When Humans of Bombay, a company known for monetizing feel-good stories about ordinary (as well as VIP) Indians, sued an entity named People of India this month for copyright infringement, the originator of the digital storytelling format that all of these utilise finally shared his thoughts on a long-term imitation.

            Brandon Stanton, the founder of Humans of New York, wrote on social media: “I’ve stayed quiet on the appropriation of my work because I think @HumansOfBombay shares important stories, even if they’ve monetized far past anything I’d feel comfortable doing on HONY. But you can’t be suing people for what I’ve forgiven you for.”

            This prompted a tide of criticism toward Humans of Bombay from Indian web users, who echoed Stanton’s sentiments. They pointed out how HOB had copied HONY right down to their bio on the platform presently known as X (formerly known as Twitter). Initially, HOB reacted defensively to Stanton’s post, but since then have finally acknowledged HONY’s inspiration, while continuing to press ahead with their case against POI.

Imitation has always been rife on social media, and most people and business entities get away with it. HOB had been doing it for almost a decade, for instance. Now, it looks like they’ve taken a blow that will be hard to recover from. Their following on X, the platform on which the controversy has been the loudest, has dropped to just 15,000 at the time of this writing. Fair comparisons about how different HOB are in terms of ethics and intent to HONY and other spinoffs like Humans of Amsterdam, which Stanton endorsed in the same thread in which he called HOB out, may change how this company will be perceived hereon. Those who thought they were benign, just another large company in an oversaturated mediascape, or even benevolent, seem to be rethinking this.

But this isn’t happening in a vacuum. The backlash against Humans Of Bombay comes at a time when social media and influencer culture are both under scrutiny, with many people tiring of both. The ongoing breakdown of X, and the search for better virtual spaces to replace it, has instigated the former for a lot of web users. As for the latter, this largely has to do with the advertising-driven and pressurising nature of Instagram, which has lost its charm as a visual diary and become just another place where the curated illusion of authenticity makes some people a lot of money, and makes the rest of us feel inadequate.

I want to believe that we know a little better now, collectively. That we’ve understood how governments, corporates and scam artists galore have repurposed our attention through these mediums, and how we’ve suspended our healthy scepticism and our curiosity in favour of cloistering in silos, shouting en masse and spending more time on screens than anywhere else, except perhaps in slumber.

But we’ve all been online long enough now to understand the concept of trends. Currently, there’s a small wave in which yes, we are still scrolling, but we are not quite so easily fooled. What will it usher in? What it may usher out is certainly looking promising.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in September 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

At nearly 250 years old, Birkenstock is a brand of serious longevity, known for manufacturing durable and comfortable sandals. It has filed to go public on the New York Stock Exchange, and experts appraise that it will be worth over USD$8.7 billion. In light of this move, Birkenstock has released a statement to prospective investors in which “powerful secular trends — an increased focus on health, the casualization of daily life, the breakthrough of modern feminism and the rise of purpose-led, conscious consumption” were credited for its commercial success. Secular in this context is as opposed to cyclical trends, in stock market jargon.

            On the third point, “the breakthrough of modern feminism”, the document goes on to elaborate: “The ongoing evolution and expansion of the role of women in society continues to drive meaningful shifts in their preferences in footwear and apparel. While trends in fashion come and go, we believe women’s increasing preference for functional apparel and footwear has and will prove secular in nature. As a brand that has long stood for functionality, we believe this ongoing tailwind will continue to drive relevance and growth for the BIRKENSTOCK brand.”

Unlike brands that strategically position themselves as having progressive values so as to appeal to certain demographics, cash in on certain trends and enjoy the visibility and virality benefits of provocative advertising campaigns, the history of stereotypes associated with Birkenstock speaks to an organic relationship between its stated politics and its consumer base. In American popular culture, Birkenstocks have been associated for decades with lesbians, specifically in the context of second wave feminist movements, as well as with feminists at large. The sandal has been a signifier in and of itself: of women who don’t play by the patriarchy’s rules, along with hippies and other non-conformists.

