Walking Towards Ourselves

by Catriona Mitchell

  And then there are women claiming autonomy over their bodies and their sexuality. Tishani Doshi reflects upon ready access to contraception, and the new life-choices this brings. ‘To be a man who decides not to have children barely registers on the seismograph. To be a woman who says “Actually, babies aren’t for me” is to unleash a minor tsunami.’ Rosalyn D’Mello discusses the complexities of having a lover almost twice her age: ‘… my lust wantonly waxing while his own wanes with age; my spirit and flesh eternally willing, his increasingly in a predicament.’ Margaret Mascarenhas tells the story of her unexpected love affair with a woman: ‘Early in the morning Mohini reached out, kissed her hands, and said, “I’ve never met anyone like you. May I touch you?” It was not the first time a woman had asked, but it was the first time she had said yes.’

  It is worth mentioning that the stories in this collection claim to be nothing more than the expression of the authors’ highly individual and subjective points of view. And, obviously, Walking Towards Ourselves represents but a handful of lives among millions. Yes, there are essential voices missing; yes, there are gaps that could not be plugged. The subject of this book is simply too vast to be fully plumbed in one book.

  Despite this, it is my hope that this anthology performs the simple but essential role of putting women’s stories in the spotlight, and contributing to a vigorous and much-needed discussion about the multitude of ways Indian women experience daily life, in both public and domestic spheres. Why this discussion matters so deeply is perhaps best summarised by Nobel laureate Amartya Sen, who has said that empowering women and girls with more choices and more freedoms is crucial to achieving a better future for all.

  May these stories raise awareness and encourage debate around the gender revolution taking place in India today. And may the revolution grow in momentum until such time as India’s women truly can make their own choices, and experience sexual liberty, and be shown professional equality, and count on safety in spaces both public and private, and have the freedom to say and do and dress and write as they please, by day and by night, in urban centres and in the more remote areas across the land.

  This journey towards gender equality is certainly in process in India, but conflict is also there, and it’s showing no sign of abating soon. It’s arising because of the speed at which this gender shift is happening: there simply hasn’t been time for methodical, gradual, step-by-step readjustment. New values and old are bumping up against each other. Sparks are flying. Many men and women (particularly those moving in large numbers from rural areas to urban centres for economic reasons) are reeling, unsure of which values to adhere to or believe in, unsure of where they can position themselves in the maelstrom. They are caught somewhere between yesterday and tomorrow.

  And so, India’s gender revolution is characterised by both progress and backlash. A fiery clash of values lies at the very core of contemporary Indian society, across the country and across all strata of society … and yet, the impetus towards female empowerment has become so strong that despite the inevitable setbacks, it is hard to imagine it can be stopped.

  This push-pull-push is what Walking Towards Ourselves attempts to capture and explore.

  In Delhi recently, I was once again challenged by having to cross the city after dark. This time, however, it was only a matter of getting back to my accommodation from Khan Market: a fifteen-minute ride at most. I hailed an auto-rickshaw. En route, the driver told me his name was Pandit then went out of his way to assure me that I was safe: ‘We respect woman. Because woman respect is very important for everyone. Woman is our mother, sister and daughter. In my tuc-tuc, woman customers are always very happy, because they know my service is safe and respectful.’ He said this with such obvious pride and sincerity that any anxiety on my part was assuaged.

  A taxi passed as we pulled up at my gate, and a large sticker on the back windscreen flashed momentarily under the street-lamp. I had just enough time to take in the words: ‘This taxi respects women’.

  It was the first time I had heard, and the first time I had seen, this idea publicly expressed.

  In India, safety for women is interlinked with economics and also with the issue of public infrastructure. Had Nirbhaya had a personal driver, or the money to pay for an auto-rickshaw to take her across the city after the movie that night, her life might have been spared. An increase in safe public transport options (such as the ladies’ carriage in the Delhi Metro, and the number of taxis driven by women), and an increase in the numbers of public toilets for women, would already make a world of difference. These would permit women to come out in the streets in greater numbers, rather than being relegated to their homes. And there is safety in numbers.

  In around ten years’ time, India will have more women than any other country in the world. And yet, when I asked about non-fiction books on India’s women recently in my favourite Delhi bookstore, pitching the request at booksellers I both like and respect, I was met with blank stares.

  In reading Walking Towards Ourselves, may you enjoy walking in the shoes of this diverse range of talented and courageous women writers, as they share, with generosity and pathos, some of the ordinary and extraordinary details of their lives. They write here in order to add their voices to a debate that is much larger than themselves. They write here in order to interrogate a question that is essential for our times, not just in India but across the world. This question was posed with great dignity by Nirbhaya’s father in Leslee Udwin’s documentary film India’s Daughter: ‘What is the meaning of a woman?’

  * * *

  1. In an interview with the BBC, Mukesh Singh, the driver of the bus, said from jail, ‘Women who go out at night have only themselves to blame in case they attract attention of male molesters … Housework and housekeeping is for girls, not roaming in discos and bars at night or wearing wrong clothes.’

