Get up, stand up

I’m not a victim, I say. And realize to my surprise, that indeed, it is a thing of the past for me. The majority of the female gender in India is, or has been victim at some point in their lives. The abuse they suffer can be in many forms, economic, verbal, physical, sexual, and emotional. It is not only the illiterate that are affected; education and employment doesn’t always protect the others. Culturally, they rarely get help; rather their integrity is questioned. The trauma of an abusive experience hounds them, and perhaps gets carried into their social interactions.

Several decades ago, a Western woman journalist, curious about life as a non-white in London, decided to change her appearance and go undercover as an Asian. With wig, contact lenses, appropriate makeup and attire, she transformed from one race to another. The few weeks of subtle social discrimination experienced were a revelation, and eventually, she too felt hunted. While commuting on a train in the disguise, she heard two other white women patronizing her. They obviously assumed that being Asian, she wouldn’t have the language. It was not her appearance that irritated, they said, but her attitude.

The downtrodden expect abuse. That they are beaten into the dust and cannot hope to get up again, is projected in look and body language. Perhaps their unarticulated fears attract further aggression. Verbal or physical abuse is common sight on the city streets. Hardly anybody protests.  Many may even condone it, and outside interventions often make things harder for the victim. Like kicking pets in petulance, men in India tend to take their frustrations on those that can’t or don’t fight back. But mostly, society is immune to the abuse of women.

On the road, the family group walking by, seemed normal enough, man, woman and small girl child. But as they passed, I heard the man say conversationally that he was fed up with ingratitude, and if the little girl made one more demand for food, he would smash her baby face to pulp. I looked up sharply, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I wondered if I was imagining things. The child and the mother said nothing; they simply walked on as if all was well. But then I noticed, they walked a little too straight looking neither right nor left, as if careful to not upset the man.

Another day, three little girls were on their way to school, along with a young man, most probably a member of their extended family, or a neighbour. The littlest girl had been unable to cross the road with the others, and remained stranded on the far curb. The fellow didn’t even notice that she had been left behind. Several bystanders at the crossing called out to attract his attention: Hey, hey, take this one with you! Then the man marched angrily back to the child and slapped her hard on the head. In shock and pain, she burst into tears. Slap yourself first, I shouted, walking up to point an accusing finger, the fault is yours entirely. He went quiet, embarrassed into behaving by the public scrutiny.

In days gone by, the joint family structure had several generation and extended families living under the same roof. The cloistering of women was extreme. During my mother’s girlhood in the 1930s and 1940s, young women couldn’t stand at the windows in case they caught the eye of some man before marriage, and they were forbidden from meeting any man alone. It seems to me that there was a positive to it too, in terms of their safety from predators.

Post-independence, nuclear family units became the norm mostly for economic reasons. It was instrumental in opening doors to women’s education and employment. However, it did not remove the feudal attitude to gender; it just made the access to women easier. In the new family structure, family ties remained the same. Mothers continued to view men as they were brought up to, as the superior beings to look up to. They trusted the male ‘family members’ in its extended branches implicitly.

It never occurred to them that by putting their little girls in their control they were putting them in harm’s way. The ignorance of the mothers allowed the uncomprehending children as young as four to be abused and molested at will. I know this, because it happened to me too. The home itself can be an unsafe environment for many women and girls. They are socialized early into the trauma of gender. 

Women may be unsafe in the marital home as well. In a traditional marriage, the spouses are almost strangers. It is customary to uproot the woman from her parents’ home, and throw her to the wolves, as it were. I once witnessed such a couple’s public interaction. The man strutted around like the proverbial rooster, and the woman’s insecurity was palpable. She wasn’t pretty, which was probably was the source of her insecurity. She followed the man, crying and pleading.

The more she did that, the more his ego inflated. Every now and then he stopped, and turned on her aggressively. Wagging his finger in her face, he hissed threats and insults. I heard him say she was so ugly she sickened him, that she was a burden around his neck, and that he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. She should have rapped him across the mug and stalked off. But instead, she just put her hands up piteously, as if to ward off his words.

 

It made my blood boil, and I stopped nearby and glared at the man. Other passersby definitely heard him too, but because the woman had a vermillion streak in her hair (signifying the marital state), nobody intervened. The social environment holds out no support whatsoever for the victims of marital abuse. It is traditional, instead, to consider a wife the husband’s property; with which argument, marital abusers count on escaping censure. 

I know, because I was in such a relationship, where this argument was repeatedly used. I was educated, but perhaps I too projected the characteristically abysmal self-esteem of victims. It didn’t matter that I changed attitude like a chameleon changes colour, to keep the peace and protect children and pets. Punishment for some slight, real or imagined, was imminent, and would be vicious. At a time when the marital and custody laws favoured the male, it was a hostage situation.

Not much has changed since then, however. The right to ‘control’ the women in their lives – mothers, sisters, wives, daughters, and others, continues to receive tacit social support. It matters not that the women may have outstripped the men academically.  In the social equation, they are expected to walk several steps behind and be the subservient gender even in this day and age.

After several years, I recently met my own brother. He is a non-resident Indian, and has been a citizen of the lands of plenty for several decades. We are closest in age, and in our younger days, were constantly at loggerheads. The special treatment he always seemed to get, especially from my mother, irked me no end. We have mellowed in later years, but still, I admit, that although we do not come to blows any more, we occasionally lapse into childish behaviours, reminiscent of our younger days.

The matter of our argument, the other day, was actually trivial. But I realized that his Indianness is entrenched in a time gone by. Despite living in a developed society for several decades, the conditioned cultural responses reactivate on the shores of the mother country.  In an instant, the general mistrust of gender of those past times came alive in him. He was like an alpha male that had to dominate the group and the women!  In his mind, possibly, he was being the elder, the male head of family, and quite unaware that that behaviour pattern could now be termed abusive. 

The revisit of the past brought me enlightenment. Although we were brought up in the same environment in the past, I have moved on, have emancipated from victim-hood. I no longer placate or change attitude. I am assertive, and relate on equal terms. Masculine intimidations are of no consequence to me today. They seem comically archaic, and I am free of their toxicity.  I’m not a victim, I say. Not anymore. I have been in the pits, and now I stand up.

Bad places and good people

How often do we hear tell that women should stay at home because the outside world is bad? Any place at all may be labelled bad, and hence, they shouldn’t set foot there. I think men in India sprout these value judgements only to control women’s movements, like putting them up on a pedestal they can’t get off of.

In the Indian social context, ‘bad’ is something the respectable and dignified should not associate with. Women brought up to hold ‘respectable’ and ‘dignified’ as high ideals must be, in other words, trusting and obedient to the controls set upon them. Few of these women ever question the word of their men folk, or cross the lakshmanrekha (invisible boundary) drawn for them. What can we do, we are only women, is the common refrain of their life-long dependency. 

One such bad place is the office of the Licencing Authority. And who inhabits these “bad places”? They are members of the bureaucracy, not rapists, paedophiles, and other criminal elements! Many women keep the driving licences they issue merely as trophies. These are never used, because the people on the roads in India are also bad. Neither have the women ever set foot on the office premises to get the licences. There are male ‘representatives’ to do that dirty work for them!

Well, I need to renew my licence, and so I head over to the office. On my way into the building, at least half a dozen touts clamour to “represent” me. Why, I ask each of them, do I look illiterate? I hardly need to hire somebody to buy the forms from a vendor and then to fill in my details! 

I complete the required medical formalities, and a few days later, I am ready to submit my application. I expect the process to get arduous here on. It is common knowledge that governmental institutions tend to be arbitrary in their dealings with the public, and their departments can shut down at any time before transactions complete. I am likely to have to make several visits to get it done, but so be it. It still seems worth doing for myself.

 

Back in front of the building, I see several young men approaching me, and wave them off. A few mutter that they have been unable yet to make boni (first catch), but I am certainly not feeling charitable. I march into the building and there seems to be a lot of people hurrying in different directions. I’m reminded that time is of essence.

I ask a policeman on duty where the papers will be received. He doesn’t quite know the process. But, Wait, he says, let us find out. Several young men around are eager to show off their knowledge, perhaps hoping to be called up for representation. He tells them sternly they had better be right or else! They indicate a certain window and I have to go around the building to get to it.

The man on the other side of this open window seems busy. As I wait for him to finish with what he already has on his hands, another scruffy young man walks up and pushes ahead of me to thrust a fresh bunch of applications through the window. I tap him on the shoulder. Am I really invisible to you? I enquire loudly. He grins a little sheepishly, and backs off.

But it turns out I am actually at the wrong window; this one is for payments only. My application details need to be checked first at another window open further along. A young man sits to one side at the counter desk in there. He looks up as I speak, and recites a list of supportive documents that must also be submitted in photocopy. I find I don’t have the appropriate address proof document with me, like passport, voter’s id, Bank passbook or statement.

I have a chequebook though, with my full address on it - will that serve purpose? The young man shakes his head, no. Ah well, I think resignedly, I’ll just have to come back tomorrow.  Just then, his senior arrives. What’s the problem, he asks. He listens and then says decisively, OK, just submit the first page in photocopy. His young assistant is surprised, but takes it in stride. Take care; don’t drop anything, he calls out as I hurry away to get the relevant copies before they change their minds!

The young man at the copiers frowns at the chequebook, and says that it won’t be accepted. They said so, I insist. Who said that, he asks, was it the man in the window? I nod. Very strange, he comments. It’s not the norm and they usually are very particular, he explains. But logically, why should it not be accepted? It is a legitimate document, after all! He shrugs, Sign the photocopy and submit it, see if it works. He photocopies all the documents I need and pins them together. Put the licence in a polythene cover and attach it at the top, so it won’t get lost, he advises. He points where the cover may be obtained.

The man in the window is a perfectionist. He doesn’t like the way I attached the licence to the application. He calls out to somebody and a small man appears beside me to do it right. My documents are then accepted without fuss. I’m told to make the payments. That means the other window for one payment quickly completed there. I am then directed to a third place for another payment.  I see a big crowd milling about outside, and only one window in operation. It looks to me my luck is running out, and I’m sure I won’t reach the counter before it closes today. Still, I join the queue and several people look around in surprise. I ask if that queue is for the payment I am supposed to make. Several heads shake in unison and several hands point to a room inside the building. 

Thankfully there are no crowds at the window inside.  I pay up and am handed the receipt. I head back to the receiving window, and submit all the various papers I have collected. The small man materializes again, and makes two sets of my papers  – one, to be received at the counter, and the other, my takeaways of receipts. These are now stamped on the reverse with the official seal of the Authority. Come back in 25 days, the young assistant says from the other side of the window. 

25 days? My question is how I am to manage without licence meanwhile. The senior smiles slightly, and points to the stamped paper he has just signed.  That’s enough to cover it, he says, but if you like you can put your photograph on it, and have it attested. That makes perfect sense to me, and accordingly, it happens. 25 days, I ask again to reconfirm. 15 days should do it, he replies, Come back then and check.

I am elated that I’m done in less than an hour. As I walk away, I wonder what is so bad here? Government offices may look seedy and run down, but the bureaucracy functions all right. They keep the country going. In fact, good people may be found at these socially condemned bad places that are really helpful to the public.

Seems to me that it is not they, but the ubiquitous representative culture of touts that overrun the place that are the problem. They are poorly educated young men socialized into speed money by the more privileged sections, and now it is their livelihood they protect. Indeed, it is their accosting anybody and everybody as a matter of course that gives the places the bad name. 

For too long, women have swallowed the value judgements men throw at them as gospel truth. They need to realize the truth, to be out and about, doing their own thing themselves. That does not take away from being respectable and dignified, rather it actually facilitates independence - and self-worth. It may be better for societal advancement for them to be less trusting of judgements, and less unquestioningly obedient!

Owning Indian roads

That we are rather inconsiderate of people perceived as outsiders is, I think, the fallout of the social allegiances adhered to in India’s collectivism. These relationships of ‘us’ and ‘them’ groups are high-maintenance. In attempts to preserve their intra-group integrity, and areas of control, they are unkind to those perceived parayas (outsiders) despite the traditional culture of hospitality to all. Gender segregation is at work too. In the minds of the majority of Indian men, the external world is their preserve. They own the roads, and they may be sexist about it. It is surprising how much resentment is generated against women drivers, the outsiders. Common jibes are that these sisters-in-law should stay home and cook!

Pedestrians, however, are relieved to see women drivers coming along. They stick out an arm as a stop sign just about anywhere and begin to cross the road, confident that the women’s maternal instincts will take over, and they will stop to let them through. This happens even when the traffic signal has turned green. Men are far less accommodating; many actually speed up seeing their movement, and pedestrians, the elderly, women and children, are forced to scurry back. 
 

The common assumption is that men are born better drivers, although the evidence for it may not be particularly strong. I was in Delhi recently, and happened to be a passenger in a large sedan. I expressed the wish to drive this more powerful vehicle sometime, since my car in Kolkata is amongst the smallest on the road. The driver I shall call Prem, smiled patronizing, and I could almost see his ego inflate. Benevolently, he said he would teach me how to drive. Women, you see, just cannot drive! 

On Indian roads, size seems to matter in road hierarchy. Men at the wheels of bigger, more expensive cars, expect right of way over everybody else. As we went along, I noticed Prem didn’t much bother to watch his rear-view and wing mirrors. His trajectory seemed premeditated - he would go as he wished, and others could (or should!) drive around him. At one point, he took a turn too sharply, and sideswiped another car parked on the side of the road. Lucky for him nobody seemed to notice, and he quickly drove off in another direction.

A safe distance away, he began to boast about the long distances he drives every day without mishap. So what happened back there, I enquired. Immediately he faulted the other car for blocking the passage. We got off easy, he chortled. I was irked at his suddenly drafting me as the co-conspirator of his error. You didn’t get off easy, I emphasized, you just ran, but my disgust was lost on him. It was clear that he learned nothing from the experience, because sometime later, he left the car idling on the road and dashed into a shop nearby for supplies. Wanting to save on parking fees, he was oblivious to the fact that the car was now an impediment for other vehicles, not to mention the wastage of fuel and environmental pollution happening at the same time!

Bad driving is common and so are incidents of hit-and-run. Driving licences may be purchased under the table - without knowledge either of cars, or the traffic rules. Bystanders get het up if there is injury to people or loss of life, otherwise they gather around just to watch the drama of altercations unfold. Sometime ago, one such a rookie driver, showing off to his mates whilst his boss was away, rammed a roadside stall. He tried to flee, of course, and in his hurry, rear-ended my stationary small car. Alert locals nabbed one of the boys out that car before it sped away. The terrified youth quickly spilled the beans; the group was rounded up and hauled into the police station. Their families showed up as well. Mothers especially, wept buckets, beating their chests, begging the police and anybody else who might listen, for mercy. Because they were poor, it would naturally be cruel to book their sons. The poverty card is easily played in this country, and no compensation is ever forthcoming for the damage these ‘poor’ inflicted on others’ property! 

