Coming from my cloistered small-town life, my 'rebellious' and 'indecent' thoughts were slowly taking on a life and legitimacy of their own, thanks to conversations with many women who shared feminist ideals. In many circles, feminist was and remains a terrible word, conjuring up visions of poorly-attired women carrying cloth bags, 'screeching' on the streets for rights of women, and of course, no one will forget the bra-burning to posterity. A young collegiate friend was recently speaking with me excitedly at having discovered gender-related issues during the course of her Bachelor's degree, and immediately appended the following disclaimer -- "But you know, I am not a feminist". I was terribly amused, but sympathetic too. There are few young girls who would openly brave saying she is a feminist and risk losing approval of or dates with prospective young suitors. After all, according to received wisdom, feminist is also a synonym for 'repellent to boys'.
Cut to. The times when I was discovering how strongly I feel for the rights of women, and also shying away from self-referral as a feminist. That's when I met N. I had seen N's name on the list of admissions to my course, and gotten unduly excited. The reason was that he was a Sikh, and I have lived all my life in Punjab, am a cultural Punjabi, and was terribly excited at the prospect of having some typical conversations in my fathertongue. I had also decided that he will be a burly, turbaned Sikh, spreading jollities in a manner unique to Punjabis. Imagine my surprise then.
N turned out to be a wiry, short (by Punjab standards), and un-turbaned. Just to test the waters, I greeted him with gleeful Punjabi, and he conversed right back. Much as he abhorred my bizarre Punjabi nationalism, we became wonderful friends. Some time into the course, and our friendship, we discovered our penchant for long, stimulating conversation that could go on half the night. On one such occasion, N told me, with great pride, that he is a feminist. Needless to say, my drunken, cozy self sat up with shock. As I composed myself, N told me why he is a feminist.
As a small boy, he had been violated by none other than his grandfather. Now no boy had ever, ever confessed to me about being a victim of a sex crime. Several women had. N did not hate men (he did hate his grandfather though). But over the years, as a very sensitive individual, he discovered his disgust for conventional notions of masculinity. He could never find himself conforming to these. Having gone through the pain and humiliation of being violated by a man, he understood how similar pain, humiliation and violence is inflicted on women. He saw no reason why gender-based violence of any kind or degree should be inflicted on anyone, especially women, and had since then, decided that he is and will remain, a staunch feminist. His being a feminist meant not that he stood only for rights of women, but about standing for certain fundamental humane ideals that go beyond and in fact, actively shatter, established gender tropes.
It took me days to get over the shock of his story. I realized then that he never made over-the-top efforts to appear 'manly'. He hung around with the other chaps, but preferred the company of smart women. He was aware of just how many men made fun of him. He knew that men would sit around and snigger, call him gay (in their dictionary, it was a bad word), and think of him in general as a blot to mankind. He refused to disprove any of these uncharitable remarks, and continued to live life on his own terms. It did not help that at any given opportunity, he would actively take up the cudgels for women, ensuring that he remained the butt of many jokes. But it never bothered him. He refused to participate in the Threatre of Maleness if it involved going against who he was fundamentally, and what he believed in.
Women would flock to N because he always heard out their problems with utmost empathy, and gave out sound, helpful advice. In due course of time, N fell in love with a very cute, chirpy girl who shared his beliefs. They are still together, and she is the darling of his flock of friends. The girl, P, decided that she cares two hoots for how a man ought to be, cut through the clutter, and went straight for what matters --- how wonderful a guy is, how much space he giver her to be herself.
Whatever flaws and weaknesses N might have, being disparaging of women simply because they are women is not one of them. N's confessions that night gave me the courage to admit to myself that for all my disclaimers, I was a feminist. It was not about conforming to any specific feminist school of thought, but about knowing my own mind, being proud that I feel strongly in favour of certain ideals, and not buckling under societal pressure (which comes by the bagfuls) to abandon these. It also gave me much happiness to see that there are many wonderful men who sincerely believe that women are not an inferior species. There are equally, several men who buck the trend of casting themselves in a stereotypical masculine image. It gives me hope that there are marginally fewer men in this world who do not insist on devaluing women. Because it takes very little to go from devaluing a woman's worth, to inflicting violence on her.
