The silence of shame

There are many reasons why women don't come forward to complain about sexual abuse; don't judge them for it

As I sit down to write this column, around 25 women have come forward to accuse Hollywood producer, Harvey Weinstein, of sexual harassment and abuse. And among the ladies who have gone on record to charge Weinstein with being a sexual predator are such A-list stars as Angelina Jolie and Gwyneth Paltrow.

Somewhat predictably, the reaction on social media has been: hey ladies, what took you so long? After all, both Jolie and Paltrow are from influential Hollywood families. What did they have to fear from a man like Weinstein? Why couldn't they come right out and condemn his behavior the moment it happened?

But I am not here to hold forth on Harvey Weinstein and Hollywood today. What I really want to focus on are the many Harveys that every woman comes up against as she makes her way through the world. And how difficult all of us find it to speak up about their behavior no matter how grown-up, mature, rich, famous and powerful we get.

I am sure that all the women who are reading this column will have their own stories, but I'll go first. Though now that I have said that, I really don't know where to begin.

Do I start with the 'Uncle' who routinely pulled me on to his lap in a show of affection when I was a pre-schooler? I was too young then to even know why it felt so wrong but it makes my flesh crawl now every time I recall it. Do I begin with the neighbor who would 'jokingly' press himself against me in the staircase if he ever found me there alone? I still can't forgive my 10 year self for never saying a word about it to anyone else.

Do I mention the many times I was groped on public transport as I made my way to and from college? And how I don't remember ever calling out the men with the grasping hands, for fear of escalating the situation further. I didn't want them following me off the bus and targeting me on a deserted road instead. So I told myself it made more sense to move away, get a different bus, choose another route. I convinced myself it was better to stay quiet rather than give voice to the scream rising within me.

Was that the wrong way to handle these situations? Perhaps it was. But that is how I felt best equipped to handle them at the time. Speaking up, making a scene, standing up for myself, none of it even occurred to me. I just wanted whatever this was -- harassment, molestation, abuse, call it what you will -- to end. I wanted to draw a discreet veil over these awful episodes in my life and move on. Maybe if I could ignore them, brush them aside, in time I would forget that they ever really happened.

So, I pretended that none of this was real and went on with my life, blocking out these traumatic memories as best I could. Not very brave, was it? No, it was downright cowardly. All I can offer in my defence is that I was scared and, yes, ashamed.

In fact, I was consumed by a sense of shame so acute that it rendered me speechless. And even today, decades later, the words stick in my craw as I try to articulate the hot mess of feelings that engulfed me in those fleeting encounters: helplessness, panic, embarrassment, the feeling that I had somehow brought this upon myself. And yes, of course, those old companions of every woman who had ever had such an experience: humiliation and mortification.

Those feelings accompanied me as life-long friends, as I went through my teenage years, passed through college, started working in journalism, and stayed close as I negotiated my 30s and my 40s.

They surfaced when the first politician I was sent to interview as a cub reporter asked if we could continue the interview while he went for his usual walk around India Gate. Alarm bells started going off the moment he tried to hold my hand and tell me how his "wife doesn't understand" him. And from then on, matters only got worse.

To my eternal shame, though, I didn't call him out on his behavior. Instead I engineered an argument -- on the Shah Bano case, of all things -- to ensure that he lost his temper and whatever sexual interest he had in me in the bargain. I felt that he would take this better than outright rejection. Because I still needed that story. I didn't want to be that girl who went off for her first interview and came back crying sexual harassment. And I certainly didn't want to enter the territory of he said-she said controversy.

Now that I am much older and wiser, I often look back on that day and wonder if I would handle things differently if that happened to me now. Perhaps I would. Or maybe I'm just kidding myself. It's always easier being wiser and braver in retrospect.

But I write this today to try and explain to people why women who are sexually harassed, molested, abused, or even raped, often don't come forward to confront their abusers. Sometimes they are ashamed. Sometimes they feel they will be blamed (what was she wearing; how much was she drinking; was she asking for it?). Sometimes they fear losing their jobs or their careers. Sometimes their self-image of being strong women prevents them from admitting (even to themselves) that something like this could happen to them.