 

In majority, male drivers let loose on Indian roads, drive to get there first. However, they have no real answer to the question “and where to exactly?” As it is the roads rarely have lane-markings, and even if they do, few bother to keep to them. Driving is taken to mean to constantly overtake somebody else, although more often, they cause or intensify traffic jams. Sudden maneuvers are usual, and without sound or signal, an adjoining vehicle noses out diagonally, intending to force another to give way.  This when there is traffic at standstill ahead, behind and on every other side! Other vehicles, magnetically attracted by movement, invariably follow the leader to jam up the roads even more.

It sometimes feels a violation of personal space, but it makes “road sense” here to creep close to the vehicle ahead, almost bumper-to-bumper, to plug any ‘openings’! One has to be on guard against lateral encroachments, because some ambitious overtaker will soon insert his vehicle, and unceremoniously sideline the giver of space. I’ve learnt that being polite does not pay, and hoot insistently and gesticulate wildly to draw attention to the infractions that might happen relating to me. That seems to back them down. Men in India don’t want their misdeeds held up to public scrutiny, especially by brazen outsider women!

Women, the elderly, privilege and responsibility

They seem willing to wear the cap of ignominy – many Indian women at work, I mean. Men roll their eyes when asked about these colleagues not without reason. If the personal preferences of these representatives in the workplace are the traditional gender roles, how can the women’s group as a whole even hope to have a viable organizational presence?

 

 

They project vibes of martyrdom, as if as good women, they wouldn’t step outside the home, except for the economics. They tend to take no pride in their work, and to treat the workplace as an extension of the home, oblivious to the fact that the organizational position is not meant to confer privilege or power, but responsibility first and foremost. By avoiding job responsibilities, these women hold the total group up to ridicule. 

The public comes to the organization with issues that need redressal, and organizational employees are designated to address them – this is the job they are paid for. No, it is not their fault that work-related issues arise. But surely they must be faulted when, although they can help resolve the issues, they do not. An incident report illustrates the point: 

My mother is in her eighties, and she receives a family pension through a national Bank. They have a rule, which she has quite diligently followed for the last two decades. It is to present herself at the local branch before the end of the calendar year to furnish life certificates to keep alive her pension accounts. Despite this, the pension payments have been withheld on occasion and her accounts sealed, for no reason other than that the life certificates submitted to them have been lost or misplaced.  Now she has been told to furnish her pension pay order (PPO) book to verify her authenticity. There should be at least two copies of the book – one at the Bank that collects pension on her behalf and one with the pensioner. These are created when the order is first received from the disbursing government authority. Now, although so directed to do so by the disbursing authority at the start of the family pension nearly twenty years ago, the Bank is yet to forward her copy of the PPO book. So how is the octogenarian pensioner to produce something she has not received in the first place? Whilst attempting to resurrect her pension, we found a new omission. According to the latest government circular about pension revisions, she is being underpaid - receiving each month several thousand rupees less than is her due.

With the hope of settling the issues at local level, we make our way to the pension cell at the local head office of this prominent national Bank. The women there, both the young and the middle-aged, are grim and unsmiling. I presume their presence is intended to reassure the pensioners, and help them over the sticky points, but they neither greet people, nor respond to greetings. Rather, they seem resentful to be called upon to do their jobs. We are directed to a particular desk. The incumbent’s chair is empty, and we are told we can get ourselves cups of tea whilst we wait. Eventually, the lady appears. She walks into the room with a mobile phone clasped to her ear, in earnest conversation with somebody about exchanging gift calendars for the New Year. Her joviality ends with the call, and she settles herself on the chair, and fiddles with some papers on the desk. Finally, ‘What?’ she asks abruptly without looking up. We begin our story, but her interest disengages. It is clear that she is not about to help in any way. She declares the government circulars of no consequence, and says the Bank will not change what they were already paying unless the pensioner brings a fresh order in her name from the original disbursing authority. And by the way, she is not there to receive letters/complaints from the public. 

Imagine for a moment the Government having to send out millions of individual letters every time there is a revision of pay and pension income scales at any level!  National Banks were given mandates for the convenience of reaching the monies to retirees and pensioners through their networks. Theirs is no charity; they are paid for the service. Pension cells, somebody said, are punishment assignments. It seems the people transferred there are those the organization would rather not have handle more important tasks!

However, it is disheartening to think that as a result, hundreds upon hundreds of hapless pensioners may be thus harassed. In a blogpost sometime ago, I pointed out that an important factor in the rise of multinational organizations in investment banking was the failure of national organizations to value their retirees and family pension holders. National Banks are still playing catch up in this industry, and the lack of customer-relationship skills within the system is evident. 

