A Climate of Fear
Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting at one of the Coffee Day outlets in Indira Nagar meeting two clients (also women) for the first time. As we sat discussing the project and sipping our coffees on the outdoor patio, I was suddenly conscious that there was a group of about 7 men standing on the pavement, right beside the outlet. My first thought was that it was just a bunch of guys hanging around, perhaps waiting for someone. But then, as time went by, I realised that they weren’t moving. And they were a bit too old to be college kids - perhaps in their late 20s or early 30s. What were they doing just standing on the pavement for so long?
It is some measure of the climate the recent attacks have created that my thoughts immediately went to the outfit I was wearing. Jeans, long sleeveless shirt. Great. Just the kind of thing attackers targetting Western clothing might be looking for. Almost immediately, I felt silly. I mean, a bunch of men stand around on the road and one gets suspicious? Yet, part of me wouldn’t push the possibility away. After all, by now it was almost 10 minutes since these men had been standing there. And from time to time, they would look at us. Was it just the regular ‘checking out women’ or something more sinister?Â
Though I was meeting these two clients for the first time, I decided to voice my fears. It hadn’t occurred to them, but once I said it, it didn’t seem implausible to them either. But, we told ourselves that it was unlikely and that we should just carry on with our meeting. After all, since they weren’t doing anything particular, they would probably leave in some time, right?Â
They didn’t. Time went by - another 10 minutes, then another 10. We gave up all pretense of working. From time to time, one or two of the men would turn and glare at us. By now, my stomach was churning. What if they were just waiting for us to step out so that they could attack us? They weren’t carrying any sticks or other weapons, but from time to time, they would make calls on their cellphones. Were they recruiting a larger crowd? And in any case, 7 of them against 3 of us would be no fight. Even as I told myself that I was being absurd, part of me was petrified. It was now more than a half hour since they had been standing around, now openly looking at us.Â
I believe that all of us must protest in some way against the kind of hooliganism that has been unleashed in Karnataka. I’ve been fiercely angry about the way my city is deteriorating. Yet, faced with a potential situation like this, I felt like a coward. All I wanted to do was run away, not attract attention. Of course, there was also the fact that getting beaten up wouldn’t be any kind of protest! We wondered if we should call the police or the Vanita Sahayavani, the helpline for women. But, what would we tell them? A bunch of guys on the road are glaring at us? Finally, I called my husband who works nearby. So did one of my clients. As we waited for them to arrive, we wondered if the men would leave. More than 45 minutes since they had first landed there, they still didn’t.Â
Our husbands arrived. We left, in the safety of a car. Nothing happened. I felt like I was leaving the fight - a fight which never happened, a fight that was perhaps only in my head, and yet, something I felt I should have put to the test. Because, by leaving, I had given them (not these men specifically, since they may have been harmless, but the fundamentalist groups in general) one small victory. They had disrupted our work, made us wonder if we should have met elsewhere, wasted our time and taught us to fear. That is no mean achievement, isn’t it?Â
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