We did not get off on the right foot with India. Of course having to delay our flights and pay a big fee and wait a week in Thailand for our Indian visas to be processed, didn't help. Then when we arrived, we discovered that the organization we intended to volunteer with would be on holiday for the entire duration of our stay, and after leaving us hanging for almost a week they told us to find volunteering elsewhere (this was after we had changed our tickets to lengthen our stay so that we would have more time to volunteer with them instead of having a two week vacation in Tanzania). While waiting in Mumbai trying to figure all this stuff out, we stayed at a clean and mostly nice guest house. The staff were unpredictably cranky and seemed to yell a lot. We got kicked out (and told to not come back) of the internet room after telling the attendant that the connection was no longer working, but the next day when we sheepishly showed up he let us in again while avoiding eye contact. We saw encounters like this with almost every guest that this particular employee came across. When showing up for lunch, which was included in the room cost, we asked for bread after noticing that everyone else in the hall had been given some with their meal, but we were informed that bread was not being served. The next day the lunch man gave me a huge stack of bread, but didn't offer any to anyone else in the hall including Jessi. One of the other guests told us that she was asked to pack up and leave the guesthouse one morning because she was reported to have been "misbehaving" by an unknown staff member. When she protested that she hadn't done anything wrong, the employee said, "OK never mind, you can stay". We became very nervous, hoping that we too had not been misbehaving.
While on the streets we were of course hassled at every step, by sellers, beggars, children, and (we think) male prostitutes. All were VERY insistent and would not take no for an answer, often following us for blocks at a time. If you think you understand the craziness, you don't (unless you've been to Mumbai). The long-haired male who wanted to be our "friend" and show us a "good time" was the most persistent. We ran into him on multiple occasions, each time picking up where he left off and trying desperately to stay with us as we tried everything in our power to get rid of him, including verbal harassment. At one point we had so many people clinging to us and yelling at us over each other to buy or do something-or-other that we couldn't even hear what any of them wanted. With all of them leeching onto us, it felt like we were carrying huge luggage through the narrow walkways filled with numerous people . Some beggars would walk along with us and ask us to buy them food, or rather milk. We were later warned that they would simply return the milk for cash. We were basically told not to give to beggars in general due to the beggar-owning lords and the bad cycles it creates. We were also warned about the men with long hair who like to make friends with white women. That one made me laugh, especially after seeing several examples of white women having "good times" with long-haired Indian men.
Yelling was another thing we had to get used to in Mumbai. It seems that loud vocalizations accompanied by wild gesturing must be part of the Hindi language. At first we thought that maybe there was something wrong with us, that we were inherently offensive to people, and it made them want to yell at us. We later learned from our friend Alex, who speaks Hindi, that if you don't yell then people won't respond. I saw this in action on multiple occasions.
We were anxious to move on and as soon as we made connections to volunteer in a rural mountain school we happily bought the next train tickets out of town. With a mildly bad taste in our mouths from the hustle and bustle of every type of person stuffed into a touristy part of Mumbai, we left for the station to catch our two day, second class non-AC train to Dehradun, departing at 11:35pm. Second class non-AC is essentially one class lower than third class, so cheap-o tickets (4th class). I will not be repeating this mistake.
The moment we stepped out of the taxi, the 49-hour heart-racing circus of defense against all potential threats began. I cannot remember a time that I have resented being a woman in society more than I did in India on this train ride.
As we entered the station every eye was on us; prolonged unbroken stares. Some just looking, some scoping, some approaching urgently to "help" us, and some fantasizing, but one way or other ALL were looking. White women seem to evoke certain reactions, none of which I was happy about. We were like a freak-show and no one wanted to miss a second of it. There were virtually NO women present, and the few that were there were traveling with their husbands. There were no young women and certainly no young white women with knees and arms bare. We were in a man's world and we may as well have been made out of pure gold, with greedy looks everywhere we turned. It was as if we had just stormed into a gentleman's clubhouse from the 50's, breaking all social norms with everyone wondering what was going to happen next and who was going to make the first move. Already having perhaps a more than healthy, verging on unhealthy, resentment of men, at that moment I quickly assumed the roll of hating every man I set eyes on, or rather who set eyes on me.
I feel I must interject here with some rationalism. There are many ways in which looks and mannerisms can be interpreted. They are often the cause of miscommunications which get magnified when crossing cultures. We don't have any real way of knowing anyone else's intentions or thoughts with certainty, without the powers of telepathy. Even then, judging by what a hard time we have understanding our own selves, we could never really know about anyone else. This being said it seems we are left to try and determine our surroundings with instincts, experience and what our guts tell us.
In that train station I felt my guts telling me that the way I was being looked at wasn't right. I guess some stares seemed more tolerable and understandable given the amount of poverty surrounding us, but I had a hard time with the stares that made me feel objectified and devalued. Two foreign women alone, surrounded by only men who were staring at us persistently. The inherent inequality feels so poignant. I imagine how two men might feel surrounded by women staring at them persistently. It doesn't seem on par to me. The things a man can do to a woman and the motivation and drive to do it can not compare to the equivalent of a woman to a man. I feel that many dis-pleasurable experiences are only a matter of cultural or personal differences, however I think some things are just wrong, no matter the culture that supports it and I put gender inequality in the later category.
