The solo female traveller in India

Solo travel as a single woman in India requires the following armor - a thick skin, full body coverage, dark sunglasses, knowledge of a couple of choice Hindi swear words and the ability to dish out a slap in the face if required (when you are groped – and yes this does occur in tight confined spaces such as buses, or busy shopping centers).
Philosophically it requires one to view the perpetrators as psychologically delinquent mama’s boys instead of intimidating; otherwise it’s easy to feel like not venturing out alone.
In India, bar’s are not for women without a male escort. As recently as last year, a group of women in a straightforward Bangalore pub were dragged out by the “moral police” and beaten up for daring to be single women in a bar.

Simply put, the Indian male sexual psyche, regardless of age, remains profoundly regressive and stuck in the teenage years, a product of sexual repression and a system of morality distilled from a male superiority complex based on an archaic history of society prizing men (traditional breadwinners) over women. (determining the sex of the fetus is illegal in India for fear of high number of aborted female fetuses).
The practice of dedicating devadasi’s (temple “dancers”) in Karnataka to supplement family income amongst the poor is still practiced to this day. Pimps from Bombay’s red light district flock to these ceremonies to recruit pubescent girls to the trade.

What one would consider sexual harassment in the west is the norm and part of everyday life for women in India. A woman wearing anything other than the traditional Indian clothing of salwar kameez or a sari regardless of whether she is Indian or a foreigner will be ogled at lasciviously, curiously and disdainfully when outside the confines of her home. In discussing the matter with locals, even older conservative traditionally dressed women have been “eve teased” as they put it.
“Eve teasing encompasses the gamut of sexual harassment offences such as staring, groping, whistling, masturbating, singing songs etc
The increase in the severity of eve teasing probably began with the influx of unescorted females leaving their homes to answer the call for capable workers in the booming IT, BPO and call center industries in the 1990’s
Sexually repressed men everywhere took this as the perfect opportunity to inflict their teenage mentality on female travelers on buses and trains. As an answer to this social menace, the government created laws calling for the punishment of eve teasing through fines and imprisonment. Cities such as Bombay which have higher numbers of single female travelers have created “female only” trains during peak hours.

What does one do?
On a personal level, the best way to deal with this everyday menace has been to ignore the perpetrator (philosophically viewing them as pathetic and ignorant takes away the feeling of intimidation). Wearing dark sunglasses helps.
When the advances have encroached into my personal space (touching, accidental brushing, singing songs or even at one time masturbating – happened when I was checking out a park in Bombay) I have administered one of three treatments – depending on the set and setting:
- Getting up and walking away (singing)
- A tight slap across the face followed by choice Hindi swearword, or JAO (meaning go) when groped.
- Getting out my camera and telling the perpetrator that I am a reporter from the US and will take a photo of him for the police and US consulate and asked for his name at which point he ran off (probably to his mummy).

Resources such as project Blank noise are an excellent way to vent your frustrations or join the cause; they even have a list of photos of perpetrators, so if you catch your man in action do send it along. Check out http://blog.blanknoise.org/

My abode in Mysore

Found an apartment in Mysore, right next to the Mandala Yogashala (yoga school). It is a Spartan humble and yet character filled affair consisting of 1 bedroom, a small separate kitchen with a single cylinder gas stove and a fridge, a bathroom and toilet all housed under a high vaulted tiled ceiling. Outside is an Indian style washing stone for handwashing laundry and a wall separating the landlord’s house from the 12 or so apartments rented out to yoga student. The landlord’s garden is lusciously serene and has some unique features such as “prayer area” housing the holy tulsi plant, numerous flowering trees and shrubs, tropical fruit trees, and a heady scented jasmine vine creeping about the wall that separates his house from the apartments. I like it here and it feels good to have a pad to call my own for now. The rent is Rs 6000 per month including utilities.
Each morning, his wife plucks flowers from the garden and conducts a puja (prayer to the household deity) and then places a single flower outside each of our windows.

Mumbai's Dhobi Ghat - A step back in laundry time

Dobhi Ghat: Mumbai’s unique and oldest laundry facility.

Dhobi = Indian word meaning washerman
Ghat = A place or a station

I arrived at my hotel room in downtown Mumbai at the end of an explorative day, to find a newspaper package tied up with string laying on the neatly made bed.
Excitedly I ripped open the packaging wondering what the contents of this odd package might reveal, hoping for some exotic freebie from the hotel. I was mildly disappointed to find my freshly laundered pair of jeans I had turned in at the reception earlier that day.
I was about to toss the package aside when I came about the unmistakable frayed white cotton tag with the undecipherable indelible black ink marking hanging off the buttonhole. Like the mark of Zorro, this meant only one thing :
My jeans had been beaten up, stomped on and put through its paces at Mumbai’s oldest laundry institution – The Dhobi Ghat.

I called my friend Jyothi and we penciled in a photography visit to the Ghat the next evening. We arrived at the Dhobi Ghat to a welcome sign posted by the government of India, indicating photography was strictly prohibited.
“This is India, don’t worry” quipped Jyothi who after a goodly amount of heated bargaining worked out a deal with an “insider” to let us in to photograph the Ghats for the sum of Rs100 (US$2)
The dirty laundry list on the inside by western standards included child labor, archaic sterilization methods for the cities hospital linens (achieved by boiling linens in large vats over wood burning stoves) poor living conditions and skin to harsh chemical exposure for the workers of the Ghats.
But in refocusing the lens and sharpening the bokeh, I noticed a rich landscape suspended in time somewhere in the 18th century, steeped in tradition and a way of life whose efficacy stood the test of time as the services remain cheaper than dry cleaning, and are utilized by the hotels and hospitals around downtown Bombay.
The photo story can be seen on http://tash007.smugmug.com/gallery/7938689_jraXS#515186533_TgV4C

I pondered on the fact that someone somewhere a century ago would have ritually separated the little frayed cotton tag from their sari or Victorian clothing, just like I was about to do with my jeans today.

India's Evil Eye Catcher

These ubiquitous lime and chilies on a string contraption seem to hang off the oddest places, not just in Mumbai but throughout India.
Inquiries into their function and purpose revealed a belief by the Hindu’s that the contrivance serves to absorb the negative influence of covetous people with malicious intentions, thus protecting the prized object it hangs off.
The list of prized objects that need protection I have seen thus far are as follows: Homes, Cars, Trucks, Commercial photocopiers, computers, sugarcane juice machines, fish market display tables – seemingly anything that generates a livelihood.
Why the lime and chili and not an onion and potato remains a mystery. Perhaps it’s the metaphors for the heated and sour expressions on a covetous person.
Keep watching this space for photos of my collection of these cute little “Evil eye catchers”. http://tash007.smugmug.com/gallery/7935659_bBzxB

Mumbai - A Re Acquaintance after 25 years.

25 years of separation from family, friends and childhood places bends the mind and forges an experience where emotions and physical perception are thrown into a conundrum.
The source of the conundrum lies in the extremities of perceptions of a 13 year old that have been suspended in space and time and the now 39 year old looking at the clock that has started ticking again.
The distillation of this twilight zone revealed some oddities and insights.
Personalities indeed are forged on the battles and celebrations of the playground and this remains essentially unchanged by time. My cousins while all grown up now are the same characters I used to play with back then. Little family genetic oddities - a similar birthmark to mine except on my cousins left hand, our similar likes and dislikes were interesting discoveries.
Spaces have shrunk - the highrise I used to live in is now just a little building. The gargantuan steps I used to lean against are mere stepping stones, The long road I took to school is merely half a block. The playground is no more replaced by commercial shopping center.

Check out my childhood stomping grounds and old school photos here: