A woman’s survival guide behind enemy lines in the times we live in
To the enemy’s eyes the soldier was almost invisible. The grease paint on the face and the combat fatigue had virtually merged him with the surroundings. And taking advantage of this cover, he braved into the enemy territory, however insecurely.
This is the Art of Camouflage, an art which we, the womenfolk, can very well relate to. We inculcate this in our everyday lives from an early age. With our own recipe of grease paint and codes of camouflage, we enter the enemy lines, hiding our sexuality, comeliness and prettiness as best as we possibly can. We brave all the odds to survive and save a little bit of our identity.
Let me narrate one such methodology. Recently, I suddenly needed to drive my mother from Delhi to Bullandshahar, a city in Uttar Pradesh often in the news for all the wrong reasons. Two women travelling without a male escort on that notorious highway even during daytime was either sheer stupidity or bravery. In our case of course it was just helplessness because not everyone has the luxury of chauffeurs and bodyguards.
Not that the presence of a male will guarantee that there wouldn’t be an ‘attack’, but it will at least lower the chances of our ending up as victims. So we began ‘preparations’ for the journey. With hair tied up in a tight pony and a baseball cap covering the delicate contours of my face, I sat in the driver’s seat. A loose, chequered shirt (borrowed from my husband) and jeans were doing a manageable task of hiding my feminine curves. In some parts of our country, the sight of a woman behind the wheel is in itself quite a head-turner, so my aim was to remain unnoticed.
Next, we covered the window glass with sunshades and kept a bulky bag covered with a towel in the back seat, to give an illusion of the seats being occupied. A dagger and a can of pepper spray were kept under the seats and some numbers of the mobile phone were put on speed-dial mode, in case of an emergency. Finally, wearing a scowl-cum-angry expression, we drove to the destination, not even once stopping anywhere for a tea-break or a nature call. I am sure the idea of gifting male mannequins to women travellers is soon going to catch up.
This was an overreaction, many might say. But this is the reality — our own small, little war, which we fight every day to survive in this male-dominated world. We brave the odds to save our little bit of identity. Sometimes I marvel at these shampoo advertisement girls on TV who charm everyone with their fresh youth, smile and luscious womanliness. We simply can’t afford that in real life. In fact, we try every which way to hide that very attribute. We are like that fairytale Cinderella who turns into an uncouth girl the moment the clock strikes twelve. We wear a frown, a don’t-mess-with-me look, in public. We clench our muscles in a reflex action and speak in a tone shriller. We try very hard to look unattractive, over-mature or, to put it bluntly – manly.
Moni, a friend of mine, spent her entire teenage years sporting baggy clothes and short hair. Even close neighbours took her for a member of the opposite gender, which was the whole idea. Thus, her role was to accompany her mother and two elder sisters in the guise of a male companion whenever they travelled during summer-breaks from Kolkata to Delhi, where her father was stationed. For years her mother introduced her as a son. The presence of a male companion is not always a guaranteed safeguard, but it will at least minimise the risks. It is all psychological, you see.
There are many more like Moni, for instance Natasha, a bubbly and carefree girl, who makes it a point to wear sindoor and a mangalsutra during train travel to ward off unwanted attention. Or Riddhi, who carries pepper spray and switch-blade in her purse all the time. Each of us has our own talisman of protection.
A colleague once tried to reason with me about the pepper spray option. This will further anger the attacker, she said. The shiver in her voice spoke what she dared not speak aloud – that better be a rape victim than rape and torture victim. Look at the irony here: now we are choosing our misfortune ourselves.
We prefer to run across traffic than take the subway, hop on to the buses that are crowded, avoid lonely roads. We even turn down promotions because that would mean a remote posting. Our every act is measured, weighed carefully. For a man, adventure and bravery is riding a sports bike or donning combat boots, while a girl is brave and adventurous if she travels alone at odd hours, in odd places. But when the unspeakable happens she is blamed for her foolish acts, for breaking the unwritten code of society.
It is not that women are not leaving their mark among the list of top leaders; today many are breaking the myths of male supremacy. They are achieving what was earlier a fantasy. Be it a mountaineer, astronaut or a defence officer. But their journey is not an easy one. At every step they face sexual prejudice. A male colleague, in his supposed sense of humour, one day remarked that women in the workforce are a ‘liability’. Why, I asked, aghast. Because you can’t expect them to do odd-hour shifts, and in case they do then four more will be forced to work with them in the role of their bodyguards. Thus they cost the organisation more. Be that a company CEO or a police officer or an Army officer. I wanted to tell him that we never chose ourselves to become that ‘liability’. Our share of freedom is encroached by them. We are paying the price, sacrificing our dreams and our careers for the problems society creates.
It is not our fault, but the fault of society, of the government, that fail to protect our Right to Freedom, Right to Equality. Isn’t that the incompetence of the state when a Minister or a police officer publicly says women should not venture out of their home at odd hours, alone.
Then why even pay taxes for those roads on which we are not safe, why pay for the buses, subways, trains on which we can be raped, molested, brutalised? Why pay taxes for the sake of infrastructure on which we can lay no claim? At least with the money we save, we can think of hiring a bodyguard, or even renting a male mannequin.
neovartika@yahoo.com