            A scene in the recent Barbie film succinctly showed why this shoe is pragmatically anti-patriarchy: Barbie, whose perpetually ballerina feet suddenly becoming flat is the first major sign of malfunction, is offered a choice between a stiletto and a Birkenstock. Does she want to sit pretty, or to saunter further, and comfortably?

The high heel – invented in 10^th century Persia for ease of horse-riding among cavalrymen, then adopted by male aristocrats in 17^th century Europe – has been seen by some as modern foot-binding for women. Flat shoes are a kind of freedom (high heels are a kind of freedom too, but that’s a different discussion).

            This isn’t a celebration of Birkenstock itself. All this is just to note this point: the candid, and accurate, inclusion of feminism as an impactful mainstream influence in a brand’s thinking process. Many brands pay feminist-baiting lip service in their publicity and messaging. Many brands also recoil, out of fear of being seen as niche. But to have a brand on the brink of major corporate expansion acknowledge that feminism has been a force behind its own success is commendable. The F-word still makes so many people of all genders balk, and to offend the well-heeled (pun intended) while trying to make greater inroads within a capitalist framework is risky. But clearly, it’s becoming less so – and that is hopefully a secular trend indeed.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in September 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

In May of 2023, five years since the MeToo movement reached its pinnacle in Hollywood, the actors Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis privately wrote character letters about their former That ‘70s Show castmate Danny Masterson, hoping to persuade the judge presiding over the multiple sexual assault case in which he was being tried to give their friend leniency. Masterson has just been sentenced to 30 years in prison, and will only be eligible for parole after 25.5 years. Kutcher and Kunis, who are a married couple, apologized via social media when their letters attesting to Masterson’s goodness were leaked.

            The former colleagues had known each other for two and a half decades. Published excerpts allege that Kutcher wrote that he thought Masterson was an “excellent role model”, and Kunis wrote that she believed that “Danny’s role as a husband and father to his daughter has been nothing short of extraordinary”.

            Kutcher and Kunis apologized because they were found out. In their apology video, posted on Instagram, they even say, very tellingly: “[The letters] were intended for the judge to read, not to undermine the testimony of the victims or to retraumatize them in any way.” Meaning: they thought the letters would be for the judge’s eyes only. They are sorry that they leaked, but not that they tried to help the rapist. The words they say about caring for survivors hold about as much water as a sieve.

            I, for one, am so glad the judge was not swayed by those letters. And I am equally glad that Kutcher and Kunis got caught. It goes without saying that I am also glad that Masterson has been convicted, but every time a major case like this happens, the emotions that run through me are more complex. I grieve angrily about cases that haven’t been taken to court. Cases that were dismissed. Cases that stall at, or because of, social media. Cases that are secret. Cases that are not cases, not in the legal sense. There are so many Mastersons.

            And for every Masterson, there is always – always – a Kutcher-Kunis in tow, or a whole team of them. The role of these enablers is not peripheral. It’s people like them who encourage the conditions in which predators thrive.

Some time ago, I found myself in the uncomfortable situation of sharing a large but not so large working space with one of my abusers. There, as one among his court, was an enabler I had long known well. That Masterson-like figure has gone unscathed even as many of his peers in predatorship have come under fire. He is surrounded by Kutchers and Kunises. Their entire circus was still getting away with it – the abuse, the enabling, the grooming, the gaslighting, and the deflective gossiping too. Seeing him fazed me less than seeing her still choosing that role.

When the Mastersons of the world get caught, the Kutcher-Kunises continue to throw survivors and victims under the bus as they seek to cover their own tracks. When they stay uncaught, when those tracks are more easily concealed, the Kutcher-Kunises help shape events, not just narratives. They’re not less terrible.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in September 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

I was still thinking about Made In Heaven and why, for a show that so ham-fistedly tries to be recognized as progressive, its recurring female lead is so unlikeable. Tara Khanna, one of the two wedding planner protagonists of the series, is cold, conniving and due to either the writing itself or to Shobhita Dhulipala’s lacklustre performance, comes off as more boring than bored in every episode. What kind of sermon-laden show centres such an uninspiring role model?