They are a hundred different reasons why women stay silent about the abuse they suffer. Don't judge them for it. Judge the men who actually abuse them.

No sex please, this is an office

How to deal with sexual harassment at the workplace

How do you know what sexual harassment is? Short answer: you know it when you feel it. When that colleague brushes against your breast while trying to 'help' you with your PowerPoint presentation. When the guy on the opposite desk stares openly at your cleavage and tells you how sexy you are looking today. When your boss keeps asking you out for dinner even though you turn him down repeatedly. When the men in your office circulate porn clips on group messages and berate you as a prude when you object.

If you are a woman and you have ever worked in an office, the chances are that you have your own sexual harassment stories to tell. God knows I have my own. But it's not about our stories today. It's about how to deal with sexual harassment, whether you are the target, a witness or the person in charge. So, here is my handy -- though far from comprehensive -- guide. 

* When an act of sexual harassment occurs, don't dismiss it in the hope that it is just a "one-off" transgression, an aberration that will never occur again. That may well be the case, but don't assume this as a fact. You may be inclined to give a first-time offender the benefit of the doubt. Do that if you want to. But make your feelings clear while you are at it. 

* Keep the exchange as neutral as you can. Say something like, "I am sure that you don't mean to, but your standing so close behind my desk makes me feel uncomfortable." Phrase your  pushback in a way that allows him an honourable out, if he chooses to take it. Give him the space to make an apology or even express regret. And if he does so, accept it graciously. If he reacts with outrage at the accusation, stand firm. Say that you're sorry that you misunderstood him. But it's only because you value your personal space and can't bear to have it invaded. Surely he understands?

* If the harassment persists, then the time to play nice is over. Tell him exactly how you feel, as vehemently as possible. The tone to aim for is polite but firm. "Those Whatsapp messages you have been sending me are inappropriate. I do not appreciate getting sexual-innuendo laden jokes. Please stop."

* Save all the inappropriate and sexually charged messages and share them with a trusted circle in real time. Take at least one senior colleague into confidence. Ask them to have a discreet word with the harasser. Try and resolve the issue informally if possible.

* If that doesn't work, it's time to up the ante. File an official complaint. Every office that has more than 10 employees is required by law to have an Internal Complaints Committee headed by a senior female officer. If your office doesn't have one, there is a government body called the Local Complaints Committee that deals with such complaints. Present all the evidence you have stacked up, ask your colleagues to bear witness and stand up for your rights.

* Be prepared to lose. Too many of these cases come down to a "he said-she said" impasse and  more often than not the benefit of the doubt goes to the man, who is, by definition, the more powerful of the two. And yes, the temptation to do nothing and just walk away -- which is always your right -- and take another job is strong. But remember you are leaving behind a predator, who is now more emboldened than ever to prey on other women.

* At the end of the day, however, dealing with sexual harassment is not just up to individuals. Companies have to step up and ensure a healthy work environment for women. And just constituting an ICC is not enough. Companies also need to invest in gender sensitisation training so that everyone learns just what is permissible within the workspace and what kind of behaviour is beyond the pale. (You would be surprised how many people simply have no clue.)

* Most important of all, companies must provide a safe space for women to speak out, and create an environment that imbues them with the confidence that their stories are worth listening to -- and taking action on. And yes, while it is crucial to investigate before dubbing anyone guilty, it is vital that women who summon up the courage to file an official complaint be given the courtesy of belief. That doesn't mean always taking a woman's word against a man's. It just means taking her words seriously. 

* As for those who are on the fringes of the drama, looking on with voyeuristic curiosity, I have just one line of advice: if you see something, for God's sake, say something!

Holi terror

Let me count the many, many reasons why I absolutely loathe this festival

I think it is fair to say that I am a sucker for a good festival. I dance around the Lohri bonfire; I go bonkers with diyas on Diwali; I love getting into the Yuletide spirit around Christmas; and I treat Eid as an occasion to OD on biryani and seviyan.

