The extensive media coverage of the phenomenon of rape in India seems to have fanned conservatism, spawned amorphous fears, and threatens to shackle women in non-metro urban centres where gender equality is a battle won or lost almost daily. It also appears to have provoked a backlash against the national media, prompting the moffusil (semi-urban centres) intelligentsia to decry the salience it places on issues pertaining to metros, particularly Delhi, ignoring those of people languishing in oblivion.
These conclusions I reached as I travelled over the first ten days of the new year on train from Delhi to Patna, Bihar’s capital city, and then by road to towns adjoining it. Not always did I disclose I was a journalist. I silently listened to passionate discussions at tea-stalls, in offices as well as living rooms, astonished at the media’s capacity to create a community national in its spread and united in its focus on the issue of rape.
Yet it is a community bitterly divided in its analysis of the worrying spurt in rape cases, leading me to conclude: our liberalism is a mask worn to conceal the deeply ingrained conservative values we nurture secretly, in silence, aware as we are of the premium placed on modernity. The media coverage of rape has ripped off the mask to reveal our fears of modernity swamping the values inculcated in us.
The discussions I overheard, or occasionally engaged in, had a universal pattern: rape was unanimously condemned; almost always the punishment prescribed for the guilty was public hanging for communicating to people the severe consequences awaiting the rapist. Indeed, there seemed to be a barely concealed admiration for the code of punishment based on the principle of ‘an eye for an eye’ and ‘blood for blood’. Such sentiments had a few Muslims take perverse pride in what they described as an idea of justice Islamic in nature.
With the rapist condemned to the gallows, the discussions would invariably turn to analysing the causes popularly described as social sickness. Again, invariably, the virus identified was modernity. It is vital, they said, for girls to acquire an education, particularly through the medium of English, enrol in professional colleges and aspire to become engineers, doctors and bureaucrats. But is it necessary, they would ask in the same vein, to wear body-hugging jeans — which remain an important marker of modernity — stay out late in the evening, and for boys and girls to mingle freely. Are the teenagers, particularly girls, serving a larger purpose in emulating the lifestyle of their brethren bred in metros, say, Delhi or Mumbai?
It is a society growing increasingly schizophrenic. As Patna consciously swathes itself in modernity, through spiffy showrooms selling designer wears and taking to eating out in restaurants and coffee shops boasting a national chain, or building educational institutes and teaching shops, to which the young from other parts of the state throng, their parents mull the outcome of flirting with progressivism. Have they erred in easing the earlier curbs on children, allowing them greater personal space and independence, and believing they would not belie the faith reposed in them? In their discourse, the belying of faith is synonymous with the belying of values they inculcated in their children. It includes a wide array of lifestyle choices ranging from the clothes worn, the time at which they should return home or hostel room, the degree to which relationship with the opposite gender should be entered into, the use to which gizmos, like the mobile and laptops, should be put, etc. It is expected the children would voluntarily subscribe to the values of parents, impossible as it is for them to enforce discipline from a distance.
The debate over rape has created a milieu in which the suppressed fears of elders have palpably come to the surface. It is relatively easier for parents to determine the dressing choices of children staying with them. It is almost impossible for them to influence it at the time they are living in another city or town. As a male parent, in a discussion on sartorial style, remarked allegorically, “Thieving can be curbed by punishing the thief. But it is also important you lock your house at night. If you leave it open, you are asking for trouble.” The parent went on to ask, “Why are we emulating the western code of dressing: three-piece suit for men, two pieces for women?”
It is precisely why girls in non-metro cities and towns feel their freedom has been imperilled because of the ambience the prolonged national debate has created. The perception of the brutal rape of the physiotherapy student in Delhi has undergone a radical transformation over the weeks: the unconscionable criminal act is now considered symptomatic of the crisis springing from the degree of freedom granted to teenagers. The cure, therefore, is believed to lie in curtailing the freedom the young enjoy.
But this curtailment will not be universal in its application, largely because parents are under greater societal pressure to skill the boys for the job market than the girls. They, the girls, fear the inability of their parents to negotiate and overcome their fears of modernity could have an adverse impact on them, particularly in circumstances involving decisions of sending them out of city or town for education. Jeans they may willingly forego, male company they are willing to shun, but it is their aspiration they do not wish to compromise on. They are consequently keen the debate on rape should recede to the background, and the tendency of the national media to train the spotlight on every new incident be eschewed.
The disenchantment of women with the debate over rape is qualitatively different from that of men, among whom there is a veritable backlash against the national media. They believe the nation’s notion of the national is extremely narrow and accused it of ignoring in its coverage the towns and cities other than the metros. To whomever I disclosed my profession, I was summarily ticked off for not considering newsworthy the creaking infrastructure of towns, the paucity of jobs, the rising prices and rampant corruption.
Visiting the town of Ara, less than a two-hour drive from Patna, is akin to slipping into a darkness in which the flickering light of hope seems to be on the verge of being extinguished forever. Its citizens rarely enjoy electricity for two continuous hours. As my hosts and I stare at the blank TV screen in their living room, where we have gathered to watch the second ODI between India and Pakistan, a family elder informs the power supply was cut three hours ago. He remarks, “Why can’t you journalists turn the lack of power supply into a burning issue as you have the rape?” In that other India, rape has many undertones, several meanings.
The author can be reached at [email protected]