 

  

Some women in organizations strive for equality, but many others actually retard the group progress. Perhaps because job security tends to be high in Indian organizations, to many employees, the job means only what they can take home for themselves. Plagued by low self-esteem, they yearn for the privilege and power of the chair, and then actively avoid the associated responsibility.  Managements and unions should come together to ensure that those in service actually serve.  Quality of work should be the criterion in organizations, not reservations, even of gender. Especially in the pension cells, the incompetence foist upon elderly pensioners delays, even deprives them of their just rewards. They certainly deserve better for their years of dedicated service.

Drives on Kolkata roads

For the past so many months, my focus has been the roads of Kolkata, and driving on them myself. The need to improve spatial orientation was the motivation. What better way to know directions than actually discover the routes to different places myself? Bad idea, said family and friends, no sane person drives in this city. Well, then, I reasoned, since my sanity is so often questioned, perhaps I am indeed appropriately equipped to do so! Moreover, they told me frankly and kindly, an old dog can’t learn new tricks. So of course I felt goaded to try my hand at it! Truth is, the learning has been intense.    

 
In Kolkata, value is on size. The hierarchy on the roads is based on this parameter – from the pedestrian to two-, three-, four-wheelers and so on. Within each category of vehicle then, class matters. A luxury SUV, for example, scores over a small economical car. Yes, big assumes ascendancy, and their association with masculinity is strong. The car model I choose is for a minimal carbon footprint, and to better maneuver the narrow lanes and bylanes of the city, with their problems of parking space. However, it automatically relegates me to the low end of the scale, and raises social expectations of my giving way to those hierarchically superior.

It is common knowledge in this region that women have no affinity for things mechanical. Most believe that they cannot drive because of gender, and men have learnt to patronize them when they do. Women that want to get behind the wheel must expect to be put down or intimidated by the majority on the roads. They must take in stride the standard received wisdom yelled out to them: like, get a driver, or go home and cook, sister-in-law!
 

 

Random males I have encountered around the city, whether casual bystanders or themselves drivers, have presumed this ‘natural’ gender superiority. Many modern husbands are unsupportive of their wives driving, unable, they say, to bear the tension of them being out on the road. Many women in turn, prefer to remain within the bounds of their gilded cages. Those that can drive rarely venture out at peak traffic hours, or to areas unknown, and never drive heavier vehicles. Perhaps all this is to keep away from any public confrontation with men.

I put it down to family traditions being carried forward. It is customary for families to await the coming of sons rather than daughters. The production of an heir makes it easier on the mother. Else, her childbearing days do not end; the husband feels less of a man, and she is blamed for it. Mothers that suffer extreme low self-esteem, are hard on their daughters, but pamper their sons. From early childhood itself, girls are taught to wait on their brothers or any male visitor that happens along. They pick up after the little emperors that grow up expecting right of way and gender deference from all women. But, due to changing times and the disobedience of modern women, wishes are left unfulfilled and anxiety becomes generic.

 

Seems to me that the point is performance anxiety, rather than insanity on Kolkata roads. The women fear being judged in public, and Indian men are stricken with the irrational drive to get there first. The mad rush is to be on and off before anybody else. On trains and airplanes, they will block the aisles simply to prevent others from getting ahead of them. Even in a queue, it is usual to cut in before any woman that happens to be there, as she is unlikely to protest. They must impose, though ask them why and they probably have no answer. 

The same prevails while driving. The men driving bigger cars, taxis, trucks or even passenger buses, are in too much of a hurry getting to destinations they know not where to mind the traffic rules. Cutting past as the lights turn red or before they are green is rife. My car has been bumped and scraped several times just for being in the way. They hit and they run. If unable to escape, they invoke the ineptitude of women as the obvious cause of the accident. The police are seldom around and when they are on hand, they seem too preoccupied to notice or take action against them. The victim must find the nearest police station to report the matter, file a case to fight out in court, and deal with the insurance claims thereafter. In terms of time, money and effort, getting redressal is a Herculean task. Hence, it is futile to argue; the perpetrators get away scot-free, which they count on. 

It is true that driving in Kolkata is dicey. Roads are frequently wide enough for only one lane of cars to pass either way. Often cars parked on the sides have to be negotiated around, whilst being hounded by some impatient tailgater. Initially, it is scary to be on the road, because other vehicles pass so close. They are just inches away - sometimes deliberately, to force the less experienced off track, and women out of this assumed male bastion of roads.

However, as a wise veteran driver told me, everybody is afraid of failure, not just women behind the wheel. Socially at the receiving end, women have traditionally tended forge special bonds with their sons in private. This has been their investment for their future - to dominate their sons’ lives from behind the scenes, backseat driving. 

This behaviour pattern needs to change, and they need to self-actualize with their own abilities. In fact, on these roads, women drivers are forced out of their shells of social inhibition. This is the positive outcome, I experience. One gradually discovers method in the madness, and learns patterns of intent.

 

Women need to realize their adaptability to fluid situations through mastering two-, three- and four-wheelers. They need to get in the driver’s seat, to rely on their strengths of purpose to raise their self-esteem. They need to break the traditional mould and storm the male stronghold as it were, and drive themselves forward rather than be driven backseat. The process would enable them to increase visibility, to step out in numbers to create a stronger, more confident group presence in public.