            Then, I watched Little Fires Everywhere, the limited series adaptation of a novel by Celeste Ng (which I haven’t and won’t read). I didn’t like the first episode, but something about it got under my skin and I binged the rest. By the end, there was no redemptive twist to either of the two protagonists: a privileged white mother with liberal leanings, and a single black mother of considerably less privilege and a mysterious past. Spoiler alert: the latter eventually comes off infinitely worse, a textbook study in maternal narcissism. After finishing LFE, I found myself disturbed, and looked up other people’s reactions to it to help me understand my own.

That was when I learned that Kerry Washington’s Mia Warren character had not been black in the book. She was rewritten as black for the series, and race became one of the show’s core subjects. I was angry then. The filmmakers had deliberately manipulated the audience by presenting a character whom we were sympathetic to by default because she was disadvantaged, whom we’d read a certain way through prior consumption, observation and experience. Then, we were creatively gaslit. They knew we would feel terrible about hating a marginalized character.

Perhaps if the target audience was a purely privileged one, this would have been a fair provocation. But the lip service around shows like these always claims otherwise. This revives the question of why film and TV creators – who work in mediums meant for mass consumption – make work that reveals itself to have been intended for one kind of audience even while it appears to be about, and sometimes even achieves, diversity and inclusivity.

             The premise that we are all inherently monstrous is anything but nuanced. It doesn’t deepen our engagement with other human beings, and invalidates survivor experiences. It is, in every sense of the word, fictional. But this kind of storytelling is also increasingly deployed in stories that concern real, systemic wrongs.

            Art does challenge meaningfully, through both discomfort and charm, but there is also the kind that smugly tosses out provocations without enabling further openings. Mostly, I’m tired of this trope where all the characters are unlikeable, but we’re supposed to admire the creators’ artistry because they pulled the wool over our eyes for the duration of our viewership. Give me someone to root for. Give me someone to care about. Move me. That’s real life, too.

It can be done. Queen Sugar, a stunningly beautiful series also based on a book, perfectly executed flawed characters whom we can believe in. It takes intelligent audiences, yes, but it also takes makers who are willing to open their hearts, not just trifle with audiences’ minds.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in September 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

When the second season of Made In Heaven dropped, an episode featuring a globally successful Dalit character named Pallavi Menke (played by Radhika Apte) quickly became its most talked-about. Its sociopolitical significance and the pleasing aesthetics and revolutionary impact of the wedding it featured aside, it also became controversial when the author Yashica Dutt penned a thoughtful post about how her own life and work had been appropriated without credit. The title of Dutt’s memoir Coming Out As Dalit as well as her academic accomplishments were distinctive parts of Menke’s background.

The filmmakers initially hat-tipped Dutt on social media, then backtracked. Meanwhile, scholar Sumit Baudh posted about how she had not credited him in her book for coining the concept of “coming out” as Dalit.

Made In Heaven is a preachy show meant for a privileged audience that considers itself progressive (the Menke episode ends with intended viewers even being addressed directly, asked to “question our privilege”). It’s mostly a stylish cringefest, and we binge it. This episode was a little different, with moments of subtlety and subtext that the show isn’t known for. Still, its character-building was patently based on Dutt, and people unaware of her could have benefited, via an official acknowledgment, from knowing that she exists. To know, essentially, that Menke’s character is neither far-fetched nor purely fictional. Far more than the tricky concept of credit, that effect on the public imagination would have been inspiring.

Collectively, as consumers and creators, we are at vexing intersections. The political and economic climate is frightening, not enough diverse and well-wrought stories exist in the mainstream, and then there’s the elephant in the room: human nature, particularly elements like greed for social currency and other egoic motivations – and the ways these influence virtue-signalling and can stifle originality or result in strange, pandering work.

            This reminded me of “The Mirror”, Konkona Sen Sharma’s directorial venture in the Lust Stories 2 short film anthology. The short film was widely praised. I found it problematic and dishonest. Its premise is that an employer finds her housekeeper having sex with the latter’s husband, in the former’s bedroom. Instead of firing her housekeeper, the employer then chooses to sneak into her own home daily to spy on her. One day, she is caught.