Cut to. The times when I was discovering how strongly I feel for the rights of women, and also shying away from self-referral as a feminist. That's when I met N. I had seen N's name on the list of admissions to my course, and gotten unduly excited. The reason was that he was a Sikh, and I have lived all my life in Punjab, am a cultural Punjabi, and was terribly excited at the prospect of having some typical conversations in my fathertongue. I had also decided that he will be a burly, turbaned Sikh, spreading jollities in a manner unique to Punjabis. Imagine my surprise then.
N turned out to be a wiry, short (by Punjab standards), and un-turbaned. Just to test the waters, I greeted him with gleeful Punjabi, and he conversed right back. Much as he abhorred my bizarre Punjabi nationalism, we became wonderful friends. Some time into the course, and our friendship, we discovered our penchant for long, stimulating conversation that could go on half the night. On one such occasion, N told me, with great pride, that he is a feminist. Needless to say, my drunken, cozy self sat up with shock. As I composed myself, N told me why he is a feminist.
As a small boy, he had been violated by none other than his grandfather. Now no boy had ever, ever confessed to me about being a victim of a sex crime. Several women had. N did not hate men (he did hate his grandfather though). But over the years, as a very sensitive individual, he discovered his disgust for conventional notions of masculinity. He could never find himself conforming to these. Having gone through the pain and humiliation of being violated by a man, he understood how similar pain, humiliation and violence is inflicted on women. He saw no reason why gender-based violence of any kind or degree should be inflicted on anyone, especially women, and had since then, decided that he is and will remain, a staunch feminist. His being a feminist meant not that he stood only for rights of women, but about standing for certain fundamental humane ideals that go beyond and in fact, actively shatter, established gender tropes.
It took me days to get over the shock of his story. I realized then that he never made over-the-top efforts to appear 'manly'. He hung around with the other chaps, but preferred the company of smart women. He was aware of just how many men made fun of him. He knew that men would sit around and snigger, call him gay (in their dictionary, it was a bad word), and think of him in general as a blot to mankind. He refused to disprove any of these uncharitable remarks, and continued to live life on his own terms. It did not help that at any given opportunity, he would actively take up the cudgels for women, ensuring that he remained the butt of many jokes. But it never bothered him. He refused to participate in the Threatre of Maleness if it involved going against who he was fundamentally, and what he believed in.
Women would flock to N because he always heard out their problems with utmost empathy, and gave out sound, helpful advice. In due course of time, N fell in love with a very cute, chirpy girl who shared his beliefs. They are still together, and she is the darling of his flock of friends. The girl, P, decided that she cares two hoots for how a man ought to be, cut through the clutter, and went straight for what matters --- how wonderful a guy is, how much space he giver her to be herself.
Whatever flaws and weaknesses N might have, being disparaging of women simply because they are women is not one of them. N's confessions that night gave me the courage to admit to myself that for all my disclaimers, I was a feminist. It was not about conforming to any specific feminist school of thought, but about knowing my own mind, being proud that I feel strongly in favour of certain ideals, and not buckling under societal pressure (which comes by the bagfuls) to abandon these. It also gave me much happiness to see that there are many wonderful men who sincerely believe that women are not an inferior species. There are equally, several men who buck the trend of casting themselves in a stereotypical masculine image. It gives me hope that there are marginally fewer men in this world who do not insist on devaluing women. Because it takes very little to go from devaluing a woman's worth, to inflicting violence on her.
This Blog is part of the Men Say No Blogathon, encouraging men to take up action against the violence faced by women.
More entries to the Blogathon can be read at www.mustbol.in/blogathon. Join further conversation on facebook.com/delhiyouth & t