  2. An artist, feminist and environmentalist who was considered in her later years to be something of a national treasure, Chandralekha believed that a woman must have her own politics and sexuality – as Tishani Doshi explains in her contribution ‘Tick Tock’.

  3. India in Love, p.155

  PROLOGUE:

  BREAKING THE SILENCE

  LEILA SETH

  The year was 1942. I was almost twelve years old and travelling by train. I went to the toilet and came back ashen faced. I told my mother that I was going to bleed to death. She smiled and told me not to worry and that I was menstruating. She explained that it was a natural phenomenon for girls of my age. She also said that I was not to discuss it with others, especially with boys and men. It was a woman’s secret and all through the ages it had been like that. I kept silent.

  When I was fifteen I went for a drive in a car with my uncle (my mother’s sister’s husband), who asked me whether I was a lipstick girl. I did not know what it meant and asked him. He tried to pass it off and said, ‘A girl who likes to be kissed on her lips.’ He then tried to touch my breast. I quickly shrank away. I felt awful. He told me I should not tell anyone about it. I kept silent.

  On my eighteenth birthday a young male friend suddenly kissed me on my lips. I was pleasantly surprised but terrified as I thought I might have a baby. I felt guilty and ashamed. I kept silent.

  I got married when I was twenty and my husband presented me with a book called Ideal Marriage by van de Velde. That’s when I really learned about the facts of life and my own body.

  Why are women and young girls terrified into silence? There are many reasons. One is that they are blamed and shamed, as if it is their fault. It is often said, ‘She deserved it – look at the way she dresses and conducts herself.’ The dress and conduct of the man are not commented on; instead, a remark such as ‘Boys will be boys’ is often made, even by senior political leaders. The trauma the woman has suffered is not considered. Indian society is conservative and patriarchal.

  Families often want victims to remain silent since the publicity could ruin not only the victim’s chan
ces of having a good arranged marriage, but also those of their siblings. Marriage is the be-all and end-all of life in a traditional society. Women are expected to stay at home and be subservient to men and make all the adjustments themselves. If the perpetrator of a rape or sexual assault is a relative or a friend of the family, again, in order not to embarrass the perpetrator, the woman or girl is expected to remain silent.

  Even when the victim came from a less tradition-bound family, very few rape or sexual assault cases used to be filed. This is because it would become, in effect, a multiple rape for the victim. First, there was the actual rape; then the lurid questioning by the insensitive male police when she made an effort to try to get a First Information Report1 registered; then the explicit, agonising cross-examination in court during a tardy trial, with very little prospect of a conviction. Added to all this was the media glare, with all its sensational reports. This whole process, and attitude, was and is extremely traumatic for a woman.

  A woman’s status in a hierarchical, patriarchal, caste-ridden society is low, and judges quite often fail to convict even when faced with clear evidence. For example, in the well-known gang-rape case of Bhanwari Devi2, the accused were acquitted on the ground that they were middle-aged, respectable men of a higher caste and therefore could not possibly have wished to rape a lower-caste woman. Such acts – and such attitudes – are extremely humiliating for a woman, especially as rape is often used as an extension of power rather than for the fulfilment of lust.

  Laws and education are trying to bring about a change in society. Women in India are being given equal property and other rights, and the education of girls is being encouraged. Empowerment is the buzz word. The middle class is growing. The Internet is bringing about a knowledge-based society and an effective social media. India is changing in many respects, but the change in mindsets is slow. Equality of opportunity for the poor is still a distant dream. Equality between men and women is taking its time.

  It was in this atmosphere that on 16 December 2012, a 23-year-old paramedical student, returning home with a male friend after watching a movie, was gang-raped in a bus in Delhi. They had boarded an off-duty charter bus at about 9.30 pm after being told that it was going towards their destination. There were only six other people, including the driver, on the bus; one of them was a juvenile. When the friend noticed that the bus was taking a different route, he objected. Instead of asking the driver to change course, the other occupants taunted the couple for being out so late at night. They then raped the woman. When her friend tried to intervene, he was beaten and gagged. The woman struggled, but was sexually brutalised in a horrific manner, including with an iron rod. They were then thrown out, almost naked, onto the road. The media reported the matter and gave the young woman various names, including ‘Brave Heart’, but eventually she came to be known as Nirbhaya, the fearless one, as the law did not allow her real name to be disclosed.

  The incident triggered huge but peaceful protests by young people, both men and women. They were angry, anguished and frustrated at the rapes and sexual molestations that they and their friends had faced for years without any stringent action being taken against the molesters and rapists. They wanted sterner laws and speedier justice. It was perhaps the first time that young people had come to protest without a call from a leader. It was the issue that mattered, and people who did not know each other were discussing it openly. They were contacting each other on social media, and the electronic media as well as the print media were giving them huge coverage. Sex was now out in the open – a subject which did not get discussed earlier, either in educational institutions or with one’s parents. The police tried aggressively to disperse the crowds, even using water cannons in the cold December weather, but they returned again and again, day after day, until the government was forced to make a commitment to do something to stop sexual violence. The crowds were holding up placards demanding, among other things, enhanced punishments for the rapists, some of them insisting on castration or even death. ‘Enough is Enough!’ is what they were shouting, breaking a barrier of long silence. These powerful protests spread rapidly to other cities in India and abroad. It was a game changer in that the stigma attached to having been raped was being wiped out.