            My fundamental problem with the film is that it appears to be about voyeurism when it is itself voyeuristic. The viewer is titillated because they cannot identify with either of the protagonists: not only are they unlikely to be in the domestic service sector (Netflix subscription and all), but they would never do what the employer does. In this way, the sexuality of the working-class woman is repurposed yet again for the satisfaction of the privileged classes, while also negating the interior life of the lonely employer and judging it through a mix of “middle class” and “woke” moralities (quote marks used because what is inferred by these words, and what these words actually mean, are not the same).

            We don’t get to create or to imbibe within a vacuum, that’s true. But when do we get to stop dreaming in, devouring and being devoured by, trends?

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in August 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

Last week, I wrote about how anyone who is serious about ending – or more realistically, significantly reducing – intimate partner violence in India must look at the inherent cultural and legally-protected problems within the institution of marriage before any other concern. This is true, in the sense that any other intervention will not be as immediately relevant or effective for the majority of people. However, long-lasting change is always concurrent. In that light, there is an even larger issue: climate change. Activists dedicated to ecological welfare sometimes say that climate change is the only real issue. It is the ultimate issue, no doubt: all else that concerns us as human beings will literally be wiped away should the climate apocalypse that we are already in reach its peak.

But that apocalypse is gradual: like frogs in boiling water, collectively speaking we have been oblivious. By the time enough awareness arrives, it will be too late. We would literally have boiled to death. This is not a change of subject at all: the crisis of rising planetary temperatures is linked to the rise of gender violence in South Asia.

            A 2023 study by the American Medical Association journal JAMA Psychiatry, specifically tracking cases in India, Nepal and Bangladesh, found that every 1°C increase in temperature appears to bring with it a 4.5% increase in intimate partner violence. The situation is notably worse in India than in other countries studied. Here, that 1°C rise is correlated with an 8% increase in physical violence and a 7.3% increase in sexual violence against women. Even if one is cynical about climate change, the statistics on violence against women themselves speak for themselves, indicating an issue that even if isolated or unrelated is a serious one.

            The reason why higher temperatures and more domestic violence are linked is believed to be stress on daily wage earners, specifically stress from reduced incomes and other factors during heatwaves.

Nothing tells you that the results of this study have more to do with gender than with class than the fact that it is women who are largely impacted by such stress-related violence. The working class is made up of people of all genders; unlike higher economic stratas, the luxury of “choosing” not to work to significantly contribute toward the running of a household, however difficult the job, doesn’t exist there. Women wage earners are not the ones becoming physical violent from stress – at least, not in notable numbers. This stress affects them not just equally, but even more.

Anything that indicates an increase in violence among people in lower economic stratas, or any sector of society that faces prejudice, will be used to justify other stereotypes – and to deflect internal questioning. But whether one is inside an air-conditioned building or not, if the planet is burning up, one may just be among the last to catch fire – but will go down in flames, anyway. When it comes to climate change, this is almost literal. At every level of society, the normalisation of violence by men is a problem. At every level of society, the dismissal of climate change’s extreme danger is a problem too.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in August 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

Rajya Sabha MP Ajay Pratap Singh is not inaccurate in citing a World Health Organization statistic that as many as 38% of women killed around the globe were murdered by their intimate partners. However, the MP’s use of this statistic to seek a ban on live-in relationships is misleading. “Intimate partner” is a legal term widely used to indicate, as per the Legal Information Institute of Cornell University “…the spouse of the person, a former spouse of the person, an individual who is a parent of a child of the person, and an individual who cohabitates or has cohabited with the person”.

            For anyone serious about ending intimate partner violence in India, a more pertinent approach would be to take a good hard look at marriage, not at any other relationship configuration. Marriage is still the primary method through which intimate partnership is experienced in India, and it is also the arena in which intimate partner violence is most rampant.

            The criminalization of marital rape, which has for some time been a core mandate of progressive law reformers and feminists, would be far more effective at curbing intimate partner violence in this country than any kind of law that seeks to restrict what people freely choose to do outside the parameters of wedlock. The sensationalization of a few cases of murder within live-in relationships goes hand in hand with the more subdued – if not actually suppressed – coverage of abuse and murder within marriage, which remains large drawn on heteropatriarchal lines that do not cross religious or caste lines often enough.