Need to know temple culture

The sight of naked figures on temple architecture is disconcerting for a foreign traveler to India. She asks, in her blog, why these compromising positions should display at a temple. Obviously, at Western places of worship, nothing unprepossessing like them exists. The apparent social indiscipline upsets her organized mind, and the expectation of what should be. Clearly, there is a clash of cultures.

Organization gives meaning to everyday life in the West, a social control apparently missing in more organic cultures on the other side of the world. In the temple arts of India, erotic compositions in full view are usual. Male and female figures may be bejeweled, bedecked with flowers, but otherwise naked. 

Why? One thing for sure, the social context differs – certain artworks are dated around 6-2 millennium BCE. However, since paper trails documenting this remote past are inadequate, the conceptual reasons for the artworks must be left to conjecture. Numerous include have arisen in attempts to explain the practice. 

These include: 

• Sign of happiness, auspiciousness and prosperity: that the figures are motifs to bring good fortune.
• Mock the ascetics: that the intent is to ridicule the esoteric practices of the extreme sects. 
• Code language: that the compositions carry a deeper spiritual meaning. The figures are not about the humans but symbolic representations of attributes of Nature. 
• Conceal the magico-propitiory yantra: that the figures are a distraction, used to conceal the important points of specific ritualistic designs. 
• Non-duality: that the male and female elements are opposing forces that complement each other, and ultimately become One. 

It is known, however, that there were restrictions on the dissemination of knowledge. It was strictly on need to know basis, in the sense that only worthy receptacles could receive knowledge. Not segregation by birth, but by ability. Truth to be revealed to a person depended upon their level of spiritual preparedness for it. Seats of education were the gurukul, the ashram or temple home of the teachers, who were priests and also householders. Knowledge was not open to the uninitiated, neither was entry to the temples. 

For instance, the Rig Veda, the oldest of the written scriptures, which dates around six millennia BCE, is an epic poem with over ten thousand verses. The verses can be chanted in three different meters that change their interpretation of divine truths.  Students would be allowed a particular meter only after they were deemed fit and ready for it. Else, the hidden meanings would be kept secret. 

The Hindu temple arts of India were created over several millennia, from ancient to medieval times. They are often carved or painted in intricate designs on solid rock. In some places, they are within caves in the mountainside. Unknown artists laboured over them, with rudimentary chisels and hammers, and organic colours of the time, to create sculptures and murals that have survived the ages. Their models were not live humans, but products of their imagination.

Objectification of gender is not the purpose in temple art. The lack of clothing on the figures signifies divinity, when the light of complete self-awareness renders external coverings redundant. The gods and goddesses depicted are meant to be numerous forms of One Supreme Being - the one that becomes many. The figures and their relationships are heavy with symbolism; male and female elements complement each other in their representative powers.
 
Stephen Knapp writes:

In the Vedic tradition it is common to see the pairing of the Vedic male Gods with a female counterpart, thus combining both sets of powers and qualities that each would have. We can easily see this in Radha-Krishna, Sita-Rama, Lakshmi-Vishnu, Durga-Shiva, Sarasvati-Brahma, Indrani-Indra, etc. Thus, we have the combination of male and female Divinities that make the complete balance in the divine spiritual powers.

Fact is Hinduism started out as a philosophy, not as a religion. Neither in ancient society was a woman barred from intellectual pursuits. Women as a group held high positions in society. The verses of the Rig Veda (the oldest of the scriptures written down about six millennia BCE, but likely composed far earlier) extol the prowess of over thirty women sages that were held in the highest esteem. 

The temple compositions retell stories from the mythology, the scriptures and other ancient texts. The multiply arms, heads, or animal parts in the portrayals also have symbolic meaning. The female elements in the compositions are not subordinate to the gods. The goddesses ache instead for victory in battles against male elements! In their pose, prototype and expression, they exude power. 

For instance, the image of Durga, the warrior goddess is shown to have eight arms. This means that she is able to combat in eight directions simultaneously that the male gods cannot! The ‘battle’ signifies the conflict of good and evil. Actually, ‘gods’ and ‘demons’ represent the strengths and weaknesses of a person, and the conflicts between them, rife moral dilemmas. 

In subsequent ages, Hinduism transformed to an orthodox religion with deity worship and ritualistic practices. Changes wrought by invasions, conquests, annexations and colonization of the country buried the gender equality of ancient India deep into the sands of time. The roles of sages, apostles, prophets and avatars became the prerogative of men in subsequent ages of patriarchy. The feminine gender was made to believe that they are the secondary sex, and thus their objectification justified. 

The point is the ancient temple arts communicate imagery of a bygone social context different from that today. Artefacts still standing, are possible testimony to the different reality. There and then, the female was at least equal to the male. Walls and architecture bear proof of the pride and power of female sexuality. Over time thereafter, women's groups appear to have lost sight of their identity, their social power, and, in the words of present day thinkers, their erotic territory. The pilgrimage for the modern woman should be to rediscover their social worth and value through relevant lessons from the past. They need to find power within their self, to chart for the future, the culture of enlightened gender roles. 

