respectable women

chances are if u are white n female n in india, unless yr name happens to be sonia gandhi, you are not generally considered respectable. let me preface this by saying of course there are respectful individuals, people who will avert their eyes instead of leering, pass on by instead of lurking, be helpful instead of oh i don't know trying to enact their filthy imaginings on some fantasy that they project upon your body... but never have i been in a place where just walking down the street has been so painful profoundly uncomfortable even terrifying. and in the long run probably deeply traumatic. where an indian man (shopkeeper) will openly say to white girl, women of your type, of your ethnicity, are not respectable, in trying to sell her a black shawl that he says will lend her a little more respectability. and laughs when she protests, the laugh that means that they do not listen and think they already know it all because they saw a bunch of white girls in kabhi alvida naa kehna grinding with abhishek and amitabh or i don't know what western movies, where they have misinterpreted the occasional miniskirts and one-night stands into broad ideas on the promiscuity and immediate availability of western women. most white women i have met here have had men openly masturbate in public while fixating on them--this has happened to me more than once. in front of people, once on a public bus in front of at least ten or fifteen people including a couple little old ladies. most have also been grabbed at, stalked, insulted, assailed with pornographic come-ons, and been generally treated as the most absolute of sex objects.

for instance, today. i go to dance class in a bustling neighborhood called bhawanipore, and everyone in that neighborhood knows and respects my teachers, and since i go there every day, most of them know me. i don't normally have problems in this area other than weird looks. today tho as the cha-wallah was unlocking the door for me to the dance school a man slipped in behind us, expectantly. i was confused, who is this guy, does he have some business with this tea-seller or with the dance academy, what is going on? the cha-wallah turned around and started shouting at him in bengali, what are you doing here who are you leave! and the guy silently remained still, no explanation, giving a look between me and the other guy with an expression that said, come on, man, i know whats going on here, i'm staying to get a piece of this. i know what white women are for. cha-wallah grabbed him and literally pulled him out as i went into the dance school and set about pulling the tabla into place for my lesson. i was alone in the house. it was all quiet. but then i heard a creak in the gate's hinges, and a shadow fell across the doorway--the man was back again, looking around and at me with that same expectant look, wondering it seemedwhen the prostitute would begin her business, when the show would begin. lord knows what exactly he was expecting to see in progress. i went up to him shouting, who are you get out what are u doing. these shouts bounced off of him like they were nothing. he didn't need to justify himself. the situation explained itself. at least in his messed-up mind. he demanded to know what i was doing there, kept looking into the corners of the room as if there was hidden there something, some filth that he could find. then cha-wallah came and dragged him out again, i had to lock the door from inside to keep him away. it was over. a few people outside laughed.

not much happened. it was all in his looks, in his presence, in his self-righteous invasion of my space. dance class for me is the one place in all of kolkata where i feel protected, surrounded by people that respect me. in my teacher's eyes i am sweet and innocent and respectable. her classroom is full of love, deeper than in any other classroom i have been in. it is uncomparable to anything i have ever experienced. like her main disciple says, she is an angel fallen from heaven, my teacher. this place is like a home. to have that man violate that space with his filth and his fucking fantasies... it just shook me to the core in some way i cannot explain. those eyes, that presence, that shadow falling on the floor where i go to forget all this world outside...

i know this is a sticky entry, i am sorry for the jumbled-up-ness.