Fortunately, at this time the Supreme Court of India continues to formally resist any challenges to consenting adults choosing to live together. Earlier this year, the Supreme Court even dismissed as “hare-brained” a PIL calling for live-in relationships to be registered. Nonetheless, the fact that live-in relationships are not illegal in India does not mean that they are accepted.

            It is time for Indian society to take a more mature look at why people enter live-in relationships, and to respect those choices whether or not one relates to them. Turgid declarations about traditions, social fabric and so on hold very little water when actually argued with, unless the final word is the definitive and dismissive phrase “That’s just how it is”. It certainly isn’t how it has to be, and there are many liberating possibilities when one considers how else it can be.

Aside from self-appointed moral crusaders, the idea that those who choose live-in relationships are lax and lack responsibility is something that many ordinary folks believe – but here, reconsidering where such bias comes from usually results in a new understanding. Running a household without structural support, making choices that are both autonomous and united, and being willing to stand one’s ground against pressure and discrimination all show high levels of responsibility and indeed determination as well as self-determination.

If there is a rise in live-in relationships in India, or in any conservative culture, it merely signifies increasing levels of equality. Just like a higher number of divorces, it is an indicator of positive shifts towards lives and worldviews that empower, rather than entrap.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in August 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

Last weekend, I had the beautiful experience of meeting someone for the first time and hitting it off so well that after a leisurely lunch, we spontaneously went to watch Barbie. She wouldn’t have watched it except as a lark, and hadn’t known anything about the film’s narrative premise; I wanted to, but was waiting for it to reach streaming platforms eventually. The glow of this promising female friendship was a pink glow that day, made so by the movie’s signature aesthetic. It was a fun, feminist movie for us both.

            Having watched it, I can see why anti-feminists hate it so much. The film’s overt theme is literally about gender equality. It’s about how patriarchy hurts men too, and somehow it manages to convey this message while also offering punchlines about fragile masculinity (as well as about decorative femininity). It has a transgender Barbie who’s there with a casualness and subtlety that is more meaningful than an obvious statement about presence would be. The film provokes political and even philosophical reflections in its own way. It also has a genuinely touching ending, does not rely on romantic predictability and other template happily-ever-afters. It is sly, too – poking self-deprecatory fun at Mattel’s missteps, without addressing capitalism, plastic usage, corporate domination and so on. For some, all this is too much. For some, it still isn’t enough.

Some feminists aren’t happy with Barbie either, because they read the film as being not being sufficiently radical, as relying too easily on gender tropes, or else as being nothing but a long advertisement for Mattel.

            But does any one piece of art have to cover it all? Expecting or demanding such flawlessness risks much, and deprives of even more. That happens to be the film’s deepest theme. Barbie may be simple, but it is not shallow.

            At the cinema theatre where we saw it, the crowd – of mixed genders and ages –  whooped at two points: when Ryan Gosling’s Beach Ken first came onscreen, showing off his torso, and when John Cena’s Merman Ken appeared in a cameo, also showing off his torso. No Barbies, or any other characters, received such a reception. The male objectification in that theatre was so interesting. It was the reverse of what happens during every item number and every titillating scene, when roars in masculine voices and wolf whistles fill Indian and other cinemas – all the time.

It isn’t that Barbie, which presented mostly stereotypically attractive people in general, designed it that way. The audience reacted that way. That reaction, for its unusualness and its subversiveness (the loud admission of female desire, that too in public), was heartwarming to me. As for the muscled Kens, my own tastes are a little less chiselled – but I loved that others enjoyed them. I noticed, and enjoyed, that I was in a space where women and young adults felt comfortable whooping out loud. The reclamation of an Indian cinema hall was my experience, not the reclamation of a doll that has been many things to many people, some of them problematic. As far as symbols go, that day, at that screening, she was something encouraging indeed.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in August 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

I did not want to write about Manipur because my heart lodges in my throat whenever I write against authorities, even though I do it – because I cannot not do it, because pretending not to feel the heat and smell the smoke while inside a burning building of a nation is foolish. I did not want to write about Manipur because I don’t know enough – because information is expurgated, because I was not plugged in already and cannot adequately research, and because our human lack of omni-awareness is something we should more freely admit, especially the more opinionated among us.

