Talking Shop: Less than a man

"Being a male is a matter of

birth. Being a man is a matter

of age. But being a gentleman

is (simply) a matter of choice."

— Drake

Sometimes, it is good to make mistakes, especially if they make you think deep and hard, eventually making you a better person, more sensitive to the plight and vulnerabilities of others. A fleeting incident last week did just that to me and I bless my mistake, wishing that I make some more, just so that I have a cleaner heart and soul. To cut a long story short (for I have to get to the moot point), I was sitting in a public place, with a rather raucous group of seven men adorning an adjoining table. The Indo-Pak opening Asia Cup jamboree was beaming live on the telly and, as Bachchus took a deeper hold of their senses and India moved closer to victory, the countenance and vocabulary of this deadly seven got more expressive, their actions more exuberant and volatile.

As has to happen in such a scenario, the one lady in the room began to get increasingly uneasy and perturbed, muttering in disdain. She is my wife. Macho husband I had no option but to come out of the safe place I normally reside in and request them to rein it in. I was thrilled and victorious when one of the seven apologized and was just about reverting to my safe house when a second yelped in chaste Hindi: "Yeh hain kaun xxxxxxx (Who is this xxxxxxx)?" That set off the other six boisterous misnomers exemplifying manhood for all that it does not denote. Within seconds, I was being manhandled, pushed back many feet to the wall with hands on my chest. It was a wake-up call for me, as when I gazed into the progenitor's face, all I could see was a vicious, sardonic grin, as did his six accompanying discomfits.

Country of Nirbhaya

I would be lying if I don't admit that much of me was petrified, while a teeny-weeny little bit was wondering how I had gotten into this situation. But a small part of remaining me went into a trance, as I realized that I was facing not even a preview of what happens to women in my country each day. This and much worse happens, and many a times things get heinous and cross unspeakable lines, so awry that lives and entire families go into complete, lifelong disarray. As my pushed body and a numbed and glazed mind thought of Jessica Lal, Nirbhaya and countless others who have faced this unspeakable plight, an understanding descended on me, that I was only facing a nuisance; others face worse. My wizened innards yelped: "Get away from me." I was surprised when the seven heroes looked at each other, froze in their attack and left the room—though they did leave the missus and I with the choicest Hindi expletives known to India-kind and many witnessed this and rose in tumult.

Today, I thank these seven, for they have made me more sensitive to things other than just me, me and me. I mentioned Nirbhaya above and in my mind, I can still see the candle-light marches and vigils held in Delhi and across the country in December of 2012. The incident generated national and international condemnation of India and our archaic and frayed legal system. Subsequently, we witnessed public protests against the state and central governments for failing to provide adequate security for women. Let's get to the present. Who remembers Nirbhaya today? Our television media, which covered the hanging of her violators throughout the night, have since all but forgotten her.

Bigotry personified

As the media continued to forget other similar and equally abhorring cases, they found another 'Breaking News' in the Hathras gang-rape. They went berserk, especially after the midnight torching of the victim's body without a proper post-mortem of the poor dear, her tousled body doused with kerosene and her family not allowed to even attend the last rites. How many women have been there since? When any article of any class or creed (or lack thereof) posts too many question marks, it is cause for worry. It signifies the debilitating fact that society and polity have run out of answers, or have forgotten, or indeed are too miffed and messed up; that is, of course, till they themselves or their loved ones become the protagonists of the next sordid story. Then you should hear them shout from the rooftops. Sadly and paradoxically, no one listens.

To understand these special media idiots, here's a vignette from the past. As the senior-most person on the desk over two decades back in a leading newspaper, I stopped my Editor when he was leaving for the day, to inform him that there had been a train derailment in Rajasthan. He stopped, and I shall never forget the enthusiastic glimmer in his eye as he asked me: "How many dead?" When I told him the headcount was four, the gleam was gone, as suddenly as he was. "Put it on Page 4, single column." I learnt a lesson that day, that the media is enamoured with 'Breaking News'. The sensitivities are gone, the bloodlust is not; in fact it is only worse today—much, much worse.

All about profile, numbers

Today, across media and our very own personal non-media selves, we care only for profile and numbers. Profile holds the crown with cases like that of Nirbhaya, the Hathras incident or Bilkis Bano. We all then propound the cause for a bit—we scream, rave, rant, vent and shout, and then move on. No one cares. What about the others, the 'numbers'? How many, you ask nonchalantly?

Well, in India in the last year alone, 31,677 cases of rape were registered, which makes for 87 cases every day on an average, as per the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB). Rajasthan recorded the highest number of rape cases in the country, while Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh followed. Delhi isn't far behind, touted as the "most unsafe city in India for women to live in". There was a 19.34-per cent increase in cases last year, compared to 2020. Let's not even talk about the cases that are not reported, or not registered by the authorities.

That brings us to a rather dank spot. What are we turning into? Not a very good people, I am afraid, and that's why I thank those seven deadly men for having woken me from my stupor of well-being and happiness. In the larger scheme of things, there is no well-being and certainly no happiness. Those pushed into a corner, like me, shall survive. Those who are shoved onto the floor of a bus, on the grass in a field or held against their will in a shanty in village by their own distant or known family members shall have a palpable tale to tell, forget that it shall get your hair up by its roots and rip it to shreds. I shall not mention husbands who rape their own wives to teach them a lesson, or his family does. Or what happens to women during communal riots.

If your hair isn't standing, you too need a wake-up call and should get pushed to the wall, just as I did. Getting pushed is good, especially if it wakes up a dying conscience. Perhaps we can then together view these inanimate 'Breaking News' cases with raw sensibility—one that tells us that we are glad if we are men, and terribly consternated if we are of the fairer sex. Either way, we have to have the nuts, guts and the wherewithal to stand up for others, not just for our own selves. Remember, it could be you next time.

The writer is a veteran journalist and communications specialist. He can be reached on narayanrajeev2006@gmail.com. Views expressed are personal