Learning to question

Three days of workshops, presentations, reviews on women’s rights and the development agenda. And I could not help feeling that change has been slow in the coming. People were discussing the same issues and asking the same questions that were being asked 20 years ago, when I started work. And like we were doing 20 years ago, everyone was blaming everyone else. The women blamed the men, the parents blamed their children, the government blamed the politicians, the politicians blamed the insurgencies, the states blamed the Centre, the Dalits blamed the upper castes, the SGSY blamed the MNREGA, the BPFA blamed the MDGs (Don’t worry about the abbreviations, all the blaming, abbreviations notwithstanding, is irrelevant) Not being the depressive sort by nature, I am unwilling to give up hope or criticise myself and the millions of others (men and women) who have worked on a better world for women. But I do think we should sit ourselves down and renew some of the pledges we made. And here, my definition of ‘we’ is you and I. I cannot tell you what to do, but, in the spirit of this (remarkably erratic) blog, I hope to share with you some of my experiences in this pledging, promising, changing and other immensely impossible things we set out to do. To start with, as I sat through the 3 days of discussions on women’s rights last week, I made myself a list. A list of things I would do more of. To start with, I told myself, I must challenge more, question more.

One of the most fascinating and initial aspects of change is the challenging of the existing order – though this took me a long time to understand. It is an unbeatable exercise of the mind – examining the structures that define my life and ask, why should it be so? Why not that way? Or this way? Friere, in his seminal treatises on oppression and liberation says, “Any situation in which some individuals prevent others from engaging in the process of inquiry is one of violence. The means used are not important; to alienate human beings from their own decision making is to change them into objects.”

To challenge effectively and provide compelling arguments for your challenging is a fine art. I realised much later in life that what I took for a particularly unfair argument when I was younger was actually wonderful exercise in my mid life skills of trumping an argument. A particularly useful skill when the argument was patriarchal. Friere and patriarchy came to me later in life. Yet, I had my own experiences of challenging and questioning, despite having no Friere or de Beauvoir to explain it to me. Growing up in the kind of family I did, one was always being asked what I thought in those days were unnecessary and uncomfortable questions. Like -

“You want to go back home because you forgot your what?”

“My dupatta, I forgot my dupatta,” I said louder than before.

“But this bus is full – the next one is an hour later and if we go back, we’ll miss the bus,” said my cousin, “and its only your scarf, so forget it, let’s stay on the bus.” 

“It’s not a scarf, its called a dupatta, Dada, and I want it,” I continued stubbornly, not knowing what I was inviting, “I can’t go about without a dupatta – that makes me half dressed.”

“Half dressed, is it? You seem pretty well covered to me,” my cousin said, giving me the look over.

“Not really, -“ but he cut me off – “Which part of you is not covered, tell me?”

I glared at him. “Well?” he pushed, eyebrows raised, “Which part?” he said a little loudly than before. Like an idiot I walked into the trap and indicated my neck and below with my fingers, still glaring at him angrily but not wanting to say what he wanted me to say.

By now, we had many interested listeners, the bus had started and I was fighting a losing battle. He raised his voice a little more, “Oh, you mean your chest is not covered.” The stress on the word ‘chest’ was unmistakeable, but at that time, knowing my cousin, I was glad he had not been more specific. But the respite was brief - I was not to be spared.

“I don’t see why that is a problem, Rupa, you have a pretty decent bustline and besides, bustline or not, you should be confident about your body – its your’s after all.”  Most people around us had given up all pretence of doing anything else and had settled down to watch our argument with great interest. My cousin continued, 

“You know, I wouldn’t really have a problem showing my chest, or leaving it uncovered,” here he paused to look down at his chest. Every girl in the bus was smiling at my ridiculously handsome cousin, or more exactly, at his chest. 

“But you all attract more attention to your bust line by covering it all up and convincing yourselves that all men only want to look at your busts,” he said, “Have you thought why you wear a scarf? Only because others wear it – not because you really need it. Have you ever thought about it for yourself? Does it have any use? Would you wear it of you had a choice? I can’t imagine you would, would you? You see, I think you don’t ask yourself a fundamental question – do I want to wear this?”

By now I had thrown caution to the winds and was ready to enter the fray, but the rest of the bus beat me to it. And the debate about what women think and men do raged about us, as 3B trundled along its path. In the true spirit of a Kolkata bus based argument, everyone got involved. My cousin, generous in victory, stayed at the centre of the discussions. I sat sulking, silent, unhappy in my defeat, and dealing with the slow but sure realisation that one of my cousin’s accusations was probably right – that I wear a dupatta (not a scarf) only because others wear it. I considered myself a rebel and this accusation hurt more than the others. The more I thought about it, the less use the dupatta seemed to have.

But we were out shopping and I put away all these difficult thoughts. My cousin had very generously offered to buy me a good pair of shoes, we were in New Market and I had a lovely time trying out a whole lot of shoes, the morning’s grumpiness and loss of face all but forgotten. But it was not for long.

I settled for a brown pair and my cousin had almost paid for it when he said in the passing that he actually felt the beige ones with higher heels were better. Without thinking I said I agreed. The ones that I was not buying were better.

“Then why are you buying these?” he asked, pointing to the chosen flat brown ones. I must have been really silly all those years ago, because once again I put my foot into my mouth. Trying out the beige shoes with high heels, I admired my feet in the mirror and said, “Because these have high heels, too high!”

“Is there a problem in walking in them?” asked my cousin. Still admiring myself in the high heeled shoes, I said, “Oh no, they are very comfortable. But I’ll wear these to the dances and jam sessions  - and I am already as tall as most of the boys. If I wear these I’ll be taller than them and most boys don’t like dancing with girls who are taller than them.”

“Then you shouldn’t like such boys,”  was my cousin’s reply. I recognized the challenge in my cousin’s voice and turned hurriedly to him. He actually seemed angry. The shop attendants stood fidgeting at their possible loss of sale and I stood with my heart sinking at not only another argument but a possible loss of my first pair of good leather shoes.

“Now you explain this to me, Rupa,” he said,  “ Why do you always seem to do things for others?  You want to wear a scarf because others do. You want to wear a pair of shoes so that you fit into other people’s scheme of things. How odd! You should buy shoes that you like. Not shoes that the boys will like. I’m buying you the shoes because I’d like to buy you something you want. Not what your dancing partners want. And if they don’t want to dance with a girl like you, tall or not, I think they are a bunch of silly boys anyway.” I shall spare you my reaction to this outburst, but shall not keep you from the happy ending.

That afternoon, the flat brown shoes were discarded. The high heeled beige ones were bought. They were worn to every dance. The ‘bunch of silly boys’ continued to dance with me and remain my friends till today. The chic beige shoes brought me many compliments. My cousin evolved from a much admired big brother into a much adored friend, philosopher and guide. I never forgot the importance of asking – why am I doing what I am doing – is it because everyone else does it? Or is it because this is something that I really want to do. I never forgot that if I do things because I really want to do them, even if it meant doing things differently from others, I’d be a happier person.

This question has stood the test of time. For me. And so I’d recommend it to everyone. The answer is often tougher than buying high heeled shoes instead of flat ones, but its worth a try.