  The 23rd of December 2012 was a Sunday, and a few friends had come over to our home for a quiet lunch. The discussion quite naturally turned to the horrendous gang-rape case. Since I belonged to the legal fraternity, my friends were asking me what the government would do, and I replied cynically that it would appoint a committee or commission to look into the matter and thus postpone the decision for six months or more, so that the momentum of the protest would be lost.

  Little did I know that just a few minutes later the finance minister at the time, Mr Chidambaram, who also happened to be a senior lawyer, would telephone me and request that I be a member of such a committee. I was not sure how effective the committee would be, and asked him the names of the other members.

  He told me that it would be headed by Justice J.S. Verma and that the third member would be a senior advocate. I knew that Justice Verma, who had been Chief Justice of India, was a fiercely independent and courageous judge, and I considered it a privilege to be invited to work with him.

  I felt very strongly about the issue of sexual violence against women, and had wanted to contribute suggestions and ideas that might help to curb it. I realised that I had just been offered a rare opportunity to do so.

  I asked the finance minister about the period within which this report was expected to be presented. In India, commissions like this could sit for years. He replied, to my astonishment, ‘Within thirty days.’

  I agreed to join the committee, even though it would mean working ceaselessly to complete the work in time.

  The third member of the committee was Mr Gopal Subramanium, who was an eminent jurist and former solicitor-general of India. He was a fireball of energy, compassion and learning. He put his extremely lucrative practice on hold for a month in order to give his full attention to a social cause – trying to ensure justice for women.

  Though the ostensible terms of reference of the committee seemed limited, we knew that we had to present a holistic report for it to be meaningful. We also knew that to achieve this within thirty days was going to be difficult.

  The Justice J.S. Verma Committee: How events unfolded

  The establishment of the committee was finalised that very day and published in the Gazette of India on 24 December 2012. On Christmas Day we issued a Public Notice in a number of newspapers, including the Times of India, addressed to eminent jurists, legal professionals, nongovernmental organisations, women’s groups, civil society members and indeed all members of the public who felt they could contribute to our efforts. We requested they share their ideas, knowledge and experience with us, and suggest possible amendments in the criminal laws and other relevant laws that might provide for quicker trials of persons accused, and enhanced punishments for criminals convicted of committing sexual assault of an extreme nature against women. It was further added that since the committee was hard-pressed for time, their valuable suggestions should come in at the latest by 5 January 2013, so that the committee could complete its report and submit its recommendations within a month.

  We discussed our strategy and how to complete the task within the allotted time, knowing that if we waited for the government to provide us with all the necessary facilities, or even rudimentary ones, the job could not possibly be completed in time. Gopal offered his entire office infrastructure, and his juniors volunteered to work for us as well. They brought in other volunteers: law students, young lawyers and even a law professor. The group of about sixteen members, including four women, worked relentlessly, researching and collecting relevant material from all over the world. They also collated the overwhelming number of suggestions (about 80,000) that poured in from the public, academics in India and abroad, eminent jurists, social activists, women’s organisations, national commiss
ions and from political parties as well.

  Despite the fact that there were so many written suggestions, we also felt it was necessary to listen – face to face – to the viewpoints of women’s groups, feminists, academics, the lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgender community and others so that they could share with us their apprehensions and fears, ideas and proposals. We also wanted to hear the explanations and suggestions of the administration and police. So we held two days of public hearings, where we listened to various voices from Kashmir to Kerala, from Maharashtra to Manipur.

  The discussion, though it was emotionally charged and, for the most part, imbued with compassion and understanding, was of a high order intellectually. While there had been a great outcry at the time of the protests and some of the general public had demanded castration and the death penalty as punishment for rapists, most of the participants were against such measures. We were especially moved by the stories we heard of rapes in conflict zones and by the army.

  Meanwhile, although we had given a deadline for suggestions, views just kept pouring in.

  During the final days, we worked from morning to midnight every day. After coming home, the day’s work was still not done; two nights before the report was due, I remember sleeping for only a couple of hours. Some of the volunteers worked right though the night.

  The day before the report was due, we were still debating whether the crime of rape should be gender neutral or gender specific. When I had helped draft the bill for the 172nd Report of the Law Commission, we had made it gender neutral, which meant that the perpetrator could be ‘any person’ and the victim could also be ‘any person’. This was the more modern – and reasoned – approach to the question, and was based on the principle of equality. But women’s groups and many others were pressing that it be made gender specific: that is, that we specify that the perpetrator be a man and the victim a woman.