But there is one festival that I simply can't get behind. And that is Holi. I can see those of you who embrace the Holi madness every year shaking your heads sadly, and wondering what on earth is wrong with me.

Well, take a good look in the mirror. You see the remnants of the red colour you were dunked in all over your arms, legs and face? You see the hair that has turned a virulent green because of the colours dumped on it? And you see, don't you, that it will take at least a week before you can revert to your normal self? I rest my case.

But quite apart from all the damage the excesses of Holi inflict on your skin and hair, there really is nothing to love about this festival. Okay, I can probably get behind the consumption of industrial quantities of gujiya and the mainlining of bhaang, but not if it comes with the other, less savoury, parts of this festival.

I guess you get the drift by now. I hate Holi. I loathe it with a passion. I detest it intensely. Let me count the many reasons why:

* Street hooliganism: You can tell that Holi is approaching when walking or driving down the streets becomes an active hazard. You can't stroll through the neighbourhood without some pesky kids chucking water balloons on you from some balcony or terrace (and if you've ever felt the full impact of this, you know they hurt like crazy). There is no getting away from people who think throwing indelible paint on your car is some kind of joke (oh, how we laughed!). Or from those sickos who think this festival gives them license for a good old grope.

* Peer pressure: No matter how loud and hard you protest that you are not playing Holi this year (or any year, really), your family/friends/neighbours will refuse to take you seriously. Think you can lock yourself into your house and get away with it? No chance. A bunch of inebriated, over-excited folks will show up on your doorstep and refuse to take no for an answer. They will create such a ruckus that you will emerge reluctantly, if only to prevent them from breaking down the door and trashing your house. And then, it will be open season, as you are hosed down with pichkaris and doused in psychedelic paints.

* Playing dirty: It doesn't matter how often your friends swear that they are keeping Holi 'low key' and 'organic' this year ("just some abeer and gulal, I swear, we won't use a drop of water"). There is always one member of the party (you know who you are) who will play dirty. He (and it is invariably a he) will start off by introducing water -- the colder, the better -- into the mix. He will then throw in hard colours (it is no point telling him that you have an important presentation tomorrow; he is beyond reason by now). And then, depending on how many glasses of bhaang he has tucked away, he will use mud, tomatoes, eggs, just about anything really, to smear your face and body. Sigh!

* Looking like a mess: No matter how hard you try, you will never really look like Rekha and Amitabh Bachchan in that iconic Holi scene in Silsila. You remember it, don't you? The lovers dressed in pristine white kurta-pyjamas, which gradually take on the colour of the gulal being sprinkled liberally all around, while their cheeks glow radiant with abeer. Sadly, real life is never like that. No matter how hard you try, you will never ever succeed in looking quite so photogenic while playing Holi. What you will look like is a red hot mess; and worse, a mess that will take a week to clear.

* Sexual harassment: It starts about a week before Holi, building up to a crescendo on the day of the festival itself. In the run-up to the day, there will be office 'Holi parties' where the resident perverts will feel up all the women on the pretext of getting colour on them. There will be 'Holi milans' in the neighbourhood where the creepy uncles will let their hands roam free. And the day itself will be a nightmare of grasping hands, unwanted embraces, and roughhousing with a sexual edge that is hard to miss.

Given all this, are you surprised that I loathe this festival? Frankly, I am surprised that there aren't more people who feel this way. Or maybe they do, but are forced to grin and bear it for fear of being seen as spoilsports or stick in the muds.

Well, I have no problem in taking unpopular stands. So, I am saying no to Holi; this year and ever after. No more forced dunkings in chilly vats of coloured water. No more being groped and pulled about by men who are three sheets to the wind.

Next year, I am packing my gujiya and bhaang and taking off for some beach nearby. The only colours I intend to play with are the gold of the sands, the turquoise of the sea and the sapphire of the cloudless sky. Don't you wish you could do the same?

