India: The Secret Lives of Women

A woman, young and grinning, stands poised mid-way up a flight of stairs in a florescent-lit restaurant in Darjeeling. She glides through French doors onto the balcony, mustard-coloured kurta whispering in its own breeze, shawl across her front, arms crossed at the elbows. She is fluid, economical in her movements, and warm in her expression.

Three women sit alone, sharing cake, coke and chai. One is in a lime-green salwaar kameez, matching bindi punctuating her forehead. She laughs riotously, the napkin across her mouth barely concealing her glee. The others are in Western dress – jeans and sweaters. They huddle intently, pealing gusts of laughter. Their joy and warmth break the chill of the evening air and the pall of the ever-present male gaze. I want to call it the tom-cat howling and crotch sniffing of the men outdoors with territorial gazes, but I wonder – is that too harsh? Men stroll in the centre of the public square outside, chuckling and talking. Women are on the periphery – in small clumps with their families, or in twos and threes, sheltered by the awnings of closed shops or clusters of trees.

There are many worlds here that overlap and interweave – family, men, women, children, home, work…In public, I notice the absence of women and presence of men… In shops, in restaurants… In private, the opposite becomes true. Where is the space for the women?

As I watch the men that the misty evening in Darjeeling, I consider the strength of the women I have met: Auntiji, my friends, their mothers, Deedee… I remember a male Kashmiri friend's comment, "the world would be far better if it were run by woman. No person who carries a human life for nine months would be willing to go out later and kill it”.

In the presence of women, both foreign and Indian, I am far more aware of men and their insinuations: the professor whose jokes have a diminishing edge; the mousy man who insists that women are perfectly equal in rural India; male members of our entourage who interrupt our conversations to point out something they deem important (which one of our female companions has often already explained). Visiting a nature-park, I watch the young men frolic under a waterfall, while I am warned, "the water is too dangerous for you". Resigning myself to sitting on rocks, longing to splash about, I try in vain to shoo the gallivanting men out of the frame of my camera.

While on the outside it would seem that women are socialized into passivity and men are culprits, I must nuance the discussion. Before I can come to any overly simplistic conclusion about the “Tragedy of the Female in India”, I consider the women who have entered into my life.

My counterpart is completing her Master of Science in Rural Extension and has already secured a much sought-after post at an NGO in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. She misses her family, but tells me, "I need to see what is happening in the field to really understand my country. I will get married, but not right now. One day, I will have my own NGO to help farmers in rural India".

At Auntiji's in the North, the house is governed by women. A widow for more than a decade, Auntiji rules her quarters – she is the host and the authority, regardless of the gender or position of the visitor. After a long afternoon of shopping and praying at her gurudwara, Auntiji, Deedee, her mother and I retire to the living room, where we fall asleep wound together in a pile on a vast bed. I fall into the comfort and security of a languid snooze in the afternoon heat in a jumble of women.

When I crack open my book for Hindi lessons, female visitors help me master pronunciations, debating among themselves as much as with me about the proper techniques. While their husbands debate politics – with me and others – they quiz me on my lessons, and chastise if I don’t make enough progress.

In the evening, I join Auntiji and her best friend for a stroll through a nearby park. As night settles firmly on the city, we stop by the shops for samosa, pakora, golub jamun and jalebi. In the waning light of dusk, we stroll about with ease. We aren’t ushered anywhere, and nods of respect – the tilt of the head in passing – greet us as we continue our promenade.

Despite my relationships with women who are strong, women who have learned to express and assert their voice in their own lives, the more general situation for Indian women would appear somewhat bleaker.

The Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu's Girl Child Protection Scheme targets female literacy, preventing illegal activities towards women (such as female infanticide) and family planning. The program's schemes include endeavors such as widow marriage funds, scholarships for low-caste girls wishing to attend school, universal basic education, orphan marriage schemes, and service/training homes for destitute women and widows. The variety of the programs is impressive. Their existence proves to be a stark contrast to the women lolling about for an afternoon nap, under a ceiling fan to cut the day's heat.

Indeed, in Dindrigul, my colleagues at a local NGO enumerate the issues facing women in their rural setting: female infanticide, child marriage, family planning, literacy and dowry abuse.

One field worker tells us, "The average age of girls to be married off is within three months of reaching maturity. India on average sees girls married at 21. In these villages, the girls aren't mentally ready. They aren't mature enough to handle children. They will be twelve years old, and their husbands 35. Many will marry within the family – like an uncle – to keep property within the extended family".

Dowry torture is an ongoing problem, despite the technical illegality of dowry in India. Field workers note one particular case where the girl is being tortured by her mother-in-law in an attempt to secure more dowry payments from her parents. They are asking for pounds of gold, fine furniture and cash. The demands – and the abuse – has been continuing for the last eight years. Dowry, my colleagues say, is a problem at all levels of society – from the agricultural laborer to the highly educated woman. Across class and income lines, newlywed women have to worry about whether their new mother-in-law will be content with her dowry, or will begin years of torture.

Perhaps it is evident, but the NGO and the child and family welfare workers I meet situate the problem in women not understanding their rights. Government programs aim to improve women's position through schemes, training, and enabling them to care for themselves – married or not. They recognize that the greatest security for women, in Tamil Nadu, is within the institution of marriage. So, they plan dowry schemes for poor women, encourage widow remarriage, and are promoting inter-caste marriage to achieve social change. For groups such as the NGO, through integrated programs of micro-credit, health education, family management, skills training, linkage to government mobilization schemes, and empowerment initiatives, women can be empowered to assert the rights they have by law.

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Back in Delhi, after a late-evening meal, I am riding in a bicycle rickshaw with a friend. As we stop at a corner, a man on a scooter darts up next to us. As we pull away, he pulls my arm back and gives my breast a firm squeeze. Under his breathe, my friend cusses. I am stunned and suddenly very conscious of my vulnerability as a woman.

"It's Eve-teasing," he says. I shake my head in frustration and anger. He goes on, "this happens to Indian women too. They often have legal power, but no social power".