            But my not wanting to write about Manipur is a kind of complicity. It really is my looking away, entrusting that people with more knowledge, more resources, more skills will do the needful. Many are now, after a certain video emerged.

I haven’t watched, but I know that Kuki women were forced to parade naked after being sexually assaulted. The video in question that has circulated widely was taken on May 4^th, and took over two months to reach the mainland. The Internet is in shutdown in Manipur, as it frequently is in Kashmir, to quell dissent, rumours and the spread of both information and misinformation. The video is a rare record that has not been suppressed either through direct or indirect censorship. Which means more has definitely happened.

            The reality is that India is a country in which terrible things happen on a daily basis – not because our population is large, but because our faultlines are deep. These terrible things would shock us, if we knew. Or would they? To be direct: it is not about whether we know about them, but about whether something about an incident disquiets us, most likely because it strikes close to home, or because the media pays it a disproportionate amount of attention because it serves certain moral or political agendas.

I don’t compare chilling crimes and tragedies here, only differences in responses to them. In 2012, there was mass mourning over the case that was nicknamed “Nirbhaya”. More recently, gruesome incidents involving women in inter-religious live-in relationships whose remains were found in refrigerators dominated the headlines. But always, I think of D. M., the victim of a 2016 institutional rape-murder in Bikaner and how her remains were handled (her body was put in a garbage truck by the college). I wish I didn’t have to almost name her, that she too had a valorous moniker, but what happened to her was roundly ignored. There was no real public acknowledgment, let alone horror, because the atrocity was casteist in nature – and so is Indian society, including many in its more liberal sections. I wrote about all these events; in the last instance, I felt like I was shouting into the void.

Many in Manipur have been shouting into the void for a long time. We haven’t been allowed to, or wanted to, hear them. We cannot isolate gender violence there from other kinds of violence, including those of the state. We must all speak up, but unless the discourse is led from there, it will inevitably be reductionist.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in July 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

I don’t remember what I said before my friend said to me, “This is a brave space.”

            He said it intentionally, in lieu of “safe space”, a term that has entered common parlance and is used as much by those with good intentions and those without them.

            We paused in our conversation, this old friend and I, because I was struck by this new term. Then I accepted its invitation and began to speak of the hard-to-speak things that required equal proportions of bravery and honesty on my part.

            The next day, I found myself unexpectedly in a position of holding a brave space for someone else, a new friend. They shared from their own life openly, risking this new connection and possible hurt to themselves. This required bravery from me too, for the revelations in that space made me have to confront some of my own deepest fears and judgments.

            My old friend had told me that the words “brave space” were from a poem by Beth Strano, but I learnt that they were not. They were added by Mickey ScottBey Jones, who plagiarized Strano’s work after discovering a verse painted on a door. Jones’ augmentation is arguably even more powerful than the original. It’s complicated: a cowardly act that emboldens. As a standalone concept, entirely removed from the poem and its forgery, “brave space” is precious both as an idea and as an experience.

            Strano’s original poem was untitled. It opens on the lines “There is no such thing as a ‘safe space’ – / We exist in the real world.”. The line is eerily suggestive of a theme that has run through many conversations – brave, bewildering, both – that I have engaged in over the last several months. The question that arises is: what is the real world? Neuro-atypical wirings, secrets, silences, metaphysical experiences, illnesses and wellnesses, abuses and the work of renarrativizing our own lives so that we may continue to live with what we have known and now know all make the premise of a “real world” totter. Then there are the vastly different material and structural realities that make one life different from another through privilege, means, talent and luck of the draw. How many worlds there can be.