Sex, lies, and lack of videotape

It’s all very well to outrage about the Tehelka case; but let’s also try and ensure that such cases don’t recur

Over the last fortnight, the media have been ‘larcerating’ themselves over the sexual assault allegations leveled against Tehelka editor, Tarun Tejpal, by a (now former) staffer of the magazine. The account of the aggrieved journalist makes for sorry reading, but what was even more disturbing was the attempt by Tehelka to try and pass this off as an ‘internal matter’. When journalists dared ask questions of Tehelka managing editor, Shoma Chaudhury, she shot back angrily: “Are you the aggrieved party?” (Presumably, Shoma, or to call her by what we now discover is her real name, Suparna, was an ‘aggrieved party’ in the Assaram case, or else why would she chose to cover it?)

Well, you know what, Ms Chaudhury? We are all aggrieved parties in this. Not just every woman who has ever had to fend off unwanted sexual advances in the workplace; but every young girl in school and college today, who one day hopes to step into the work force. Not to mention, every unborn child who deserves to enter into a world in which women are not preyed upon sexually – and then victim-shamed when they summon the courage to speak up.

But how do we create that world? Outraging on Twitter, fulminating on TV and in columns such as this one, is a good way of venting when our rage, frustration and despair threaten to overwhelm us. But it doesn’t really change things in the real world. And nor does the constitution of sexual harassment committees in accordance with the Vishakha guidelines.

So, what will? I have spent the last week or so trying to come up with some answers. This is what I have so far:

1)    Start work on the next generation. Much as it saddens me to say this, most of the men in my generation and the one above are beyond redeeming. It was telling that the only people who were willing to come on TV and defend Tejpal were men of a certain age who had grown up in an age of entitlement. In their world, junior staffers should be flattered when men in power show sexual interest in them; and shut up and put up with sexual harassment, or even sexual assault. A mentality like that is hard to change. So, while we shouldn’t let them get away with victim shaming, let’s not nourish any illusions that their Neanderthal thinking will change.

Instead, let’s try and get the young men of today and tomorrow to see women as something other than sexual objects. In this endeavor, the mothers – and indeed, fathers – of young boys have the biggest role to play. Teach your son that a woman’s right to her bodily integrity is inviolable. Make him understand that no means no. Upbraid him when he makes sexist comments. Respect his girlfriend/wife rather than undermine her. Teach him by example. Don’t refer to women in short dresses as ‘sluts’. Don’t act as if a girl who has premarital sex is a ‘whore’. Don’t sneer at women who frequent nightclubs as ‘easy’ or ‘fast’.

2)    But while the role of parents is crucial, schools, colleges and other educational institutions can also play a vital role. Alongside classes on sex education, we also need to teach lessons about sexual behavior. We need to tell young girls and boys what constitutes sexual harassment or even sexual assault. Young girls need to be taught that it is okay to speak out against any man who violates their body. Young boys need to be taught that consent is crucial when it comes to sex. I know it seems self-evident but it is frightening how many men grow up believing that a woman’s ‘no’ means ‘not yet’ and that if they persist it will change into a ‘yes’. It bears repeating. No means no.

3)    A policy of zero tolerance. I remember going on a TV programme on rapper Honey Singh and being asked if I was just picking on him because he was a ‘soft target’. There are no ‘soft targets’ when it comes to sexual violence against women. The man who pinches your bum in the bus, the guy who makes a sexual comment on the street, the singer who raps about violence against women, the boss who acts as if sexual favours are his God-given right, the man who molests or rapes a woman. All of them need to be punished with the full force of the law

4)    No sexualisation of the workplace. And this applies to both men and women. Just as we take it for granted that it is not okay for men to watch pornography at the office, or indeed, decorate their desks with pin-ups of naked women, it is also not okay for women to sexualize the workplace by dressing like wannabe porn stars. There is a time and a place to wear a mini-skirt or a camisole top. Your office is not that place. And while I am all for the right of women to dress as they please, we also need to understand that showing butt cracks or acres of cleavage sexualizes our workplace just as much as dirty jokes do. We wouldn’t stand for it if our male colleagues dressed like that. The same standards should apply to us.

For a truly equal, sexual harassment-free workplace, men and women need to work together. And that work needs to start now.

Behave!

