Gender and India
Readers:
I wasn’t going to publish this, but I’ve been working on it for two days (date this one the 24th). I’m pretty sad about leaving India, and though I’m sure there’s more to tell you (like about the “Italian” restaurant made for the tourists that’s filled with Indians, or my experiments with “drinking the water” because I desperately wanted a “Sweet Lime Beverage”). I’m sure I’ll be posting things as I remember them. So take this for what it is–just me struggling to make my trip make sense.
Gender and India
Before I went to India, I was warned (by every book, person, program, etc.) to dress demurely, cover myself completely, “de-sex” myself effectively, so that men wouldn’t harass me (verbally, physically) as I traveled in India. This was the “Eve-teasing” I referred to in an earlier post. And I’ve had my share of harassment–nothing fatal. Even in the unisex outfits.
But part of the fallout I hadn’t anticipated was being taken advantage of financially by men (and it has been men) in India who are in a position to do so–vendors, hotel clerks, train functionaries, etc. Not Indian men in general (who I have found to be generous and kind). Bullied by these types who can take advantage, I’ve been given bad prices, I’ve gotten the bait and switch with hotel rooms, and I’ve had prices double and triple what was agreed on. In all these situations, I’ve felt my “power” was gone. And they knew it. My sense of entitlement is almost gone. I’m a visitor in this country. I’m a woman. I’m adapting. I’ve prepped myself to be deferential in India–dependent. For my own safety.
[MEN: Imagine you go to a country and you are told not to be masculine--not to do anything overtly manly. That women might degrade you for it or threaten your safety (and you believe this). You shave all your face hair. You wear gender-neutral clothing. You speak softly. Then, try to bargain with a train conductor who wants a 1000 ru bribe so you can sleep that night. You need your arsenal of manly weapons, don't you? Especially in unfamiliar and very challenging situations.]
Yesterday after arriving from Goa on an overnight train (that I had to bribe the conductor to get a bed on), I arrive at the YWCA. My foot looks infected, I’m bruised, my neck only turns one direction and I’m sunburned. The YWCA is a fantastic almost luxurious place to stay. They feed you breakfast and dinner, and you get to meet other travelers. The clerk says he only has a double and its 800 ru. Which is a hellovalot of money for a split (with another girl). I agree on the room and price, however, and since it’s too early to check in, I go off and when I return to the hotel I find they’ve put me in a room with THREE other girls for the price I paid. A double is more, now. But I am not a quad-girl.
Explaining I had paid for a double, we went around and around. It seemed like yet another bait and switch, and it was one too many. I had a complete meltdown. I almost feel sorry for them. I meditated. I did deep breathing. But we did not come to consensus. They forced me to stay last night (wouldn’t refund my money) and isolated me in a double by myself. Which is what I wanted anyway–but it was horrible. Pyrrhic victory.
So…I spent a long afternoon pulling the pieces of myself back together. I got the sand off me in a very long very hot shower (the bathroom alone was worth 800 ru). Got some antibiotic cream on my foot. I found my iPOD at the bottom of my luggage. I put on my M.I.A. album LOUD (t-q msp) and danced around the room. Emboldened after about 4 hours, I decided to go out and be myself for an hour.
I put on a shirt I bought at the beach (b/c all I had were granny clothes), rolled my travel pants up (I don’t have a lot of options here), made my hair long and poofy, and set out with my iPOD blaring (risking it getting stolen, I know). With the iPOD, I didn’t have to hear the cat calls. I was able to walk down the street as though I were in NYC. Looking for what I wanted, not having to make eye contact with every single man who wanted attention. I found a laundry and dropped all the sandy stuff off. I could hear the hissing, but it was muted. I got my good city-stare on. I only talked to the people I wanted to talk to–and they took me SERIOUSLY. They told me what I wanted to know. Immediately. They even laughed at my jokes. I easily ignored everyone else–I couldn’t hear them!
Next I tried to buy some stuff. Between the iPOD and the tiny beach shirt (did I mention it has an evil eye across the front?) I bargained all of them down–leaving the table if I didn’t like the price and ignoring their pleas to return. I haggled–loudly. I laughed at their prices and offered half what they were asking and got it. I even got money off in a “price fixed” shop. Triumphantly ignored all the leering salesmen. And they were HAPPY if I stopped. Thrilled to be bargaining with me.
Obviously this had to do with me, and my change in my attitude. And that was based on feeling like myself. I felt triumphantly like myself. It was such a relief not to have the weight of upholding the reputation of non-Indian women anymore. Or for that hour.
The best reaction came from a very old woman. I could tell she totally got the evil eye/sexy shirt thing. She looked me in the face and gave me the best, knowing laugh.
I believe that the idea is that these men are afraid of women’s sexuality and power. Right? Women have to cover themselves so not to arouse the man’s passion. And that’s supposed to be okay. But for me, any sense of myself has part to do with my appearance. When all of that is suppressed, I think it would be difficult for anyone to act with power.
I got some great deals. But I bought a big skirt and a demure-ish top to wear today. The skirt is so hard to get around in–I’m trying to project confidence, but I’m hobbled! I could tell the difference. Back to scorn. Back to whistles. And back to no one understanding English. It’s okay, though. I have yesterday. Talking to the clerk again, I held my ground and I didn’t apologize. I have to stay for two more nights at the YWCA, so that was tough–but good for me to get a backbone, as Gran would say.
So we live to fight another day. And I had lots of fun today with buses and found this great organization called W.I.T. “women’s india trust” (www.wit.org.in) that had all these fabulous things to buy for people. And the proceeds go to the organization, which helps “less fortunate women secure a better future.” Their factory was destroyed by the floods, so they are in a bit of a crisis. Anyway, I spent a lot of money there. And that was because the bus attendant pushed me off at the wrong stop. Lemonade!
See you soon!
ACP
Caveat: My “experiment” was conducted in the most touristy part of Bombay–Colaba. So it wasn’t as crazy as it may sound on first hearing. I see tourist girls with fairly similar tops occassionally.
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By Kathie, August 25, 2005 @ 9:53 pm
Your experiment was a success!
I am so proud of you… proud that you decided to go to India, proud that you went, proud that you kept true to yourself, and proud that you represented woman-kind so well!!