Stop calling it "eve teasing". You are being molested, not teased.

Update:  


Last evening, I took my toddlers out to play. We stay out a long time because a) the outdoors are a great way to get healthy and find wonderful new things and b) I like to tire them out like that so they sleep well. Because, really, as a mum and a working one, there's only so much you can take in a day. But that's a different story.


It was a Friday (as you know it's the Arab world's Sunday). We usually play in a grassy little patch a bit away from my home. Today, as I saw it was really lonely there, I decided to stick around in the empty parking lot of a large government building near my home. I usually have my help or my husband with me because managing two toddlers who don't understand road safety very clearly yet is difficult. Today, it was just me and the kids. 


A while into play, a Honda Civic began to cruise up and down the road adjacent to where we were. I didn't pay too much attention because assholes like that usually drive away if they see you aren't interested. Soon I saw the car had turned into the parking lot we were playing in and had parked nearby. I calmly gathered the kids up and moved to the other side of the road, where there is a place to play but is pebbly. As soon as I did that, I noticed the car pull away and I decided that was the end of it. 


After a few minutes I noticed a man walking up and down the stretch of pavement we were playing on. He didn't pay us any attention so I thought it was a resident on his usual evening walk (I am new to the area). When it got dark, I took both the kids - carrying the younger one -- and walked towards home. Most of the area is pretty well-lit and busy; there's just one patch that's dark and dodgy. When I got there, my older child spotted something on the road and stopped to marvel over it and ask questions. I moved closer to the pavement as she started discovering more god knows what on the road. And suddenly stepped smack into this tall hulking guy standing way too close to me. It was the same guy who was walking. Silly as I am, and disturbed as I was by his closeness, I didn't quite realise it was the same guy who was in the car. He came forward to pet my son, who I was carrying, and I took a couple of steps back. He began asking them their names and the niggling warning bell got louder. Before I could grab my daughter's arm and head home, he had reached out again to touch my son's cheek and in the process brushed his hand against my chest. I saw red, gave him a hard shove and started shouting and charging at him but he fled and there was only so much I could do with the kids around. 


My blood boiled as I went home and told my husband what happened. He stepped out immediately to see what could be done and I saw the bastard drive past our house again. I don't know if he was keeping an eye or he just needed to go to the end of the road to turn around his car.


I most definitely intend to report this but I am getting feedback like expatriates will not be helped much in case it gets reported. I've been told to go through an Omani friend or colleague who is well connected. Have any of you living in Muscat reported any such incidents? I know a lot of women face such crap. But have you reported?


*****


Eve teasing


I don't know how many women can safely say that they have never been molested in their lives. If they've been out in a public space, it doesn't matter what they are wearing, whether they are in great shape, whether they're lovely to look at or just plain, they will have been grabbed. 

Very often, when the question of molestation comes up, everyone loves to label a city safe or unsafe, depending on what frame of mind they are in. I find it astoundingly silly and baffling that the basis for deeming a city safe (or unsafe, as the case may be) depends on incidence of reported rape and other attacks. In a city like Bombay, which I will vouch for as more or less safe for women, for the most bit, I was molested in more ways than one.

Once, I stopped to ask for directions and this creep, who would have been barely 20, said he didn't know what I was asking about, stuck his hand out, grabbed my breast and ran. Unfortunately for him, my reflexes are still in decent condition. Couple that with roar-inducing rage, I chased him down, got him by his shirt and beat him up in every way I know. Kicked, slapped and punched him with one of these in my hand. Not only is that a hair-ornament, but it's my most effective protection against molestors. He got away after a bit but I think I damaged him enough for him to remember not to touch a girl for a while, unless she wants to be touched.

On the local train, if I ever got into the compartment where there were also men, more often than not, I dragged an offender out with me. The thing with these guys is most of them don't start on you till the train stops at a station, when the crowd is moving and shifting. They grab you just as you are getting or they're getting out, hoping you don't realise what happens. So I usually am prepared for an attack; drag them out and starting hitting him and/or abusing him till a crowd gathers and takes over. Which is why I love Bombay. A woman's word is gospel. At least in my experience. As opposed to Bangalore, where the men look at you as if you've just offended them by even existing. What a hostile mean city Bangalore has been for me. 