There’s plenty of advice out there for how women should stay safe; here are a few handy pointers for the men as well

Over the last month or so, Indian women have been inundated with gratuitous advice on how we should conduct themselves in public so as to keep themselves safe from sexual harassment and violence. Politicians, religious heads, media commentators, women’s rights activists, and well, pretty much anyone with a voice to be heard, has come up with new and innovative ways to keep the women in our society ‘safe’ from sexual crimes.

Right off the top of my head, these are some of the suggestions that have been offered in all seriousness. Women should not be allowed access to mobile phones. Co-education should be banned. Girls should be married off the moment they reach puberty to keep them safe from predators. Schoolgirls should wear overcoats over their uniforms to save them from the gaze of perverts. Teachers should wear lab coats to prevent male students leching at them. Working women should not be so adventurous as to travel back home alone from work late at night. Women should not wear skirts or other ‘revealing’ outfits because that just excites the men and provokes them into attacking them sexually. And certainly, women should not complain about being ‘raped’ if they willingly go out with men, because honestly, what were they expecting?

That is, by no means, an exhaustive list. But I guess you get the general drift. The message is clear and simple: stay covered up; stay at home; stay silent; and if you’re lucky, you may stay safe.

So it is in the same spirit that I now offer my own two bits of gratuitous advice to men as to how they should live their lives.

·  * First off, don’t ever venture out into the night alone. And most certainly, don’t head out with a group of male friends. If you are seen prowling the streets late at night, we will assume that you are up to no good. That you are, in fact, ‘asking’ to rape someone. So, be a dear and get home by 9 pm. If you do have to venture out after this ‘curfew’, then ask a woman – your wife, sister, mother, aunt, any other female relative – to accompany you. If you fail to do that, then be prepared to face the consequences. If you are out late at night and ‘cross’ that ‘Lakshman Rekha’ we will assume that you are Ravana and treat you accordingly.

·  * Be warned. If you dress in an ‘immodest’ manner, we’ll be judging you. Put away those shorts you wear to the beach/mall/gym to show off those hairy legs. Don’t wear those tight, crotch-hugging jeans. And button up that shirt while you’re at it; nobody wants to see that provocative expanse of chest. What kind of message are you sending anyway by flashing all that flesh? Cover up already. Don’t you know how to stay within your ‘maryada’?

·  * When it comes to socialising or making friends, stick to your own sex. It’s much safer that way. If you hang out with girls; go to the movies with them; party with them; or, God forbid, drink and dance with them, things will get tricky very quickly. So, don’t risk going out with a girl unless she is your sister or you intend to marry her (not if she is your sister, of course). If you do, then we will know just how dodgy your ‘morals’ are. And that may well destroy your marriage prospects. Nobody wants to get hitched to ‘that kind of guy’, you know.

·  * While we are on the subject of marriage, do try and enter the holy state of matrimony as early as possible. It’s best if you are hitched by 21 but we will allow you some leeway till around 25. If you hit the age of 30 without acquiring a wife then we will assume that there is something seriously wrong with you. And if you are still single at 35, or worse still, at 40, it will be taken as a given that you are either sexually depraved or morally deviant.

·  * Don’t rock the boat. If someone passes a snide comment, makes a personal remark, invades your personal space, touches you inappropriately, makes unwanted sexual advances, just ignore it. If the harassment persists, submit meekly. Don’t make a scene. Don’t raise your voice. Stay silent and pray that it goes away. But never – no matter what the provocation – retaliate or even react. Just go with the flow. Because if you stand up for yourself, there is every likelihood that you will be ground into the dust.

Okay then, that’s my five-point ‘advisory’ to all men. And now here’s a question for all the men who have persisted in reading thus far: how offended are you by all the ‘suggestions’ listed above? Very offended indeed, I’m guessing.

Good. Now you know how every woman feels when she hears people holding forth on how she needs to do a, b, and c (and avoid e, f, and g) to keep herself ‘safe’. And maybe that will teach all of you ‘experts’ out there to shut the hell up.

Because we are like that only...

