How men can be as vulnerable as women in India
"Initially, I thought it was a game or something. We always played touch-touch, blindfolded, or hide and seek. He asked me to turn around, his eyes suddenly strange, darker, somehow. I was really fond of my mama, but that night, when I was sent to stay with him, I don't know why I was suddenly afraid of being alone with him. It was the first time. It was dark. I did as I was told… as he made me place my hands over my head. Before fondling my privates. I grimaced. His nails hurt. He unzipped me wordlessly, and before I could protest, he penetrated me. I shrieked in pain. He placed his palms over my lips and shoved deeper," Pranay Apte, 27-year-old software engineer from Pune, pauses awkwardly.I wait.
"The doctor was actually suspicious. He asked my father how this happened. I still recall my dad lying. Making up an excuse when the truth was that I had herpes progenitalis. There were water-filled lesions inside my anus, puss filled, causing unbearable pain and bloody discharge. On the way back, I broke down, telling him how my own maternal uncle had been sodomising me. It was like being molested in a way. My father had no reaction. He sat there numb. My mother screamed, saying I was sick mentally, asking me to describe the episode a million times. I was about ten. I didn't have a word for what was happening. They were so ashamed. It was a curse I have lived with. My parents throwing me out of the house, when they caught me with one of my male friends, just after Holi, after my final year in college. We were wrestling in bed, shirtless. He was on top of me. My mother hollered, my father asked me if I was gay. It's like my sexual abuse was a dent on their masculinity or something. This is the first time I am talking to someone this way… I'm scared to open up to women I have dated. What if they think the same? That I am less of a man? That I enjoyed it… I mean it went on, till my uncle died in an accident. He was drunk. I was 17. There are nights I still break out in a cold sweat. What if they think it was my fault? Like my parents. Why couldn't I break free? I guess I find it difficult to cry… still…"
According to Study on Child Abuse: India 2007, 53.22 per cent of children reported having faced sexual abuse (sample survey of 12,447 children across 13 states of India). Among them, 52.94 per cent were boys. Sexual abuse of boys mostly goes under-reported, under-recognised and under-treated, commonly due to sex stereotyping. Boys seem less willing to report cases of abuse a lot of times, scared of being branded a homosexual. There is a lot of shame and self-blame regarding the inability to prevent abuse, men traditionally known to be physically strong. Psychological responses are known to range from anxiety, denial, dissociation, and self-mutilation to suicidal ideas and dismal school performance.
I was recently on a popular television debate, following my last blog here that argued how the usage of violent and abusive vocabulary on the popular AIB Knockout was derogatory and dangerous for women, in a country already running high on sexual violence. As I was leaving the studio, a young man, who was possibly part of the audience came up, a tad reluctant to strike up conversation, initially.
"The thing is... I felt bad during the AIB Roast too. The way they called guys 'bastards', making fun with words like bh***dike, g**du and ch**iya. Character assassinating men, the word 'jerk off' being showered liberally. I wondered why no one wrote about it. Aren't men just as uncomfortable as women in being stereotyped? Branded by Bollywood. You know we squirm too, when the joke is on our mothers. Girlfriends. Sisters. I mean, must every man be painted by the same brush? Our highest icons Arjun Kapoor, Ranveer Singh, or KJO? Why can't a woman write about this, ma'am?"
His words have haunted me these past few days. What does feminism mean in an age when the boundaries are often colliding? When women are fitting in parts traditionally reserved for men? Busting the so-called glass ceiling everywhere?
Are men equally vulnerable? Why don't more men write about being a man today? What scares them? What are their biggest battles? What defines their sexuality? What is their "maardangi" really worth, now that women are no longer searching for a knight in shining armour? Their views on patriarchy? Parenting? What aches them? Who is the man of the 21st century? What does a man in India truly want to say today? How does he feel when a woman is raped in Rohtak or a schoolchild in posh south Delhi? During a show, like AIB or Comedy Nights With Kapil?
Why is there this strange silence on owning your maleness? Is it the fear of being marginalised somewhere? His voice, perhaps drowning in a clutter of fastidious female voices? Male bashing and blaming the opposite sex sadly synonymous with modern feminism? The reason most men internally fear "feminists", choosing to view them a certain way.