Another time in Bombay, a friend sat alone in the first class compartment a little late at night, going towards Town (South Bombay). For those who have done that will know why it's a bad idea. First class is the perfect option during peak hours but a really bad idea late at night because it's practically empty. Also after 8 p.m. (or is it 7?) men are allowed in ladies' compartments as well. So there she was hoping to reach home without any incident, when a man comes and plonks himself opposite her, whips out his penis and starts masturbating in front of her. I can't remember if I have mentioned this here before but it is the most disgusting story of molestation I heard from someone I know. I am not including child abuse and incest stories because that is way beyond molestation. 

Yet another time, I've been kissed by someone in a senior position who I worked for. He had joined me and a friend for dinner, conversation went very well. I don't know if we had similar interests or he was just being polite and attentive. But the evening ended with him insisting he drop us girls. I lived really far off from where we were having dinner and after much protest (I really was perfectly okay with going home alone at 1 a.m. Still am.) we decided it would be churlish not to accept and so we were dropped back. My colleague was dropped off first and as I lived farther, I was alone with him till we got home. We chatted about this and that, I got told I was charming etc etc. And then, just as I said goodnight and was about to step out of the car, after a cursory, polite thank-you peck on the cheek, I was at the receiving end of a full-on adult kiss, with a little tongue thrown in. To say that I did not expect it at all is understatement. To my shame, I didn't report it. Don't ask me why. Maybe because there was no violence, maybe because he was always so polite and gentle before and after. Maybe because he did major damage control after that, but I didn't report it. I am still confused today as to why I didn't.

And I am not even talking about things like talking to my breasts instead of talking to me, exposing yourself to me or texting me to say when you are drunk that you want to "fuck me" (a colleague in Bombay called Manoj did this. And he found my number through someone else. Unfortunately, I forgot his last name. His poor wife had gone off to have a baby or something), and being hearing lewd things being said as I or some other woman walked past. 


My questions are these: 


1. What is it that makes some men violate a woman's personal space and touch her? Who gives them the right to do that and think it's bloody okay?
2. What is it that separates a molester from a regular man? What makes two men look at a woman and react in two different ways: One checks her out, finds her appealing and stops with that, while the other one reaches out and touches her? What is that essential difference? Lack of control? Lack of decency? Bad upbringing? A disdain for women?
3. Do they also look at the women in their home with the same filth in their eyes with which they look at my breasts or butt or thighs? I mean to ask do these men who touch women without their permission on the streets also touch their women -- mothers, wives, sisters -- at home? Are these, in effect, perpetrators of incest? Or is it just other women they feel comfortable grabbing?
4. Are women responsible for these men having absolutely no fear to touch, grope, or expose themselves to women? Have years of "just ignore him" behaviour emboldened these men to do as they please? Would a man think twice if he had been beaten by a woman for touching her or passing a lewd comment at her?
5. If I have some male readers, can you please come out on this and tell me what treatment -- extreme or otherwise -- would deter a man from molesting a woman?
6. Is this restricted to developing countries and others such as Oman alone or do developed countries see molestation in such a daily, on the street, everyday manner?


A blogger friend recently told me that one of the reasons he likes Muscat is because it is safe, that things like the above don't happen here. 

Fact: The first time I saw a man's penis: Here in Muscat, when I was about 13-14 years old. A man close to where we were playing was hanging around exposing himself and trying to get our attention
Fact: The first time I saw a man masturbating: Here in Muscat. Late evening I was hanging out clothes to dry on a stand in the balcony and this guy was parked perhaps 20-30 meters away from our home, jerking off. I didn't realise what was happening till I almost finished with the clothes.  
Fact: The first time I was grabbed: Here in Muscat, in Ruwi, while walking with my parents when I was nine years old. A man walking past grabbed my then non-existent right breast.
Fact: The first time I got surrounded by a bunch of guys and seriously groped: Here in Muscat. Age 12, cycling home from my dance lessons when a bunch of tween-to-teenaged Baluchi boys surrounded me and brushed their hands against my butt, my chest, my legs while saying things that to this day I haven't understood, in Hindi. 
As a result, when I walk alone, I walk with all my senses on alert. I walk with aggression and hold a bag or something protectively against me, with my elbows ever-ready to shove someone in case they touch me. Do you know how stressful it is to walk like that, protecting yourself constantly, without letting your guard down? Do you realise how painful it is to think that you can't enjoy a good walk alone for the fear of being touched by a creep? Do you realise how restricting, how rage-inducing, how utterly defeating it is to be that way every day? Do men understand why some women in countries where roadside molestation is rampant hold on to their men tight? Why they ask their men to ask for directions, buy a pack of cigarettes or walk half a step behind, very close to their men? 