More than once recently have I told a new person in my life, as gently as I could and with as much candour as such gentleness to the other and to myself would allow, that I was cautiously open to getting to know them but that certain ways in which they were reminiscent of others who had wounded me made me wary. “I am sorry that I hurt you,” one of them sobbed. “You didn’t hurt me,” I insisted. “Other people did, and that frightens me, but that has nothing to do with you.” In the here and now – in the raw truth that the older one gets, the older one’s scar tissues and unhealed injuries also become – life calls upon both self and self in relation to other to make bravery an act of repetition, believing that the greatest blessings may emerge from leaving the recognizable, the familiar, the so-called safe.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in July 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia recently announced that it will invest financially into the sport of tennis on an international scale, a move that Australian tennis player Nick Kyrgios publicly welcomed. There was pushback to both the announcement and to Kyrgios’ support for it from fans as well as other athletes, notably Russian tennis player Daria Kasatkina, who is quoted as saying “Many issues concerning this country. It’s easier for men because they feel pretty good there. We don’t feel the same way”. When The Tennis Letter reported on Kasatkina’s discontentment, Kyrgios replied to the publication via social media, referring to the Kingdom and to his partner Costeen Hatzi: “My girlfriend felt fine there [shrug emoji]”.

            Kyrgios claiming that one person’s supposedly positive experience, as represented by him, negates those of the many who feel otherwise is sheer arrogance. In this case, sexist arrogance. Men speaking on behalf of women, using women as props to prove their own beliefs, is typical sexism.

            And – white women’s criticisms of patriarchy in cultures and countries wherein they retain a higher status have rightfully been called out by women of colour, who experience both the true extent of the bigotry as well as understand more deeply nuanced underpinnings. That Kasatkina is white and commenting on Saudi Arabia may be deemed as racist by some. But the Kingdom’s track record on gender inequality is widely-known and legally consolidated. Kasatkina presumably speaks from both experience and observation. The athlete’s discomfort goes beyond herself, and serves as allyship – as a citizen of one authoritarian place with citizens of another.

Lest you think it isn’t my place to say this, either, I’m speaking as a feminist who is perfectly aware that in 2022 India ranked at 135 out of 146, eight places lower than Saudi Arabia at 127, in the World Economic Forum’s Gender Gap Index. This year, India stands at 127 and Saudi Arabia at 131. When languishing that far down the list, misogyny points are pretty much interchangeable, as shown even by this statistical switch from one year to the next. There are places in the world in which, by definition, one cannot be a feminist and patriot.

            The question of who gets to judge should take into account more importantly, and very pertinently to the subject, that Kyrgios has a history of assaulting women. In 2021, his ex-girlfriend Chiara Passari took him to court (he pled guilty, but was not given a criminal record). Kyrgios really doesn’t get to decide or declare how women feel – not those who have been close to him, and certainly not at large.

            This goes beyond him, though. While the legendary tennis player Martina Navratilova has said she is “heartbroken” that the sport may accept Saudi funding, the equally celebrated Billie Jean King has announced in her capacity as its founder that the Women’s Tennis Association will collaborate with the Kingdom. Things get murky wherever money is concerned. Does a Robin Hood repurposing of capital transform the nature of that exchange? Will international feminist use of that money in some way uplift the women of the country it originated from? These are immensely complex provocations.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in July 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

Speaking to the press after a seminar on women’s empowerment in Chennai late last month, the Chairperson of the Tamil Nadu State Commission for Women, Ms. A. S. Kumari, shared the message that women and girls should avoid using photographs of themselves as their display pictures on social media. She is reported to have said: “I tell this to students often: do not keep your image as your DP as cybercriminals are morphing it. Falling in love is an individual prerogative, but they need to choose the right person.”

            The two remarks seem disparate, but it is understandable how they are connected: the lack of general maturity or permissibility in Indian society about romantic love is linked to the threat of personal ruin in the eyes of that society. I am inclined to believe that Ms. Kumari’s intentions weren’t harmful – but also that there is a large gap here between the need for expedient interventions and long-term, meaningful societal changes.

