THE FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH POWER
I still remember the day I first experienced it. People often talk about the male gaze, but no one talks about the female distrust, fear, or tensions. I first encountered it when I was about 13—a healthy boy, growing up in a seemingly liberal family. At the cusp of my sexual awareness and the journey of finding myself, it felt good. I even joked about it with friends, bragging. It was nothing unusual—I was on a bus, and a woman around 19-24 years old (I’m always lousy at guessing ages) was sitting in my line of vision. I wasn’t even aware of her presence, mostly staring out the window and occasionally glancing inside.
Then it happened. I looked inside the bus, and she started ensuring her dupatta was in place, with an embarrassed expression on her face, glancing at me. Had she not done that, I wouldn’t have given her a second thought. But her action to shield herself made me aware of her. At that moment, I felt elation. For the first time in my life, as a boy who was inconsequential even in his own family, I felt powerful. I felt like a man. I could bother a person; a person was powerless before me. I feel ashamed to write this, but my only consolation is Sharadindu’s words in one of his historical novels:
“There are a lot of things a hungry and desperate man does, which he regrets after his next full meal.”
At that time, I was learning many things—things I would later be ashamed of and eventually unlearn. After noticing her discomfort, I kept glancing at her to reinforce my advantage until I got off with a stupid grin. I knew enough not to talk about this with my mom, no matter how close we were. So, I bragged about it to my elder brother and his friends. This pride and elation led me down a path I wish I had never traveled. I remember standing in front of the mirror, fantasizing about submissive women or making them submissive through my actions and words.
These fantasies were not sexual; the satisfaction was more mental than physical.
For the next few weeks, I acted like an animal on my bus journeys from Anand Vihar to Lodhi Garden. I chose the most crowded buses to find my prey and satiate my ego. I was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. No one would believe that the well-behaved, slightly mischievous schoolboy could transform into a predator on a crowded bus. I don’t know how many women I need to ask forgiveness from, for intentionally brushing against them to feel relevant, empowered, and superior. I didn’t realize it then, but I do now: I wanted to feel more powerful than another person. I don’t know how far I would have gone if I hadn’t been rudely stopped one day.
UNLEARNING AND THE PATH TO CHANGE
No, the person who stopped me wasn’t my mother, friend, relative, or teacher. It wasn’t someone I knew. But it was someone I will always be grateful to. Lady, I don’t know your name, your fate, or even your face, but you rescued me that day. I was standing on the footboard of the bus, using my hands strategically against every woman getting on or off. Everyone knew what was happening, but you were the only one who had the guts to challenge me. You protested vehemently enough for me to move on the bus and endure the most embarrassing half-hour of my life. I should have gotten off at the next stop, but I’m glad I didn’t. Otherwise, I might not have broken the habit.
I stood there, bathed in glares: some amused, some contemptuous, some sympathetic, but the most haunting were the fearful glares of women, wondering if they would be my next victim.
For those thirty minutes, I faced my victims. That day, I understood why that girl decided I was a threat.
It’s strange: one woman inadvertently showed me how to dominate, pushing me toward becoming a monster, while another saved me by standing up against my wrongdoing. Submission makes a monster, and vehemence saves one. From that day on, I never touched a woman without her consent. I don’t deny my nature—I have my lust and needs—but I have never forced myself on a woman. It was the start of my journey to unlearn what I had learned.
I had forgotten that phase until I recently read a quote from a friend : “All men are potential rapists.” My first instinct was to comment, “Not all men,” but I chose to introspect. Based on my experience, I have to agree: all men are potential rapists, even me. The difference is that some of us have learned we don’t want to be one. Real growth comes from self-control and change.
Triggered by an article from one of my friends, about the agony of male mistrust in public spaces, I reflect on how we deserve this mistrust for the centuries we’ve subjugated women. Instead of saying :
“Not all men,” let’s say, “We will try not to be one.” Let’s earn the trust back.
Photo Courtesy : Google
By Shubhojit Gupta
Shubhojit Gupta works as a unit head Unit head for Anamika Khanna. Personally a contrarian if not an anarchist. Ardent believer in personal freedom, socialism (although not communism). He can be reached at guptaa.shubhojit646@gmail.com.
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