Some Olympic categories in which Indians could go for gold

Did you know that the oldest person to ever win an Olympics medal was a 73-year-old British graphic artist called John Copley? And that he won the silver medal for etching in the 1948 London Olympics? Yes, that’s right. Etching. That was an Olympic category back in the day, along with literature, architecture, music and town planning. (I can just about imagine the Doordarshan commentary as these contests got underway.)

I don’t know about you but this bit of Olympic trivia left me longing for a simpler world in which people weren’t so hung up on sporting talent – at which we are, quite frankly, completely rubbish – but had time to appreciate the finer things of life. Like...er...etching.

Now, I’m not sure that any of us would do very well in the town planning department (just drive around any modern Indian city if you don’t believe me) but there are some areas in which our teams would be an absolute shoo-in for the gold. So, maybe sometime in the distant future, when all those ghastly memories of the Delhi Commonwealth Games have faded, and India is hosting the Olympics, we could smuggle in some of these non-sporting categories so that our boys and girls can, at long last, improve on their medals tally.

Here are just a few ideas, off the top of my head. Feel free to add to the list, and we’ll petition the Indian Olympic Association in good time.

1)   Whining

I’m not dead set on ‘Whining’, you understand. You could call it ‘Outraging’ or even the more boring ‘Complaining’. But no matter how it is titled, I’m pretty sure we would make a clean sweep of this category every four years. After all, this doesn’t require uniforms, special training equipment or large stadiums to practice in. We can all hone our talents in front of the television set, on social media, at office, while shopping. Hell, we could even put in a couple of hours of practice while commuting back and forth from work. And God knows, we’ve been doing just that years and years. So, let’s not let all that good work go to waste. Let’s at least get a medal or two for our plaints.

2)   Musical choreography

Nobody does the choreographed musical number better than Bollywood. And thanks to all those dance shows on TV like Jhalak Dikhla Ja and Dance India Dance (or whatever else they’re called this season) the jhatka-matka school of modern dancing has taken root in our hearts – and our feet – as well. Rare is the Indian who can sit still when the Hindi music begins to blare. So let’s get those pelvic thrusts an Olympic category of their own. And see India shine and shimmy and go for gold.

3)   Driving recklessly

By that I don’t mean driving fast on Formula One tracks (because, yes, we are pretty rubbish at that too) but driving recklessly: taking turns without using the indicator; fender-bending with panache; braking suddenly, changing lanes with abandon, and never ever taking your finger off the car-horn. I’m just thinking aloud here but maybe all of these could be sub-categories in this competition. And I’m quite sure the Indians would make a clean sweep of all of them.

4)   Eating deep-fried snacks

We have a pan-national advantage in this sport, what with every region in India having its own deep-fried specialities. If the Bengalis have their luchis and the Punjabis their paranthas, the UP bhaiyas have their kachories and chaats. The Tamilians and Kannadigas have their medu vadas, the Maharashtrians their chaklis, the Malyalis their banana chips. I could go on but I’d then have to take a break to have a deep-fried snack of my own. Maybe I should do that; get in some early practice on the off-chance that I make it to the final squad. It may be my only hope of ever winning a gong.

5)   Sexual harassment

You know we’d be brilliant in this category, don’t you? Come on, admit it. All those decades of practice at whistling at the ladies as they walk down the road, groping them when they travel in public transport, harassing them at the workplace, molesting them when they have the temerity to go out at night, raping them when they ‘ask’ for it, all of it would pay off finally. Score!

Then, of course, there are the minor categories, like haggling for a good price, making tall promises that we know that we can never keep, and that old Indian chestnut, ‘jugaad’, which we are so inordinately proud of. And let’s not forget ‘Late-coming’ as well.

The only problem with the last though, is that given our attitude to time-keeping, the competition will probably not start until the next Olympic Games roll around. And then, they’ll be held in some stupidly-sporty nation like Australia or Germany, and it will all be over for us and our Olympic hopes.

What’s the good word?

Let’s not trivialise sexual harassment by coyly calling it ‘eve-teasing’

Of all the words that seek to hide a grim reality behind innocuous euphemisms – honour killings, collateral damage, dowry deaths – the most ludicrous has to be ‘eve-teasing’. And of late we have been getting an overdose of this word in our media because of the horrific murders of two Mumbai boys, Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandez.

