. There’s a lot of cacophony around which somehow doesn’t cause discomfort. No, it’s not because of the traffic from the nearby busy Ring Road and ISBT. It’s caused by the innumerous birds flapping, shrilling, singing, screeching and generally being “natural”. The place is full of tall trees, and the seeping rays of the morning sun make it look picture perfect.
About 25 people gathered around the historian Swapna, as she explained the history behind the imposing western gate that we saw next to us. Some people were taking notes, some listening in rapt attention, some preparing for photo-ops and still others like me, perhaps trying to imagine what it would have been like in the days of yore. Qudsia Begum (originally Jodha Bai or something similar which I forget now) 
was the wife of Mughal emperor Mohammad Shah. She got the garden built in the 18th century (1748 to be precise). It comprises of a baradari, a private mosque of the emperor and his wife, and some gates. A small stream used to cross the garden and join the Jamuna river which used to flow just next to the garden. The stream has long been blocked and has stagnant water now. The Ring road stretches over what was once the Jamuna’s river bed. Once inside the garden, devoid of all the noise of a big metropolis, it’s not difficult to imagine a paradise, with a clean Jamuna, flowing by, right next to that green patch. After the 1857 mutiny, the British moved their battery and troops here and bombarded the Kashmiri gate. One of the smashed arches of the mosque, bears a signature of (maybe) a cannon ball that hit it. The British eventually took over and the result is a mix of colonial and mughal architecture. The British also established Civil lines, which was the centre of British administration before the new capital was formally inaugurated. The Old Secretariat, now the seat of government for the Delhi State administration and the Oberoi Maidens Hotel 
are some of the colonial buildings that stand from those days. “Civil lines”, to this day, is a name associated with a very posh locality, wherever it exists. With all this history in mind, we walked around the Qudsia Bagh stepping into centuries long forgotten and gone past. The baradari is a curious mix of British as well as Mughal architecture. It reminded me very much of some of the army barracks (converted to officer’s accomodation) that I have stayed in. The mosque is functional even today. The gate looks majestic and one can imagine a queen coming here in full splendour to enjoy the flowers and the fruits of this garden. Apparently the emperor and his family used to come here often on picnic and were accompanied by an assorted array of servants and guards. Things were obviously done in style those days.
After exploring Qudsia Bagh we stepped back into modern times and the hustle bustle of this city called Delhi. The motley group of people (some of whom are regulars) walked towards the Oberoi Maidens to see the 100 year old, relatively lesser known hotel, apparently frequented by Jinnah when he was here. The Nicholson Cemetery, nearby, was named after John Nicholson 
who led the British troops that fought the mutineers in 1857. It happens to be Delhi’s oldest cemetery. As we stepped into the neglected cemetery, it was time travel in another century for us. The British may have ruled this land for a long time, but so many of them also have a “deeply rooted” past here. Lots and lots of graves, with some of them belonging to war casualties, some there as a result of prolonged illnesses, and still some belonging to very young children; 
speak of the low life expectancy rates in those days. The average age of the dead happened to be very low. This cemetery is right behind Kashmiri gate metro station. After getting a dekko and reading some of the moving epitaphs, we all dispersed. The flitting in and out of time periods, and trying to capture some of the “present”, has certainly whet my appetite for more.