The privilege of being carefree is not extended to women

It was a great Sunday - I had woken up late, cleaned my house and made a heavy lunch. I ordered some furniture for my living room to make my place more livable, and by the time evening came, I decided to get out of my house and do something for fun. Okay, I decided, let me visit a nearby cafe and have some coffee and snacks. Everything was going perfectly.

And then my day was ruined.

All it took was one uncomfortable cab ride to get me riled up and thrown into the pit of existential dread - perhaps less dread, more anger. Full personal disclosure: I have never been a chill, carefree person. In the current circumstances, however, this is impossible to achieve. All the time I had spent on relaxing had gone to waste.

Why this anger, you ask? What had happened in that one cab ride?

You know that feeling of being watched? Like you just know your every micro expression is being noticed, your body language studied. That was what it was for the 15 minutes that my cab ride lasted. 

What’s the big deal? What is wrong with being noticed? 

The problem is the situation, the intent. Not just me, every woman knows this. I was suddenly too aware of my surroundings. Aware that I had gone from my place, all alone, dressed up, in the evening. And I was not on the phone with anyone, no one knew where I was headed. And I felt eyes on me from the driver’s mirror for the full 15 minutes. it’s not that much time, you’ll say. He’s just looking, what’s the harm? What’s the big deal? 

The big deal is not having peace to myself, knowing I need to be hyper vigilant, questioning everything. In those 15 minutes, I spent the first 5 minutes questioning myself, telling myself the same thing - I’m just being paranoid. The next 5 minutes I spent confirming my suspicions. and I was aware of the proximity of the driver to me. his hands were too close to my legs, his neck constantly turning around on the pretext of just seeing the nearby cars as he was driving. Every time I looked up, I caught him glancing at me. The last 5 minutes I spent assessing the risks - I had my phone in my hands, keys under my knuckles and a hand ready to open the doors and jump out of the moving car if need be. 

Was it an overreaction? 

Who is to say? What is too much and what is too little in this context? My past, the world around me did nothing to assuage my fears. I knew every time I was on a lift, in a parking lot, in a vegetable market, in a party - no place was safe enough

‘Akeli ladki khuli tijori ki tarah hoti hai’ - how we all laughed! We laugh at the memes of married men getting excited with the new female joining in their office, how guys hope to get a pretty woman next to them when travelling in the train.

How hilarious right? Just a harmless joke, isn’t it?

Except it is not a joke.

For every joke is a real, at best headache, and at worst, well I have run out of ideas on what could be worst. And the mentality of cornering women when she has literally no escape because she is in a workplace or has an assigned seat on a public transport is not funny but predatory.

A woman who is alone is truly a moving target. Always on guard, always incomplete, always a prey. I could be alone in a bar, on a beach, in a library, in public transportation- it is seen as an invitation. An invitation to talk, to comment, to invade my space. 

And you’re not supposed to be rude, or it is taken as a different kind of invitation. 

An invitation to attack. 

That Sunday, despite the extremely uncomfortable cab ride, I told my driver thank you and smiled at him - not because of the goodness of my heart, but as a defense tactic. Another cab ride in a foreign country and my drivers asked if I was alone, and I lied. ‘Yeah I have friends waiting for me, yes they know I am here’. Lest he lies in wait, lest he follows me back home from where he picked me up… 

What other option do I have? Do I stop going out alone, any time of the day? Do I not talk to anyone in a new place? Do I set up cameras in front of my house? Do I ‘cover up’ more? 

Do I stop living?  

How much is enough to keep any and all danger away?

How much is enough to erase any trace of my existence? 

Every interaction is a test, a new nightmare scenario. I sit in the cafe my cab drops me at (thankfully) and have to stare straight ahead, lest the guy on the table 3 feet away who has been staring unashamedly for the last 30 minutes thinks eye contact is an invitation too. 

Anyone who would say what is the danger really, what is the big deal, just relax, has not truly experienced it. Recently, I missed the train I normally take and had to take another one at 11 PM in the night, which was not ideal. I told my worrying mother and friend it’s fine. That I‘ll be safe. 

But the truth is I can never be, and that burden is not mine to bear. It’s a punishment for existing, for being a woman. For always seen as a woman before you are seen as a person. Even if I would love to, desperately, I could not think like the way a man would. I try to, I have no problem living alone, going on solo trips, eating out by myself, exploring new places. But my experience quickly in that one train ride told me otherwise. As the previous train departed, the empty platform and the few men left suddenly reminded me of my gender. Only a handful of people and the previously hidden stares suddenly turned hostile and much more open, when they didn’t have to keep their intentions veiled under their niceness. 

And this is not even one incident. If you’re a woman reading this, you know it- the threat of violence looms every second of your waking moment. If you’re a man, well I can only ask to actually listen and not dismiss the real everyday experience of just existing for women.

The sad part is that the 15 minutes on one Sunday which spoiled my mood could have been so much worse on another day, at another time, another situation. One slip up, one moment of not being hyper vigilant, and even if you do ALL that- still, who knows? 

In this scenario, there is no such thing as carefree. How are we expected to thrive when our existence is constantly under scrutiny, all the niceness a guy might extend is based on how nice we are, and the slightest slip of tongue or tone, the enforcement of our boundary can be enough to incite violence, when our voice is valid only as long as it is not louder than the man's, otherwise threats come abound, when every interaction is layered with the subtext of 'or else'?

Being carefree is a privilege, a luxury not extended to women. It’s only luck that allows us to survive for however long we can. All we can do is cover, shrink, watch, not incite anything on our own and hope we are not the next column in one corner of the newspaper.

Easiest to be invisible, to not be noticed.

To not exist.