Why naked and ashamed

Mention ‘modern art’, and many of us might think vaguely of abstract sculptures and paintings that make little sense. Mention ‘erotic art’, and we immediately tune in to expect nude or semi-nude studies. The association of this branch of art with sexuality is strong. In the context of male and female identity development, the imagery could play an important socializing role. However, the focus of the artworks seems to be majorly on the sexual domination of gender instead.

A person’s sexuality would depend on their acceptance of the self, and their coming to terms with feelings and emotions generated in growing up. Knowledge about gender orientations, and acceptance of related social roles and responsibilities are a crucial part of the developmental process. The understanding helps young people become balanced, well-adjusted members of society. Thence, all of creation may be perceived living, breathing works of art. Male and female elements of Nature interact with the environment, secure in their own type of sexuality.

Erotic art imagery exalts nakedness. Nothing wrong with that really, since eroticism relates to arousing or being affected by sexual love or desire. The word originates in Eros, the name of the Greek god of love. Hence, the expression of desire should of course include love. In the present age, however, cynicism has crept in, and love is forgotten. Modernity seems to jump straight into sex instead. 

Erotic art has been made the product of male sexual fantasy. The function of the female form is the sexual service of men. Sculptures and paintings, developed in the West from the nineteenth century onwards, draw attention to the female anatomy thus sexualized.  Women are defined by the 3 b’s – breasts, buttocks, and belly. The artworks build upon the presumption that the modern fertility goddess aches to be touched.

To all intentions, they may as well be mindless and faceless objects. In the essay, Eroticism and Female Imagery in Nineteenth-Century Art, Linda Nochlin writes: 

Whether the erotic object be breast or buttocks, shoes or corsets, a matter of pose or of prototype, the imagery of sexual delight or provocation has always been created about women for men’s enjoyment, by men.

The art seems replete with the subtle derogation of gender. In their imagery, women are props, devoid of individual identity. Consequently, active word associations with them are weak, passive, and sexually available. The exploitation of women within the composition and beyond are just part of the process culture created.

The point of erotic art is ownership – by men, of women. John Berger (quoted in Nochlin's essay) explains the trend that originated in Europe:

She is painted with extreme sensuous emphasis. Yet her sexuality is only superficially manifest in her actions or her own expression … The painting’s sexuality is manifest not in what it shows but in the owner-spectator’s (mine in this case) right to see her naked. Her nakedness is not a function of her sexuality but of the sexuality of those who have access to the picture. In the majority of European nudes there is a close parallel with the passivity which is endemic to prostitution.

Women’s personas are preyed upon, as willing or unwilling actors in the ongoing fantastical narrative of male sexual liberties. Men as a group have the power to enjoy the woman’s innocence, her vulnerability and her inability to protest her plight. Almost in the same vein, women artists themselves are deprecated. They are better known for their external relationships than their intrinsic talent. Naked and ashamed might sum up women’s social subordination in erotic art, and underscore their now characteristic low esteem. 

Nochlin however, appears to blame women rather than men for the situation. She writes:

This is, of course, not the result of some calculated plot on the part of men, but merely a reflection in the realm of art of woman’s lack of her own erotic territory on the map of nineteenth-century reality. Man is not only the subject of all erotic predicates, but the customer for all erotic products as well, and the customer is always right. Controlling both sex ad art, he and his fantasies conditioned the world of erotic imagination as well. Thus there seems to be no conceivable outlet for the expression of women’s viewpoint in nineteenth-century art, even in the realm of pure fantasy.  

No calculated plot? I would beg to differ. Patriarchy has been a social imposition all around the world from an earlier time no longer in memory. Not a bloody revolution, this was a slow, cultural assimilation that wiped off all trace of gender equality. The women's erotic territory that existed, suffered hostile takeover. 

The invasion of the social psyche has been insidious. The organization of community life institutionalized the dominance, and further, conditioned women into becoming the carriers of the culture. The projection of shame has been the most effective weapon to keep them in line and off-balanced, since the days of Eve. Individual men may distance from the perspective, but as a group, they do precious little to fix what, from the male viewpoint, does not seem broken. It is far more expedient to patronize the victim. 

The imagery used carries forward the culture. Which would women viewers identify with - the male perspective, or the low self-esteem? Either way, the patriarchal dominance continues. Women need to find new inspiration, to build a new perspective for the future free of objectification. Perhaps women artists could set a new trend to break the patriarchal stranglehold on their group. Naked is fine in erotic art – as long as the representative women own their sexuality with pride, not in shame, nor in service. 

Reference for this post:

Nochlin, Linda. “Women, Art, and Power and Other Essays”. ISBN 0-06-430183-4 (pbk.) Icon Editions. Westview Press, USA & UK. 1989.

Blessed to be born female?

