revolution.

My heart is still pounding from the adrenaline, excitement and anger over the conversation I just observed, and ultimately jumped into.

I was headed to Kalighat…a normal morning metro ride.

Or not.

Suddenly a woman started talking very passionately. So I turned off my podcast so I could listen.

I heard her say, “what sort of behavior is this?! You are just standing there so every woman who gets on the metro has to brush her body past you to get on the metro.”

And the men come to his defense. The crowd of men side with the man and his “right” to touch. To take, (what is not his).

And the women’s car is divided.

Some women emboldened by this woman’s choice to use her voice.

Some worried that this is just going to cause trouble.

One woman says, “why are you talking to them. You’re just going to make it worse. They won’t listen, and they’ll just yell at you and tell you you’re wrong.”

I stand. I watch. I observe.

Words are exchanged back and forth.

The women feeling objectified.

Days

Weeks.

Years.

Of objectification.

The men standing by silently.

Or defending their place above us.

Defending their right to take.

Things calm down…but I’m still listening.

And then a man comes over to stand near us.

Intentionally.

To inform us.

To educate us.

You see, we shouldn’t be bothered when a men molest us on the metro.

Because there is one girl standing in the men’s (unisex) section.

So we cannot blame them.

Clearly, we are at fault – we just needed to be informed.

I am foreign.

No one assumed I knew what was going on

But I did.

And if ever there is a time to use this Bengali voice of mine, it’s when my sisters stand up for themselves.

How could i possibly stand by silently as other men (the whole compartment of them) come to the defense of the men who are standing strategically at the mouth of the women’s car so every women has to brush past them to get into the space that is supposed to be safe?

So I declare to that man(shocking and partially silencing the crowd):

“This woman is right. I have seen it. It happens to me too. You have no idea how much disrespect women in this country receive. Indians. And foreigners, we all disrespected every day, so it was good for this woman to speak up. She is right. You have no idea the disrespect that we feel.”

And then she says to him:

“how does that make you feel. This foreigner just said that she feels disrespected in our country every day?!”

I am swept up in this moment.

I want to scream, “viva revolution”

I want to cheer them on.

I want to stand alongside them.

We are sisters.

We are stared at.

We are groped.

We are sexual harassed on a (nearly) daily basis.

This is our fight.

-----

I sit down.

And the woman next to me…oh she is livid (as she should be).

“Did you hear them? They blame us. They say that we get on the metro because we want to be touched. How can they say that?! Don’t they have any women in their house? Don’t they have a mother or a sister? They say that we are all bad women. We are loose women with no morals. How can they say that?!”

How? How do they defend such behavior? How is that defensible behavior?!

Oh let me tell you. Because it’s our fault.

We are on the metro, so we should expect to be treated like this.

blame the woman.

Of course.

It is always her fault.

Cause a woman wants to go to work.

Or needs to go to work
cause she is going to school?

Or out with friends.

She is taking her children to school.

Oh yes, let’s blame the women. For certainly it is our fault. Our very presence in this world provokes the lust of men, beyond their ability to control.

So they look

And touch.

And then blame us.

Well not today.

Not on the southbound train at 10:32.

Not today.

Today we use our voices.

Although today our voice (apparently)falls on deaf ears

Our words are seeds.

In the hearts and minds of the men who could not hear

In the hearts of the men who long to hear

In the hearts of the women who believe the lie that they are powerless

In the heart of the little girl, and teenager, the college student, the mother, the wife, the elderly women.

We are not objects to be consumed.

We are human beings.

Full.

Of dignity.

And value.

And voice.