A-ok?

It’s the 4^th of June, 2014 and by mentioning the date I mean to make it absolutely clear that we are well into the twenty-first century.

And now for some real-time updates on Misogyny.

As a feminist and because I had too much time on my hands, I read the entire 138 page manifesto that the infamous Elliot Rodgers wrote before he went and killed six people and himself. As a human being, I was appalled to read his views and thoughts, more so because he mentioned that he had found groups on the internet who shared his views on women. (Some have been taken down since then.)

I actually had to watch the new X-Men movie to get my mind off Mr. Rodgers. But then again, two hours of Professor Charles  Xavier and Magneto trying to mould (or kill) Mystique into following their beliefs, because Mystique is one dumb female baying for the blood of the tormentor and murderer of her fellow companions (duh!), left me a little tired. Jennifer Lawrence, I still love you, but I need a little bit of Katniss now.

Since X-Men proved absolutely futile in diverting my attention, I ended up obsessively following the #YesAllWomen trend in Twitter. My partner probably heard innumerable tweets as I rattled off one after the other, through memories etched by experiences rather than really good brain cells.

But this is not real-time update. This all happened around a week back, before today happened. And why is today important you ask?

Because I’m on the verge of giving up.

Maybe it doesn’t matter to the billion plus population but it matters to me. Because, since childhood I’ve been protesting against inherent sexism. I have had fights with men on the roads, at restaurants, with certain members of family calling out on behavior that keeps on reinforcing certain prejudiced beliefs. I have always claimed my own sexuality, and am unforgiving and unwilling to put up with people who transgress that boundary. Over a period of time, I’ve learnt to be tolerant, listen to other people’s view, counter them with rational explanations and coexist peacefully.

I have had horrible experiences with men and I’ve had wonderful experiences with men. Just like I’ve had with women. So I kept on trudging on, hopeful that I’ve touched some people’s lives at least. (A belief that my partner keeps on emphasizing.)

So for me to feel that there is no flickering light at the end of the tunnel is a BIG deal.

Because today, I read THIS joke on Facebook:

If sex without wife's consent is rape...
.
.

Then by this logic :-

spending husband's money by the wife without his consent is a breach of trust-406.

Taking money from his wallet is a theft-379.

Forcefully taking out money with assault, from his possession is a -robbery-392.

Taking out money With a threat to do somthing is a extortion-382 & 506..

Phir bhi ye masoom aur mazloom AADMI kuch nahi kehta bas SEHTA hai.

Hats of to all MEN.....

Posted by a college professor.

With 93+ fucking likes. And two shares.

His comments thread were full of people congratulating him on his ‘brilliant’ wit with one lone comment standing out. My partner, being the completely lovable feminist man that he is, told him in exact terms that there was no humor in a rape joke and not to compare rape with stealing money. Obviously, telling this guy about the vast universe of difference between forcing sex on your wife and taking money from your husband will be an utter waste of time. Because, hellloooo, he does OWN his wife. Just like he owns his television set or car or his pea-sized brain. And if he can fuck them without consent, why ask the wife, eh?

Shout-out to Feminist Men around the globe, we love you!

Enough for one day, I think. Real World Thinks: HELL no!

So after this jarring episode, I try to push it off my mind, albeit unsuccessfully, and return home from work in a relatively empty metro. Bastille’s ‘Pompeii’ is on repeat mode as I squish onto the tiny two-seaters that are placed at the end of the Ladies Compartment. After almost an hour of travelling and changing the Metro at Rajiv Chowk (personal nightmare every day), I glance gratefully at the blinking lights denoting I’m three stations away from my destination.

As I near my station, I hear people yelling in the background. At first, too tired to react, I concentrate on the blank screen of my phone but then I see almost all the women in the Ladies compartment peering down to the next compartment. Curiosity got me and I glanced back to see a young girl and a man shouting at each other. I took off one of my earphones but by then they were just grudgingly murmuring at each other.

I casually asked the girl sitting next to me, “What happened?” She looked a little shocked as she told me, 

“That man asked the girl to vacate the seat and go and sit in the Ladies Compartment. He screamed at her because she refused to do so.”

“Sorry, WHAT?”

“Yeah, he was telling her that you women take all the seats or something”, she confirmed.

Ok, before anybody gets too excited and starts countering that women keep on demanding seats in the metro, let me make this clear. Yes, there are women who demand the seats reserved for ladies. And there are men who sometimes offer free seats to the ladies first. I have seen women refusing such seats and asking the man to sit. I have been one of those women too. I have also seen men refusing to give up their seats for elderly gentlemen, pregnant women, women with babies, etc. So yes, there are all kinds of ‘people’ travelling on the metro.

But asking a woman to vacate a seat in the general compartment while every single man around her watches the drama mutely? Whoa!

And why? Because according to this man’s logic, out of the six coaches in the metro, since one in reserved for women, all women should be packed into it. So if I’m reading it right, the acceptable sex ratio for him is 1:6.

Aaah, little pat on the back for our India for maintaining a slightly better sex ratio than that!

And for those people who would come running to counter the validity of having a women’s compartment against the backdrop of feminism, I desperately want to use a certain amount of profanity. But let me just act ladylike and explain it to you in a motherly way.

Ladies compartment is needed because EVERY single time I get on a crowded general compartment, I have been groped.  And since it is too difficult to see who did it, nowadays I just catch hold of his hand and dig my nails into my unknown assailants flesh. You scar me mentally, I’ll scar you physically.

But not all women stand up to it. I have friends who have cried after such an ordeal or who panic the moment any man brushes past them in the metro station.

And it makes my heart break. Not just for this women but also for the men who do so much to make women comfortable. I’m still friends on Facebook with a guy who once helped me reach Rajiv Chowk metro station from Malviya Nagar at 9.30 pm when the yellow line was closed unexpectedly due to Anna Hazare’s fast. I still remember that day. It was the 18^th of August, 2011. And every time someone says that all Delhi men are desperate lechers, I always always talk of this guy.

These men and women get victimized daily for the misogyny which has pervaded our lives to such an extent that we fail to register it most of the time.

But not today.

Because today, I felt that part of me slowly withering away as I stepped out of the metro. I mechanically buzzed myself out of the station. It was too late to go back and confront the man.

But more importantly, today I did not want to. A small part of me conceded defeat. An even smaller part accepted that I was tired. 

I reached home, made myself a strong cup of tea and steeled myself. I decided to do what I believe I do best: Write. 

Because it is not A-ok.