These two young men were out with friends one evening when some ‘eve-teasers’ started misbehaving with the girls in the group. Keenan and Reuben objected to their behaviour and got into an altercation. The miscreants left, only to return with a gang of rowdies. A fight ensured, in the course of which the goons stabbed both Keenan and Reuben. (I wonder, does that make them ‘knife-wielders’ rather than murderers?) Keenan died on the spot. Reuben passed away a week later in hospital. And we were told that the boys had paid the ultimate price for standing up against the menace of ‘eve-teasing’.

Funny old word, isn’t it? Eve-teasing. It evokes pictures of bashful young girls being playfully ‘teased’ by mischievous young men who are just looking for a lark and some laughs. It brings to mind bucolic images of a beautiful Garden of Eden in which nubile young girls (the Eves in eve-teasing) are gently joshed with by well-meaning, witty men. Yes, it sounds nice and soft, all romantic and wonderful, doesn’t it?

The reality, of course, is quite different. What ‘eve-teasing’ means in real terms is the incessant, unremitting sexual harassment of women by men who take a perverted pleasure in tormenting them. There’s the boy whistling loudly at a girl as she walks down the street. There’s the man passing lewd comments on the physical attributes of the woman who works with him in office. There’s the boy who brushes up against a bunch of teenagers in the mall. There’s the man who pinches the bum of the woman nearest to him in a crowded bus. And much, much worse.

Yes, sexual harassment can take many forms. But not one of them qualifies to be coyly termed ‘eve-teasing’, with its connotations of playful joshing and the sense of how ‘boys will be boys, yaar’. And yet, we are constantly being bombarded with the subliminal message that these ‘eve-teasers’, those naughty boys, are just out for some innocent fun and a few laughs. And honestly, we shouldn’t take it so seriously.

At one level, this laid-back attitude to the sexual harassment of women is a by-product of our patriarchal culture in which men are allowed to get away with murder (sometimes quite literally). Their bad behaviour is excused or explained away on one pretext or the other; their various misdemeanours treated with indulgence. And never more so than when their victims are female.

But if you ask me, our popular culture is just as culpable. In India, of course, that translates into the movies. And our cinema hasn’t exactly helped by elevating ‘eve-teasing’ to an art form. Remember those Sixties movies that made Shammi Kapoor a star? In which he chased his heroines relentlessly through the first hour after which they obligingly fell in love with him? The same formula has been repeated in every decade after with everyone from Rajesh Khanna to Govinda, from Salman and Shah Rukh to Imran Khan following this peculiarly Hindi-movie style of courtship that is more harassment than romance.

There is a word for a man who follows you around, insists that you give in to his advances, won’t take no for an answer, and continues to believe that you are in love with him despite all evidence to the contrary. In the real world he is called a stalker. In Hindi movies, he is the hero. And somehow, the heroine always obediently falls in love with him in the course of the second song sequence.

As a consequence, all the men who grow up watching their heroes indulge in what is coyly described as ‘chhed-chhad’, come to believe that this sort of harassment is completely acceptable behaviour. It’s all about breaking down her defences. It’s all about brow-beating her into submission. And then there’s that old chestnut: she may say no, but she actually means yes. You just have to keep at it until she says ‘yes’ as well.

In other words, these men begin to see stalking as courtship.

But real life is not the movies. And real-life women have this irritating way of not falling in love with their harassers unlike Hindi film heroines. Unfortunately, the men can’t seem to tell the difference between reality and the movies and continue to act as if harassment is actually a legitimate form of interaction with the opposite sex. And as a society, we are implicit in trivialising this sexual harassment when we refer to it as ‘eve-teasing’.

I think the tragic deaths of Keenan and Reuben should serve as a wake-up call in this regard. These two fine young men didn’t die because they were objecting to ‘eve-teasing’. They died because they took a stand against the sexual harassment of women. And the fact that nobody stood up for them as they were being stabbed to death shows us just how de-sensitised we have become as a society.

