I was with an American (white) friend of mine [ed: I’m Indian, female. This friend is male.] near a market in Varanasi. And this Indian man passed a comment “Kya madam kewal safed lund hi pasand hai, humein try karke dekho.” (translation: Hey madam, so are you only into white penises, you should try me.)
This picture was taken at the zoo in New Delhi. I am white, and was living there this past summer 2011. I felt like a zoo animal myself – even women were slyly snapping my picture when they thought I wasn’t looking (they could’ve just asked me). I didn’t even take being stared at that hard though. I figured it was because I was foreign. My real problem was being a woman.
I came to India to work for a man with a small business, which had been approved by my women’s college. I was confident that my university program would not steer me wrong, so I was slightly surprised when my boss took me out for drinks at his club, encouraged me to have alcohol with him after work, and always wanted to “hug.” His adult son, also working with him, encouraged me to dress more provocatively (“This isn’t a Muslim country”). One night, I asked to stay with him, because the neighborhood where I lived alone in my apartment made me feel unsafe, and after I was wearing some spare pajamas, he asked me to give him a massage. At that point, I had no other contacts in Delhi, did not speak Hindi, and had no idea where to go if I felt unsafe. When I got more comfortable, I hid money in different places around my room in case of emergency.
Another time, when I was wearing the same kurta pictured, I was walking home from work when a young man, maybe 15-25, started walking closer to me. Suddenly in my face, he whispered something I couldn’t understand, and when I looked up, his eyes spoke for themselves. I walked all the way back towards the nearest restaurant, and he followed from a sort distance, just to intimidate me. He waited outside the restaurant for over an hour while I called my (recently made) friends, trying to figure out what to do. Both the men I reported to were out of the country on business anyway.
They told me, “just have an Auntie walk you…ask the guy at work..,” but when I did ask at the front, the man said “five minutes” and forgot. FORGOT. I said “Do you see that boy outside? He has been waiting there for an hour and I need help.” And the man. Forgot.
I left with two girls, and the boy followed all three of us! Really?! One girl yelled at him and he stepped back, but the pair insisted they take me in their car to get rid of him, and he finally left me alone. I could see him following an Indian girl in a salwar kameez behind our car. I told my friend in Pakistan about the incident, and she said, “Here, they follow girls in birkas.”
When I finally got in touch with my employers, they said “What were you wearing? Why were you walking in the dark? What did you say to him?” I filed a report with the police, but I knew (like everyone else) that it was a waste of time.
I have so many stories. My coworker received a string of sexually-charged prank phone calls, the driver solicited her for sex in the middle of the office, and I felt like every male friend I had was holding out for an encounter. No matter what I wore, how quiet I was, or where I went, it was inescapable. While I faced similar issues with Americans I met in New Delhi, and later male authorities back in New York, I absolutely could not tolerate living in a place where it was presumed to be my fault, and the police were not to be trusted. I returned from Delhi earlier than I would of liked, largely because I was afraid for my safety.
This is what I was wearing when some random boys called me Mallika Sherawat while I got down from a train. And while the train sped away beside me, with them hanging at one of the doors, one of them even threw grains of puffed rice at me. I was too taken aback to react in both cases (I didn’t expect the second part at all). So, now I can’t even travel by a train!
This is me at a slumber party many years ago. I was in 5th grade and was 10 years old; *many* years away from puberty. It was pajama day at my elementary school (a day where all the kids wear sleepwear and get to lay on sleeping bags and watch movies during the school day), and I was walking home when a man drove by in his car and yelled “Hey sexy!” at me. Does this look sexy to you?