Edited to add: A friend wrote in to tell me molestation is an issue that needs to be told again and again and again. Men, just ask the women in your life how it makes them feel, even better, think about how you feel when one them is attacked. Women, the more we talk the more courage we can instill in those who won't retaliate. Will women who read this please take two extra minutes to just comment and not leave before they do? Only for this post, please. If the men (if there are more than three) also can take the time I'll be very grateful.


Edited again to add: If I have any Omani/Middle Eastern women as readers, could they please tell me their experience; anonymously is just fine? I am just trying to understand if India, because it is so varied, has such elements and because by and large we don't have dress codes, that this happens to women. Does wearing an abaya, being brought up in a mostly segregated society and not having as many freedoms as women from other places have its advantages as far as molestation is concerned?

Seventy in 13

In a city where it takes a minimum of five days (if I am lucky) to get anything done -- and I do mean anything -- I am super impressed with seventymm.
Here's why.
July 2007: Random musings about trying to find a DVD rental service. Hemming hawing, telling Mathew to find out from his friends -- considering he is the one who loves this city!
August 2007: Forget about DVD rentals because we'll never get to watch one considering the schedule we have. Unless I finish my dose of hahas at 12:30 and then pop the corn and slip in a DVD at 1 a.m.
September 2007: Doubts about DVD rentals resurface because it might be a nice thing to do after a Saturday night out. You heard me -- Bangalore loves to sleep; we shut everything down at 11 p.m. thank you.
October 2, 2007. 7 p.m.: Tired of subbing half-assed, retarded copies (one day I'll post some choice pieces here, for general humour and the like)
Dry day. So have to find another way to cheer myself up. Googled DVD rentals + Bangalore. Find a blog that has a pizza-delivery-cheerfulness kinda diagram with seventymm's link.
7:03 p.m.: Click on link. Seems interesting (being the complete film-illiterate I am, I don't know it's kinda famous) so I start to sign up, if only to check out how much less I get to spend at Landmark or MAC (make-up, not burger. No S, see?).
7:07 p.m.: Registeration in process. I move to page 2 where they tell me the various plans on offer. This is a BIG road block, see? Cuz it's got numbers and columns and all kinds of things that will fry my circuits and have me twitching and moaning if I don't switch screens.
7:08 p.m.: My phone rings. Unknown number. I am in a good mood so I take the call.
"Good evening, Ma'am. I am Yashwant from...."
"Hi Yashwant. Whatever you've got that's good news for me, I am not interested."
"But Ma'am, you just signed up!"
"Sorry? I didn't sign up for anything, thank you!"
"Ma'am, I am calling from seventymm."






"Oh! That was quick. Yes, what is it, Yashwant?"
SO then he politely asks me if my registeration process is going well, do I have any doubts, can he help me in anyway.
At this point I am grinning from ear to ear and also falling off my chair due to shock and surprise. I am very impressed.
So Yashwant kindly explains the plan to me, says I can pay by credit card, and I can start watching movies by tomorrow night. The credit card's a hitch -- all mine are maxed out. So he says no problem, he'll send someone over to collect a cheque in half an hour.

7:20 p.m.: My reception calls me to come to ... well...the reception. And Yashwant is standing there -- all bright eyed and earnest. Hands me a receipt to sign and asks me for my cheque. I hand it over to him with that huge grin -- never mind that I've just flushed some money down the drain to watch movies that won't fund my education or my trip to Zanzibar.

7:35 p.m.: Three emails that confirm various stages of my signing up and informing me about their policies. Also a follow-up call from Y telling me due to Gji's birthday today, everything's shut so my account will only be active tomorrow. Which is dandy with me, really. Tonight I'll just watch Mr Holland's Opus (again) on Star Movies or something.