The Santos and Fernandez families will never get their men back. But let’s not besmirch their memory by our constant references to ‘eve-teasing’. They didn’t die because they didn’t have a sense of humour. They died because they had a sense of honour. Let’s at least respect that.

The battle of the sexes

We all agree that no means no; so let’s also accept that yes means yes

Over the last few weeks, I have been getting increasingly tired of the narrative of woman as eternal victim. It doesn’t matter if she is attractive, accomplished, talented, well-paid, successful, even famous. So long as she is a woman, victimhood is a cross that she must bear.

And what annoys me even further is that some women seem only too happy to play up to this stereotype when it suits them – and all too often it does.

If they aren’t hired for a job, it must be because of sexist reasons, not because they don’t have the necessary qualifications. If they don’t get a promotion, then it must be because they are women and the bosses are misogynistic so-and-sos. The idea that they may simply not be good enough does not factor in the welter of accusations. And if they are fired, then it must be because they resisted the sexual advances of the Big Bad Boss.

It is not my case the sexual harassment does not happen at the workplace. Of course it does, and women need to make a stand against it, just as companies need to be sensitised to their concerns. But it doesn’t really help any woman’s case when she only levels charges against her superior years after the event – and then only once she has been denied promotion or fired.

The David Davidar-Lisa Rundle affair (for want of a better word) is a case in point. Rundle sued Davidar for sexual harassment after working with him for three years, during which period they went out for meals, played tennis together, attended the theatre and travelled out of town on business. She spent time alone in his office watching Roger Federer on TV, she gave him gifts, he dropped her home. And yet, three years after this long and apparently consensual relationship, she sued him for sexual harassment.

Well, the Davidar-Rundle case has been settled out of court, with all parties signing a confidentiality agreement. So, we will never really know the truth of the matter. Did she really send him ‘cream-filled biscuits’? Did he really ‘force’ himself into her hotel room wearing ‘excessive cologne’? Was it a case of sexual harassment? Or was it a ‘consensual flirtatious relationship’ that went wrong?

But what bothers me about this whole affair is the assumption that any male who is in a position of authority over a female subordinate is ipso facto guilty of sexual harassment even if both parties were willing participants in the relationship.

Why should this be so? Why are we so unwilling to allow women the option of free will? Why are we so reluctant to believe that women can make decisions about their own sexual lives? Why can we not respect a woman as a mature adult who takes responsibility for her own life choices? Why is a woman’s word worth less than that of a man?

The feminist movement has spent many years fighting for the woman’s right to say no. And now, it is received wisdom that a woman has the right to say no to a man at any point. She can ask him up to her hotel room, she can make out with him, she may even invite him into her bed. But right until the moment of consummation she has the right to say no, and he has an obligation to respect that right.

No means no. We all accept that. And any man who does not and forces a woman into having sex is guilty of rape.

Well, my point is this: if no means no, then shouldn’t yes also mean yes?

If an adult woman willingly enters into a relationship with her male superior at work, then it is her choice. She has made her bed, as it were, and now she must lie in it. It should not matter that he is her boss, or that she reports to him, or even that he decides on her promotion.

If she consents to a relationship with him, whether or not it includes sex, there should be no suggestion of sexual harassment. Yes means yes.

You could argue that the man should not be entering into such relationships at the workplace. And his employers would be well within their rights to fire him for vitiating the atmosphere at work and for creating a conflict of interest.

But does the woman have a case of sexual harassment against him? I think not.

Yes mean yes. And every woman has the right to say no if she wants to.

It is specious to argue that often women have no choice but to give in to the sexual demands of their superiors. Frankly, if that’s what the workplace is reducing you to, then it is time to find another job. And the time to complain about being sexually harassed is when sexual advances are first made to you. Crying wolf several years after the event is just plain stupid – especially if you have consented to a relationship all along.

Women need to take responsibility for their own decisions if they want to be treated as equals at the workplace. They need to move their personal narratives beyond that of eternal victimhood. They need to understand that just as no means no, yes means yes. And which one of these words they utter is their choice – and one which they must exercise judiciously.