Bagels and Lakhs

It was a very weird realization for me – I’ve been researching and working on a film about domestic violence in India for months now, and yet (understandably) I had never seen a man hit a woman in my entire life.

Until I did.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking to women in Dharavi about the disturbingly casual attitude that many have in relation to violence here. Whereas in the US it seems to happen in the shadows (which still isn’t good enough), for many women here it’s an open occurrence, something that is commonplace. A lot of men, especially in poor uneducated communities, don’t see anything wrong with hitting a woman.

I’d heard this over and over again from woman after woman. I’d watched the efforts of the women working for the NGO we’re filming as every day they painstakingly explain to women that they have rights and that they do not have to suffer in silence. But it wasn’t real to me.

The other day, Daniel and I were driving into town. As he sat typing on his blackberry I absentmindedly stared out the window. We were going slowly in traffic and suddenly the world itself seem to slow. I saw a man and an older woman having an argument. Both had the clothes and air of two people who spend their lives surviving on the street. And as they argued, the man suddenly grabbed a piece of the woman’s purple and blue flowing sari. She tried to grab it back. And then, he punched her.

I was jolted back, in shock. There was no nicety, no attempt to minimize the blow. It was a full on punch, and it kept coming. In broad daylight, as dozens of cars drove by the man kept hitting as hard as could. The woman screamed as the man hit her. And then, so did I.

“Stop! We have to stop, that man is hitting that woman.” Daniel turned around to see. But our driver kept going.

“No ma’am, we can’t stop, they are not good people. You do not want to get involved with these people.”
“Stop the car,” I said, looking at Daniel, who repeated what I had said. We pulled over to the side of the road, stopping traffic. Daniel jumped out as quick as I’d ever seen him move, and at first I lost him through the cars that were still whizzing by.

But then I saw him- he had crossed the street and reached the woman. He yelled at the man and he had stopped, sulking away. I stared, not knowing what else I could do. It was over, for now. I just watched through the traffic until Daniel crossed back over.

“What was he saying to you?” I asked.
“That the woman was drunk,” he replied tentatively. “And she was. I don’t really know what they were fighting about, but I think he’ll leave her alone now.”

I looked back as we got into the car. I couldn’t see either of them anymore.

I suppose this post is ‘politically incorrect’ – it’s taking one instance and highlighting it, as though I might be implying this is an everyday occurrence. This is usually the part of my blog post where I’d backtrack and say, “Oh, but it isn’t everyone,” or “this is just one slice of India, not indicative of everything.” But I’m not going to in this instance. Because I’ve never been so appalled by the number of people who just kept going, who drove or rode a bike by as this woman faced abuse from a tormentor. I would like to believe that something like this could never happen on a busy street in any place I’ve ever lived.

I know that that sentiment is wrong – I know that people have been killed in broad daylight, and that’s why we discuss the bystander effect. But there’s something different happening here – a small, weak man with no knife or gun starts beating up a small, weak woman: why does no one else stop it? Why doesn’t anyone even yell at him from a window or call the police? Why is the sentiment that perhaps they are the type of people not worth helping?

I often get a bit uncomfortable around the ideas of caste and misogyny that exist here; I mostly like to think about the improvements that India has seen in the last decades and the improvement that it is working towards. But in this instance, I think India has a long way to go. The stories I’ve heard are not isolated and watching it with my own eyes was something I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

I’m just grateful that I’m able to help in my own very very small way by making the film. And I guess now Daniel has too – because in this particular instance, I couldn’t feel luckier to have a partner who sees the world the way I do.