*****

Mathew turned 41 yesterday.
Wow.
It's very hard to believe, and not just because he looks 21.
So he got a really good birthday gift, which I shall not talk about. Suffice it to say it brings peace of mind and cheer :).
Of course, to him it doesn't make any difference because he says he has felt the same every birthday since 17.
We did Bengali dinner as Mathew hadn't had traditional Bengali food and I totally love it.
Review follows.

6 Ballygunge Place.
12th main, Indiranagar, Above Cafe Coffee Day.

For some odd reason, the place likes to position itself as a Bengali and Continental Restaurant. It would get all my points even if it didn't have the dubious Continental tag attached to it.
I walked in half an hour after the time at which I had asked for a reservation. I apologized for it, to my credit, although I feel junior captain Prasanta didn't deserve it.
You see, he kept me waiting to lead me to my table while he finished a personal conversation on his phone.
One point down already.
I next asked if he could arrange for a small cake at the end of he meal. He says no. I say ok, there's a Cafe Coffee Day downstairs, could he get me a slice of pastry from there. He says no. I ask him why, he says no reason but he won't.
Long conversation where he got ruder, and I got more adamant, followed. Suffice it to say, after a long, polite and terribly calming phone call to the delightful owner of 6 Ballygunge Place, I got sinfully rich pastry for Mathew to cut. Replete with candle.
Oh, this only happened because I got to the restaurant before Mathew did.

The good news is, however, Somnath is a regular boy scout of a waiter who is quick with ready suggestions and has the sweetest cauliflower ears ever. Earnest and attentive, friendly without being servile, you can see he'll go far. May be Prasanta should learn from him.

The better news, folks, is the food. 6 Ballygunge Place has no pretensions of being fine dining. It's regular Bengali fare and very good at that.
To start with, I ordered a mango drink. Dried, spiced mango made into a drink. Very like the aampanna that you find north of here but a little thicker.
We decided to be greedy and order fried things for starters. So mango fish batter fried was our choice. I was little overwhelmed because I have a serious problem with deep fried things. My stomach, and my brain, cannot eat it without receiving shocks of some kind. This was spiced and spruced to perfection -- crisp, warm and yet letting the fish be -- but it was a bit much for two people to finish.
The main course is a bit of a task to order. For those not familiar with Bengali and its cuisine, the choice may seem like fish, fish and more fish -- fried, curried, baked, steamed, roasted, grilled.
On closer look you'll find pabda, rui and a few others that you can choose from. My eyes rested on machher jhol and I decided Mathew had to have this overrated Bengali classic and being even more open to experience than I am, he said if it was famous he had to know why.
This was to go with the loochi, of which I have never seen the point. To go with steamed rice was this dish that oozed itself from food heaven into the kitches of 6 Ballygunge Place.
Prawn cooked in tender coconut spiced with mustard oil. See, I am Malayali -- so coconut milk and prawn mean near orgasm for me. (Yes, sometimes that's all it takes.)
Conversation kept us alive till they decided it was time to feed us. And when they brought the prawn curry, I had to do more than just stamp my own foot down to keep me from climbing on the chair and whistling shrilly.
It came in a serene green coconut shell!!!
To say that it was the best thing since fish molly would be an understatement. Like the menu promises, it melts in your mouth. The prawn is cooked to perfection -- succulent, retaining the prawn flavour and just sweet enough to keep you wanting more.
The jhol was a disappointment. Watery, completely vapid and with the rohu being drowned out completely. But Mathew liked it, perhaps because it was his first taste of it. I've had better.
Dessert is always a problem. Mathew has an incorrigible sweet tooth. I need something mild while he needs something that shoots crackers in my head when I take a bite.
Somnath, my lovely boy scout, suggested the baked sandesh and I risked a chhenna malpua. It must be said that I dislike malpuas greatly. What can I say? It was Mathew's birthday.
The malpua turned out just like I expected. Sweet, sweet, sweet with that lovely chhenna taking away the cloying a little. Served with vanilla icecream it was the perfect end to the meal.
The baked sandesh? I can sing paens about it. I haven't tasted anything that perfect since strawberry cheese cake gelato at Amore. Warm, slightly burnt (which is so interestin) and with a texture and flavour that can easily lead to sex.

Verdict: Try and steal the chef from them. It's worth it.

*****