Georgia O’Keefe’s early twentieth century paintings of the Black Iris flower are more readily perceived as her metaphoric preoccupation with female genitalia. It seems to me that the Nature worshipping era of the remote past would have instead perceived spirituality in her artworks. They would have definitely been taken to denote the awesome fertility powers of the Mother Goddess. However, since Freudian interpretations of sexuality impacted social knowledge, connotative associations appear to be grasped first in the global forum.   

Remnant artifacts of Nature worship have been found from the Indus Valley civilization of ancient India dated thousands of years before Christ. Several nations of the Asian sub-continent, independent in present day, share this common heritage. Excavations ongoing mainly in two countries, India and Pakistan, at Mohenjodaro, Harappa and other places, have so far uncovered only a small percentage of the buried cultural wealth. But, although the hieroglyphics of the time have not yet been deciphered, surely the art forms discovered there can tell a story of the time! They could give us an inkling of the stark social differences of mindset and value regarding gender, past to present.  

Various objects made and used by the people have been discovered. Many figurines of the artwork found have accentuated breasts and pelvis. Does this mean women were objectified then as now? No, say the fact-finders, the exaggerations are symbolic. They represent divinity, not humans - the cult of the Mother Goddess, the Earth Mother or Nature – and invoke attributes of bounty of the deity. Made of clay or terracotta, they show kinship with Earth. 

A website collecting historical information about deities explains the point:

As significant and suggestive is her iconography - the large breasts filled with milk, uncovered genital organs, beautifully dressed hair and a good number of bangles on her wrists. This is the iconic perception of the Being who bears, feeds, takes all calamities on her head and covers the born one under her protective umbrella and, at the same time, defines in the modeling of her form an absolute aesthetic beauty. As suggest her bangles, the traditional emblem of marital state, besides a mother she is also a consort. Thus, in her material manifestation, She represents, with absolute motherhood, also the absolute womanhood. She causes life and sustains it, and is also the cause of life, its inspiration and aspiration, and the reason to live.

Social demarcations would thus have dual levels to span the universe – the gods that live in the heavens, and humans on earth, descendent from them or fallen, stripped of powers. A saying in India, that what is fine for the gods is not fine for mortals, reminds the humans of their ultimate fallibility. And that the all-powerful divine beings need to be worshipped for appeasement and blessings, because the humans are too puny to manage on their own against harsh reality.

In this ancient Indian context, the female form has spiritual and religious significance. Because of the association with divine functions, women most likely enjoyed a high position in society. Perhaps to be born female was to be blessed! It is a distinct possibility that matriarchy, which now exists in pockets around the country, was far more pervasive. A ritual originating in fertility rites that to this day  initiates Hindu image worship, is the ghot puja. It is an earthenware pot filled with water and inscribed with a figure in vermilion, which symbolizes the pregnant womb. It invokes the Mother Goddess. The traditional Indian reverence for the mother figure may have its roots therein as well. 

By the third millennium BCE, the people of Indus Valley had learned to cast in metal. The bronze Dancing Girl is the most famous amongst the human and animal artifacts found. The difference from the Mother Goddess is immediately apparent - she lacks the physical exaggerations. Perhaps a little crude in face and limb technically, the statuette nevertheless indicates the status of women of the time. A quote from British archaeologist, Mortimer Wheeler, describes its form and feature:

There is her little Baluchi-style face with pouting lips and insolent look in the eye. She's about fifteen years old I should think, not more, but she stands there with bangles all the way up her arm and nothing else on. A girl perfectly, for the moment, perfectly confident of herself and the world. There's nothing like her, I think, in the world.  

Indeed, attitude is immediately apparent in the body language. The pose – the hand on hip, the cocked stance, the lifted chin, the half-closed eyes, and the slanted look exude the impudence and comfort in skin hard to find amongst women today. Some writers suggest that the figurine is transgender. It is interesting to think, in extension, that gender may not have always been the divisive social issue it is at present. Identifying as female, in the image of the divine, may well have been totally acceptable in society.

Her nudity makes no difference to our appreciation of the artwork. Perhaps we notice it only because we belong to a different era, socialized into a different value system. Maybe in the early times, women were unused to suffering body issues! In remote regions of India, in tribes isolated from the mainstream to preserve their ancient culture, nakedness is their way of life. Jarawa women, for instance, may be more comfortable in the natural than many more civilized others might be fully clothed!

During the age of Nature worship, the people lived in awe of the environment. The power of the Goddess was perceived in every creation in the environment, and they bowed in reverence. Their imagery has been in celebration of the Divine. Against the spiritual backdrop, it is no surprise that temple art - rock carvings and cave paintings - are pretty explicit on the bountiful attributes of Nature.  

From there and then to here and now, how the perspective has changed! We expect that we control the environment today; hence we patronize the past. In the process, we tend to lose awareness of the sociocultural context of the age - and the artistic intent. Women, as a group, are habitually objectified. I remember overhearing some tourists a while ago. Eyes gleaming, the young men conversed raucously about the full figure displays of chicks in the temple artworks. It is not the fault of the artists but of particular sociocultural learning that perceptions of gender channel as they do.