"On Monday, I took the Metro from Dwarka to Noida City Centre at 8.24am. The incident happened around 8.45am when a young executive came in and forcibly made space for herself, standing before me. The train was spilling over being the first day of the week, and somehow I felt awkward from the start, thus making it a point to ensure that no part of my body accidentally brushes past her, almost squishing myself into a cramped corner. But, sadly, in the last leg of the journey, there was a great surge of commuters at Rajiv Chowk. I found myself pushed hard, which is when my shoulder touched hers, mistakenly. Before I could apologise, this lady started shouting and abusing me, even as I desperately tried to tell her it wasn't intentional. The other commuters looked shell-shocked at the sudden commotion, and my pleas to get her to at least give me a fair hearing fell on deaf ears. Only one elderly uncle sitting before me tried intervening, but the crowd kept telling him, "Buddhe chup ho ja, nahin toh tu bhi pitega". The woman kept screaming hysterically, asking for me to be thrown out, while no one raised a finger of support, watching mutely, almost enjoying the tamasha, finally, pushing me out of the Metro at Barakhamba. Maybe, her tears won their sympathy. I don't know. As the train pushed out the station, I saw the woman flash me an evil grin while showing me the fuck you sign. I was shaken and have never been so insulted in all my life. What happened was unacceptable… I have changed timings now and don't use the same coach as before… I have told my wife everything…" said Indraneel Singha Roy, a 28-year-old ex-journalist, who looks after the content for Percept's PR wing in the Capital.
Indraneel's anguished reminisce made me question my own feelings for the opposite sex, over the years as a woman? In an age where almost daily, there is a national headline screaming out molestation, rapes, "eve-teasing", dowry harassment and deaths, stalking, acid attacks… even children are not spared. Schools. Stations. Buses. Malls. Multiplexes. Metros. Flights. Parks. How easy it is to be angry at men. Blame them. Hate their pride. Their lust. Their libido. An impotent rage, perhaps stemming from all the times we've been exploited and gagged collectively as a sex. The gender battle traditionally tilted in favor of the strong. The mighty. The men.
I look back at my own life at this point, at how much of it has been spent in negotiating a respectable space with men. The sadness. The shame. The silences. The first time my heart was broken. The night I was thrown out from a moving cab by a man I was in love with in Mumbai. The cigarette burns on my thighs. The man who never married me. My biological father who killed himself. Leaving a childhood of unresolved questions. The humiliation of working under sexist editors. One of them pointing out how I must lose weight in an edit meeting. Laughing at me when I declined his offer to drop me home past midnight. Saying there will be consequences. The way I just quit the job. A part of me worried. The rage slowly solidifying into a more convenient hatred, hardened by the stories our sisters have shared. Their plight becoming my defense. A hurt pride. The anguish of not being treated as an equal. The politics of our sexes. The war that goes on. The fight that most women carry around inside - somewhere.
There is a lot of talk of gender equality. But, the conversation mostly stems from the need to protect women. To give them a larger share of respectability. The creation of a fairytale. A myth. A mirage. Perhaps also the reason why, in this country, boys are preferred. The rates of female infanticide alarming. The way single women are persecuted. Betis constantly needing to be "bachaoed". As if the men saving us are created from a different breed than the one who follows us in a dark by-lane, with a knife in his hands. A jilted lover. Drunk. Debauch. Deranged.
What does metrosexuality mean? Only wearing pink shirts and being able to crack gay jokes? Hiring more women in workplaces? Filling up a larger void with ease. A lazy replacement.
Are we fair in our judgment to men? Will you marry a man against whom there is an allegation of sexual harassment? Aren't men also harassed by their female bosses? Aren't young boys also sodomised in schools and churches? Will you believe your son the next time he points to his crotch? His lips quivering. Take action. Make a noise. A flawed God. Will you not poke fun at a man who dresses provocatively? Wearing silver jewellery. Calling him weird ass in your head. Gay, maybe?
Stereotyping. Judging. Not even listening...
"I am always clad in vibrant colours. Orange and pink tees, neon glares, fluorescent shoes, at times, and always plenty of silver jewellery. For me, I need to express myself as a man. I was brought up conservatively, my father being a strict man, never encouraging me to dress the way I wanted. I used to borrow my sister's glares... Luckily, I work in a corporate environment at Titan where there is a culture of free dressing. This is who I am. As a man we need to be in touch with our core personality… to be free," concludes Dinesh Amitha.
Today, Dinesh a top honcho at Titan is wearing distressed denims, a bright orange Being Human tee, chunky silver rings on all his fingers, an antique matching choker, flaming orange sunglasses with orange mirror lenses and lots of bracelets on his right hand.
His Facebook picture is clicked by his wife, Uma.