I am now back in the company of Suraj’s family, turning down offers for second and third helpings of daal, roti, subzi, and all matter of delectable Indian sweets. It feels good to hand my daily needs back over to the care of others, but I miss the independence of being in Delhi.

I loved wandering through its neighborhoods and savoring one of the most precious and difficult to come by American commodities – time.  Here, I have little else but time, which I can choose to fill by practicing Hindi, reading, walking, photography, eating, deciphering Indian soap operas and napping.  What a lavish (albeit short-lived) life!  

But I digress – this entry is about being a female traveler:  I felt empowered to walk the streets of Delhi, knowing that each day brought with it a place and experience completely new to me.  Each small success was a sort of validation – I am independent. I am self-reliant. I can do this. (This became my mantra.) When you are alone, you have no choice but to manifest the things that you want; faced with no alternatives, you are forced to be the master of your own destiny.

Whether I was buying shampoo or locating an office building for a meeting, I was my own compass.  Being linguistically and culturally isolated built a measure of confidence within me that I am capable of pursuing whatever it is that I want, from my day, from my trip, or for myself in the next few years.


Market near Jama Masjid, where I gained some perspective.

Of course, India would not be India without putting me in my place every now and again. And so, after one especially nice day exploring the Red Fort and Jama Masjid, I happened to be walking through a bazaar when a young man snuck up behind me and grabbed my ass!  He completely startled me, and I was shocked.  He had all the stealth of a pickpocket (no, I had no pockets), and quickly slunk back to his friend.  Shaking with anger and indignation, I was floored – and confronted by a huge mixture of emotions and questions. 

Do I verbally address this situation? He should know that he has no right to touch any part of my body, or any woman’s body, without her expressed consent.  In the grander scheme of things, this action is of almost no significance.  There are continued reports of gang rapes and kidnappings throughout India.  Girls as young as five, as well as tourists camping or biking and students accosted by peers or teachers, have all recently made the headlines.  A small pinch is nothing…except for the mentality that it belies.
 
I chose to silence my inner feminist, for fear of escalating the situation.  However, I did say something loudly enough that the people in front of my knew something had happened, and I threw the boys a look of pure disgust and hatred, such that I have never delivered before.

What does his action signify? Women (and I am speaking from personal experience as an obviously Western woman), are not seen as anything close to equal by the majority of this society.  Female feticide is a continued social issue to the point that the gender ratio is now off-balance; there aren’t enough woman to go around, which is one theory about why incidents of sexual abuse are increasing (though they are drastically under-reported).  Many daughters are denied access to the same quality of life as sons because, rather than invest in their educations, parents choose to put money towards their dowry (technically dowry marriages were made illegal several years ago, but they still occur quite frequently). 

Am I vulnerable?  I am consistently aware of my vulnerability here, and it is exhausting. Men often approach me offering directions, tea, or beer, asking to have their photo taken with me, or trying to get me to meet up with them later.  My only mistake is existence – I simply happen to be walking down the street.  In Vietnam, I was carefree and put less concern into what people’s motives in approaching me might be.  I hopped on the back of any motorbike I could find, granted the driver could take me where I needed to be.  Here, I am aware that every time I ride in an auto or ask for directions, I am relinquishing control.  The climate here is such that I have to be constantly vigilant.  Men stare at me (even though I wear much less revealing clothing than many women in Delhi!) and the presumption is that I am non-Indian; ergo, I am available for sex.



I thought this reaction to me would change when I was with Suraj; after all, I would be ‘spoken for’, with a male companion.  Instead, the converse seems to be true – he was shocked at the attention that I got, and I think it actually increased.  Instead of being “off limits”, I’m “open for business” – its verified that I keep the company of an Indian male, which means I must be ready for all of them. 

Each excursion is a balancing act of keeping my frustrations in check, recognizing why things are the way they are,  being hyper-aware of my environment, and when, possible, documenting my trip through photos (a whole other level of vulnerability!).

Thus far, this was an isolated incident, but it is part of a much larger piece of this my experience.  I continue to wonder about the daily experiences of my Indian counterparts and how the gender bias influences their existences and have been reading different blogs and seeking out independent that media discusses women’s issues.  I also don’t want to paint an entirely negative portrait of women’s experiences in India – there are certainly families (like Suraj’s) who revere women and value them for the amazing creatures that they are.  I will try to balance the ranting of this post with some of these observations in the near future.