perpetually pre-pubescent

I took a bus into Chitradurga today after Toufiq dropped me off at the Holalkere bus station. I hopped on and noticed that I was immediately the topic of conversation. I sat in the last row with my big laptop bag and carefully arranged my laptop bag so that it acted as a barrier between me and any other passengers mostly to avoid any close contact with any of the strange men.

This is the second or third time I have taken this bus either back or forth and each time the bus drivers and anyone else in the back of the bus talk either mumble things, or more often than not, shout in loud raucous voices, things in Kannada that are peppered with "America!" and "Myrada!" I think that most people around this area recognize that any foreigners in the area must be associated with Myrada, since Holalkere is not exactly a tourist location. It really doesn't bother me (anymore) that the men, and occasionally women stare or talk about me. However, their (men) bizarre pre-pubescent need to sit next to me or stand near me, and observe me, almost like I am a caged animal, is what really frustrates me. I just sit there, covered by my shawl, that covers my baggy cotton kurtha and work to ensure I don't move too much and have enough space between me and the next passenger.

After I had jumped on, a small girl who was maybe 11 or 12 got on the bus, and sat down. I immediately slid next to her and put my bag to the right. The two of us shared five minutes of shy smiles, as the bus jostled us up and down. Being on the bus to Chitradurga is like being on an old wooden roller coaster at great adventure. (Rolling Thunder comes to mind.) At any moment, you could be lifted from your seat and find yourself and your belongings airborne. A second later, you land with a thud, back in your seat, and prepare for the next insane turn or set of pot holes, as the bus rambles down the only main road.

I am always suspicious that the drivers are high on something, because of the way they drive. However, these experiences remind me of the bus rides from my father's stories, with people literally hanging from the bus, as it drove 60km an hour, winding down narrow roads. The only difference being that you can replace the narrow city streets of Calcutta with the narrow country roads. Instead of tall buildings and shanty towns, imagine farms of arekka nut, maize, sunflowers and other local crops, stretching for kilometers on either side. The passing country side is peppered with grazing buffaloes, goats and sheep and their herders in tow. Every few kilometers, there will be two bullocks engaged in plowing a field or traveling down the road with a farmer. The bus will let out this song-like beep that will inform people of the stops and will also obnoxiously belt its horn "BHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP" throughout the journey to warn anyone on the road of its presence.

We rambled on, and the little girl got off after a few kilometers. I continued to read the book I had brought with me; The Inheritance of Loss. One of the ticket takers, decided that out of all the available seats, the one right next to me was the one for him. He sat and watched me for almost twenty-five minutes, as I read my book. I could feel his eyes on me, but I wasn't sure exactly what he was looking at, because all I was doing was reading. He kept peering over, as if I was going to change color any minute. To make things worse, or perhaps just to emphasize the mentality of these men, there was yet another atrocious Kannada film playing on two televisions posted up-front, where the leading man dragged the leading lady all over, (because he was just so much stronger), while he screamed at her and at one point dunked her face in a mud puddle. I observed the passengers on the bus, as everyone; men, women and children sat captivated by the film. I am convinced, having watched enough Sun TV (Tamil TV) that most of the South Indian film and mini-series are extremely trashy and unprogressive. They always depict helpless women and fear-inducing men, who are so strong they can drag their woman with one hand while they fight people with the other, all while the helpless women just stands there and screams. Then, there is the other extreme, which are these extremely sexually charged dance scenes, where men and women dance in ways that are reminiscent of Britney Spear's "Slave 4 You."

Which leads me to my next point.... I think that the majority of men here, especially in rural areas are perpetually pre-pubescent. The way in which men look at women, is really just insulting and is very reminiscent of the seventh grade. The environment is chock full of repressed sexual tension just waiting to burst out of every man in the street. (No wonder parents don't want to send their female children out!) However, this does not only apply to young men, it applies to all men, even older married men. It occurs most consistently amongst the crowd of people who don't seem to have actual employment, aside from standing in the street, drinking a coffee, chewing and spitting pan, shooting the breeze and eve-teasing. (A phrase I picked up from Shashank that means making fun of women/heckling women etc.)

I should stop here for a second and mention a few things: 1. I am in no way referring to all of India, because this country, as I am quickly learning, is so different from region to region, urban to rural etc. 2. I say all of these things with no reference to my own vanity, rather, I think it is the fact that I symbolize "different" in a comparatively homogenous world. 3. I found out a few days ago, that some people actually think that I am a white woman. I am not sure if it is the hair cut or the fact that I am slightly lighter-skinned than most people in this region, but according to some folks, they think that I am,which would explain the way people greet me and peer at me. It is bizarre, because until I came out to this area, it was only people of non-Indian descent that got this kind of attention. (I just got the "you are a different/modern kind of Indian" attention.) 4. I feel more affronted by "city men" or "town men" than I ever do by farmers, who actually are really friendly, especially the 45+ crowd.

I digress.

I disembarked in Chitradurga, hopped in auto, that promptly dropped me off at the internet cafe, where I spent three happy hours with a broadband connection, finalizing loan applications, checking on bank statements, responding to e-mails and confirming the few facebook requests that had collected. After those three joyous hours I tried to find a place where I could recharge my phone. I stopped at three shops, before I could find someone who could understand English. The guy I found seemed pretty legit, he even had a chart of TamilNadu top-up rates and had been helping his young son with homework when I had walked into his hardware shop. He added some credit to my phone, then I asked for another 501 rupees top-up. In the meantime, I had taken out my wallet, to see if I had enough cash to purchase all of the credit, when he suddenly started demanding that I pay him. I said "Did you put in the recharge yet?" He responded back impatiently in a thick accent "Justtu give me the munney madummm!" I responded "No! charge my phone first" and put the money back into my bag and stared at him until he punched the information into the phone and extended his chubby fist at me, showing me the amount and phone number. After I received my echarge sms, I shoved the money in his hand, grabbed the change and left in a huff.

