Disclaimer:
This post
is meant to be read as a piece of fiction. Honestly, I have to confess that I
really can’t afford to step on
anyone’s toes, knowing that matters such as these are of a highly volatile
nature. Any resemblance to a real incident might have only worked its way into
this text at my subconscious level. After all, I’m sure you’d agree that it’s
impossible to write bereft of any experience.
Those of
you who work in a corporate set up would have definitely been subjected to
experiences when your managers brag about their wives and children. You can’t
fail to notice that twinkle in their eyes, the swell in their chests and the
raised chins. Not forgetting the zillion times they make the ‘wives at home’
vis-a-vis the ‘manager in the office’ comparison during meetings and their pep
talks! But if you’re a guy and you dare mention your boyfriend, immediately their
faces contort into grotesque sneers. Often, over training sessions new entrants
at my work place inevitably inquire whether I'm married and I reveal that
I'm not, but would definitely like to get married to my boyfriend sooner or
later (though, I must admit, I still haven't broached this topic with my
boyfriend yet nor do I know how he'd react.)
On a
lighter note, going out with some chums for a sutta break or chai can be a lot
of fun! There are those guys who can’t resist telling you how ‘ripe’ and
breathtakingly ravishing a particular woman in the office is. Apparently, the
woman’s scent or her gait almost makes them wet, sorry, melt in their
pants. I often wondered how they could possibly feel that way, until I happened
to point out to them a guy who had sturdy thighs and a delicious chest
chair!
Knowing
my temperament, I usually like to have a book beside me at all times. There are
times when I have to wait for ten long minutes or more for my computer to
reboot and I have a paroxysm of guilt that I’m wasting time, doing nothing.
These guilt trips concerning time wastage only heightened after watching Andrew
Niccol’s In Time, where the
protagonist’s mother died only because she fell short by a few seconds of time,
which meant life in her case. One day, it so happened that the book on my desk
caught somebody’s attention. Little did I realize that a title such as Undoing Gender would ruffle anyone’s
feathers. So I was discreetly advised not to get a book which had a title (like
the word “gender”) that makes a political statement. I was somehow given to
understand that if I sported the book with a contentious title, I was
advocating gender ambiguity. And ironically, it seemed perfectly alright when
the same person had a gender related discussion with someone of the other
gender. So much for undoing gender! These little exchanges might seem rather trivial
and mundane. But they also reflect how constricting our language and
interactions are on a daily basis. Anything that upsets this forced internalized
normalcy is often met with violence or is subtly ostracized if not penalized.
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| Image taken: Times of India |
At least
at the workplace, after being out to my colleagues, I assumed that things would
be rather smooth! Yet, I was sadly mistaken. Of late, I’ve had to share my cab
with a particular homophobe. {Perhaps he isn’t a homophobe, but he merely dislikes
my straight hair.} And to make things worse, he’s got a certain designation
which has not only put me on the not so sunny side of things but has also
earned me a cab full of others who share the same feeling as the Daddy Bully
Homophobe. {I hope I’m not pushing it too far in painting myself as a victim of
sexual discrimination.} Initially I took it in my stride that I cannot expect
everyone to like me. I tried to overlook their not wanting me to sit beside
them and their smirks. However, now I’m honestly beginning to feel scared. I am
uncomfortable that they know the place where I live. Their cumulative acts of
arrogance and bravado behind a facade of normality unsettle me. This has upset
me so much that at present I have five ulcers in my mouth, something that
happens only when I’m agitated (and I have never had more than two). Perhaps,
I’m worrying too much and compounding my own fears. I know at this point in
time, I have to put an end to this. And I will have to stand up for myself. My
first step is to admit that it’s happened to me and it’s real. That’s why I
have written this post as well. And I know what I have to do next. Speak out to
them (and as simple as it might sound, I pray that when the moment arrives I
would be able to.)
I have to make sense of this; I know this is
certainly not right. That these acts of intolerance might only increase in
frequency, if I don’t find a healthy way to survive this ordeal. Yet, I’m also
sure I would get passed this. Perhaps I have to find newer ways of relating to
these people. I refuse to admit defeat in this little battle of misunderstanding
and ignorance. I believe that under the veneer of toughness, there’s also kindness
that we all share. And that’s one thing which gives me a lot of hope.
(I hope you did not let your emotions get carried
away; this is certainly not a cry for sympathy nor is it an attempt to assassinate
anyone’s character, living or dead. As I said in the disclaimer, you have to
read this as a piece of fiction.)