            As far as stopgaps go, Ms. Kumari is not wrong to suggest being careful with one’s photographs as a protection mechanism. But these remarks need to be properly contextualised. What are the real implications for a woman or girl whose photographs are stolen? Those will mostly happen within her own family, school or college, workplace or other known circles. For some, the circles may be larger – can a performing artist, an influencer or anyone in public-facing work be secretive about their images beyond a point? Of course not. Still, even for the average person, the effects will be ostracization, loss of matrimonial or job prospects, gossip and so on – as well as the threat of domestic abuse. To tell someone who may be more vulnerable to these effects than others to post images of plants, pets or motivational messages instead may be fine as an immediate measure, but it does absolutely nothing to change the larger biases and prejudices that would require her to do so at all.

            Tamil Nadu is often lauded for being safer for women than states in the north of the country. What is meant is usually that “the streets” are perceived as safer, that there is less reported risk of physical violence or harassment from strangers. But households are not safer. Practices and worldviews are not progressive. If they were, the stigma of cybercrime would be squarely on cybercriminals, the stigma of violence on perpetrators, the stigma of discrimination on the bigoted. Why are all such instances under-reported? It is because the systems of redressal carry the same harsh judgments of society at large. Which is to say: if someone tries to lodge a cybercrime report and is told “Why did you put your own photograph up, even after what Ms. A.S. Kumari said?” then that practical stopgap too becomes a tool of oppression.

There is a vast difference between safety and protection. A safe woman experiences independence; a protected woman only experiences defence within certain parameters. All our conversations about gender in Tamil Nadu and beyond would do well to remain cognizant of this difference, and what it is we really seek to achieve when we speak of empowerment.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in July 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.

In July, an Indian Oil Corporation petrol bunk that will be operated entirely by women convicts from Chennai’s Puzhal Central Prison will be opened. It will be the first such venture in India, although petrol bunks operated by male convicts have been in existence for some time, including in Tamil Nadu.

            This is interesting, and not in the usual, sometimes tokenistic, way of all-women initiatives. It’s a notable exercise in both inmate rehabilitation and public perception.

            This development coincides with other ventures from the Tamil Nadu Prison Department. Among them is a programme that uses art as a healing and reintegration tool. Then, there’s the expansion of the Prison Bazaar programme. Shops already exist where items manufactured by inmates are available for purchase both by the police and the public. There will soon be an e-commerce platform as well. The brand, honestly a little uncomfortably, is named “Freedom”. It’s just semantically strange. Certainly, freedom would be the natural aspiration of almost anyone in prison. But it’s also out of reach, and may not come into fruition at all for some. This isn’t to take away from all the kinds of value addition that it provides to the inmates themselves. Still, I would like to think the inmates came up with it themselves, debated it and voted on it democratically.

            What we would like to think about inmates and all other people whose lives frighten us, whose experiences we can’t relate to, whose realities we don’t like to ponder – that’s really what initiatives like the petrol bunks start to address. They give inmates social reintegration possibilities even while serving out sentences, and give the public at large the chance to practice humanizing one set of Othered people.

In an unusual story I came across while researching these ventures, a former prison guard at the women’s jail in Byculla, Mumbai, who has been incarcerated and awaiting trial for six years following the custodial death of an inmate, approached a court for permission to undergo IVF treatments. She cited familial pressure to bear a child, even in her situation. The court has rejected her plea.

There are so many layers to this story – but it is not just a story, it is someone’s life. She is allegedly a murderer. It isn’t that she necessarily deserves sympathy. It’s just that thinking about the dizzying convolutions of human lives allows us to be more nuanced in our perspectives. Especially when, whether formally handing down a court order or casually shooting off an opinion online, we make pronouncements and judgments on the lives of others all the time.

Knowledge of the prison system, its purposes and the need to reform it isn’t high in India, but having such knowledge is a civic duty. Perhaps we can begin at either end: from the statement that reform is necessary and learning why, or from the position that prisoners are people too, and considering what the core needs and rights of all people are. This crucially must include thinking about incarceration, enforced disappearance and other oppressive tools that are used against political dissenters – both lionized and lesser-known people who suffer without having caused harm.

An edited version appeared in The New Indian Express in June 2023. “The Venus Flytrap” appears in Chennai’s City Express supplement.