Until changes happen to bridge the gaps between genders, women will continue to be powerless in a room full of men. They will continue to be disrespected and sought after in the same way as money. This is something I will never be able to swallow without a strong taste of resentment, and I felt in that moment I had just been force-fed inequality.
I do not believe I will ever really know India and the intricate details of its culture well enough to come to cultural conclusions. These thoughts that I had as a woman feeling vulnerable in a foreign country bring up some complicated issues that require a lot more study and experience than I have to be able to be any kind of reliable source. With that being said, I continue on with my story, not as a story of how it really was, but rather how it was to me; my experience, an isolated, biased experience.
We had no idea how to read our tickets to know which platform the train was on or how to find the car we were supposed to get on or how to receive our seat assignments once assigned. Our lack of experience just made us more of a target. We tried asking for help from anyone who half-looked like they didn't want to rob us, scam us or undress us in their minds. A difficult task we found, so we stopped asking people, feeling dually creeped out by all encounters (not to mention we had a hard time finding anyone who spoke English).
We were about an hour and a half early waiting on the platform with our huge bags for our seat assignments. Many characters walked by us several times, obviously trying to scope us out, looking for an opportunity. We endured the intense stares by every male who walked by in the same way a cat endures another cat encroaching upon their territory; with tail puffed and hair raised.
The station was dark and we were on our own, something I have never felt so acutely as I did waiting for this train. We figured that the worst would be over once the seats got assigned and we could get on the train and relax. This was not so. Actually almost opposite. While looking for our names on the list of seats after the assignments were posted, one particularly creepy young dude, who I had been keeping my eye on for a while, and he on us, appeared next to us. By a slip of the hand he discovered our seats. I quickly brushed him away and an obviously educated and fatherly looking gentleman took over and helped us out. He spoke English and kept us company, thus warding off most unwanted attention. In a man's world it seems women are not safe until under the watchful eye of a man. I resent this to a maximum degree.
Never-the-less this was a good man and he showed us where to get on and how everything works. He showed us our seats on the train, where we thanked him and were prepared to stay until the departure. The train was dark and no one else was on it and as soon as our kind protecting male walked away the creepy little dude showed up and approached us. I stepped up to him and told him to leave and that he should not be here in a voice that was unmistakable. He understood, most likely due to my threatening posture and face as well as Jessi's weapon pen in my hand and the mace hanging off our bags. I watched him as he walked away to make sure he left, but as he turned the corner around the exit I could tell he was still there, hiding. I continued to watch him and after several minutes I saw his pathetic little face peer around the corner hoping that we were not looking. I have to say, as creepy and threatening as he was, it almost made me laugh at how predictable he was. When he saw that I was still staring directly at him, he quickly ducked out of sight again and I yelled at him to leave. On this note, it didn't take Jessi and I a second thought to promptly go back outside and take on the glaring male crowd under the watchful eye of the man who previously helped us.
I am sure he was aware of our position so he stayed with us in a fatherly sort of way. When it was time to board he made sure there were friends of his in our compartment to watch out for us. His seat was only one car away and he told us to call him if we needed anything. I can't say enough how grateful I was to this man, and the few others who helped us out along the way. The people he introduced us to looked after us like their own daughters. They threw me an impromptu birthday party as soon as they found out it was my birthday and we were temporarily immune from the onslaught of potential threats, as long as we were with these people. I had noticed however that the creepy little dude had showed up again after purchasing tickets for the compartment right next to us, surprise surprise. However with a quick glare and an obvious mentioning of him to our protectors and new found friends, the guy promptly left and we never saw him again.
The stares continued to be intense and unsettling throughout the whole journey. Everyone who got on or off paused or slowed while walking by us to stare or have sudden conversations, obviously in response to us. Men with empty bags and no actual traveling to do tried to squeeze next to us or our purses. I could see boys outside the train with no bags and a bunch of cronies suspiciously peering into the compartments and then stopping after seeing us for a team meeting, not laughing or even being dumb and boyish, but rather with a face for business. They would then pace by several times and board, trying to sit near us and then leaving upon realizing we had friends on our side. I saw them do this on other trains as well and, given that we had a long stop here, it was clear these boys were not at the station to travel. There were many groups like this along the route and it grew tiring having to constantly be alert to this and ward them off. With the help of our friends most potential threats left before too long, realizing that we had allies. Two other white girls boarded and sat in the compartment next to us and one got robbed in the middle of the night by the guy sleeping below her. She said he had been staring at her all night. Creep.
The question arose in my mind, what would have been had these nice people not taken us under their wing. We did not belong here and everyone knew it. The bad people emerged and then the good people emerged. I found myself considering social responsibility in a light I had not seen before. I looked out around the train while sitting in my compartment under the protective watch of our friends and saw hundreds of beady eyes on us.
The bad is there and it is in your face, like everything else about India, and unfortunately it overwhelmed the good in the initial days of our trip.
But the train ride was almost over and our luck was about to change.
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