I walked down the wide main street and observed as men, pointed and laughed and giggled. Men of all ages and creeds at the only "western" woman for miles. (A side note: Those of you who are close to me know that I can be overly paranoid, but as I mentioned before, I really think this has nothing to do with "me" per say, it has to do with what I symbolize in an otherwise significantly homogenous area.)

Well I finally made my way back onto the bus, where I had to stand up as the bus attendants excitedly talked about the "American" on the bus. One of the ticket takers yelled for two men sitting in a three-seat to move in, and they obliged. I plopped down, and made sure I left at least an inch between me and the gentleman next to me, dressed in crisp white dhoti, shirt and headwrap. I pulled out my book and read another few chapters, as another film blared and the ticket takers told conspiracy theories about why I was on their bus.

Eventually we pulled into Holalkere and I jumped off the train and away from the creepy ticket takers into the pouring rain. I walked across the soaked muddy ground and hovered under the large bus stand that marked the town centre. Hundreds of mens huddled in small groups talked and spat pan (sort of like Indian chewing tobacco - I think), while others smoked cigarettes, as we waited for the rain to stop. I slowly traversed around large puddles filled with shit, swarming flies and remnants of guterral spit and waded through people and a few livestock to find a small clean patch to wait out the rain. It poured for a few more minutes, and then let up. I took the opportunity to pop down to the Srinivas Iyengar Bakery, and get a "sandwich" (a piece of white bread, topped with an onion and chile saute). I topped it off with two small pieces of pastry. Grand total: 5 rupees; the perks of rural life. I stopped by the ISD/STD booth and made a call to Alan. The shop owner and a few others had to listen as I talked rapidly and boisterously in English for around 8 minutes. Grand total: 111 rupees. The phone call cleaned me out of the last rupees I had. (India to Kenya is not cheap.) After stopping at the ATM, I headed towards the side of the bus stand to find an auto.

I walked from the opposite direction to which the autos were parked. I glanced up and saw this boy, light skinned, pencil thin mustache probably about 18, who had passed me by on my walk Saturday afternoon. He had tried yesterday to give me a ride, to which I had declined, since I was on a walk, but he had driven away sticking his head out of his auto for about 30 meters. He saw me, his eyes got big and he grew terribly excited, telling me in Kannada that he could take me. I am not sure why, but I agreed, after ensuring that the price was 15 rupees to the training center. Immediately, the two men, probably in their late thirties who had been sitting in the back of his auto were forcefully asked to leave by way of some desperate hand gestures. Then the boy bellowed to his friend, the same young boy of 14 or 15, who had been with him the day before. He ran over from the next auto and hopped in the driver's seat. Then, the boy turned out some kind of music, as he revved up his auto. Again, the music was so loud, we could have held a block party. As we turned out out of the bus station, they yelled to another little boy, who initially jumped into the front, but I yelled that it was dangerous, and he came and sat on the other side of the auto. The young driver, kept using his mirror to look at me, while the other two younger boys stole shorter, slyer glances. The one who sat next to me seemed a lot less "street" (I just finished reading "on beauty") than the two up front.

The entire time, I laughed to myself, as I realized how much older I really was than these very young boys who were going through a critical stage in their lives: puberty. However, I also wanted to yell at them, and say "don't like at women like that! treat them with respect!" and many other cliched mom-like things. It was so odd, to sit there and observe how these boys act around women, especially different women. It explains the behaviors of their older brothers, fathers, uncles and grandfathers. However, I still cannot understand why men in these parts have not understood how to properly interact with women; they are more comfortable holding another man's hand, than they are standing next to a woman, let alone talk to her like she is a normal human being.

Anyway, we finally got Myrada and I gestured for him to stop the auto. I hopped out, gave the young driver two ten rupee notes and asked him if he had change. He looked at me confused. I repeated myself a few times, "changeeeee!" These two women who had walked by got involved, by explaining to me, in Kannada, that the ride was 25, and I told them that the boy told me 15. By this time, he had gotten out of the car, and came around to the other side, as to act as an intimidating force. I looked at his lying face, told him sorry, and walked through the Myrada gates, as he called after me "Madame!" I left him standing there with two ten rupee notes, still five too many. I think that on top of the western woman, there was also "rich" woman, somewhere swirling through his woman-crazed mind.

I know that at this point, some of my male Indian friends (if they are reading) are standing in staunch protest of such a characterization of men in this society, but I really do think there is a lot of repressed sexual tension that is really never released due to the insistence on tradition. Men seem to be mesmerized by images of women in tight, minimal outfits, singing and dancing in a film. However, many of these same men, believe a woman and his daughter's should behave and dress in a certain way, and any dalliance with Western culture, is immoral. I think there is a tension in this society, part of India is moving so fast, towards this very Western ideal of modernity, tight jeans, short skirts and opulence of all kinds. At the same time, there are so many whose feet are rooted to the traditional ground. They cannot reconcile that there needs to be some balance between the crazy notions of Western life and the traditions and culture that make up India.

In the mean time, some men will continue to be perpetually prepubescent ....


(Traveler note: I should mention that while recharging your phone is a real convenience, if you are out of state, the Indian phone system really fails you, because they charge exorbitant rates. Find a friend, who can help you get a new sim card for the new state, otherwise, just try to use an isd phone booth for long distance. I hate all the top up/ validity garbage. I like the good ol' American phone system where I can talk anywhere in the US for a flat rate. :p)