31~Being a Woman. The Other Face of India

"–Are you really surprised?" Sarah, my French friend, said to me.

The idea that someone would have to carry a broom to erase their footprints had struck me as abominable in every sense, and I was still trying to recover from the impact of that representation. Raamez was her friend.

"–Of course, you were just too mesmerized by India..."

It was true. Its mysticism had captivated me from the beginning, and given the emotional state I was in when I arrived in India, I could only reach for the light.

"–Honestly, what has surprised me is that, despite all the poverty and marginalization, I haven’t seen the kind of crime, insecurity, and violence that, unfortunately, we have become accustomed to in our countries. That constant feeling of 'living in fear' that settles into your mind like a ghost you start to befriend because you have no other choice."

I had mentally prepared myself for everything before coming to India, like someone approaching unknown, hostile, and remote terrain. I carried the same mental fears that we all have – often exaggerated and detached from reality – and it surprised me to be able to walk and feel "at ease," even more so than in my own country.

"–There is violence here too – a lot of it – it's just that we are foreigners, and we move around in a bit of a bubble. You don't see what you don't want to see, or what your privileges shield you from." I thought to myself how right she was. "–Here, you don’t watch TV or read the newspapers like you do in your country, so you don’t really know what’s going on. But I assure you, it’s not as safe as you think..."

Sarah was right. I wasn’t watching TV or reading newspapers, of course – everything is in Hindi, and I hadn’t even been in places with a television. I simply had an extremely dramatic, Western view like many of us, and reality didn’t feel as "threatening" as my mind had imagined. On the contrary, people were extremely kind and always willing to help, sometimes even excessively so.

"The country where they traffic organs," my mother used to terrify me over the phone when I first mentioned India to her, speaking from the deep panic that consumed her (I must say that a year later, I had the good fortune to bring her with me, and her perspective changed). Of course, I was careful as I would be anywhere, but that constant feeling of having to protect my belongings at every step and the habit of trusting no one had slowly started to loosen up. If I took all the necessary cultural precautions – which were, of course, many and often related to the fact of being a woman and how to be one specifically in India – I could walk around without feeling constantly afraid.

"–Don’t you feel that?" I asked Sarah, realizing that maybe this was just my perception."–Maybe... but there are other fears. As a woman, sexual violence here is terrifying. Being a victim of rape is what scares me."

At that moment, the conversation turned more serious, and we found common ground. It’s impossible not to feel exposed to the stares, the crowds, and the overwhelming male dominance here. Machismo is the rule. Masculine energy is strong and predominant, and how this resolves depends on each individual and each situation.

Clothing, smiles, and the eccentricities we are used to can – and most likely will – be misinterpreted. Not everywhere and not in every circle. Tourism in India and the progress in the cities have changed many things, but in smaller local villages, very different situations can still arise, and one must still be cautious.

I am Miss Strawberry Shortcake: social, quick to smile, and extremely friendly. India had been teaching me a few lessons lately. Then you see the modern women of Bombay or Delhi with their strong character, sharp features, and cutting responses, and you start to understand a bit more about how things work here, and why women never really let their guard down – as if, really, anywhere in the world we ever could.

I traveled alone, so I often dressed in a more Indian style: shirts with sleeves, long pants, loose clothing, and even adopting the headscarf like the women here, as if that could protect you a bit from the stares. In reality, it did, somewhat. First, it reduces your physical space to be observed, and then it narrows your field of vision, as if you can focus more on what’s in front of you and less on the gazes coming at you from the sides. It also makes you feel a little less like a tourist and less of an easy target, so it quickly became both a comfort and a tool. Even so, existing as a woman in India is a singular experience to live through and to cross..

Even when taking all the necessary precautions, I have still experienced some physical invasions. Also intentions, energies, implicit – and explicit – violence, and that alarm bell in the mind that, at times, easily brushes up against fear. That's when you can feel it again. Paradoxically – or perhaps not – yoga spaces, where there is a power asymmetry between students and teachers, are often fertile ground for these deeply ingrained social dynamics to emerge, naturally targeting the weakest: us.

I am Latin American and a woman, and unfortunately, for a long time, we have been somewhat used to this. To the stares, the so-called "compliments," street harassment, and various forms of violence. However, thanks to the powerful feminist movement of recent years – which makes us immensely proud – what we are no longer used to is having to stay silent. And here, in many situations, there is no other option but to lower your head and remain silent. Because the energy is too overwhelming, because you don't know what to do or how to defend yourself, because no one protects you, because you are alone, or out of fear – just like everywhere else in the world. For personal reasons, real ones, or those tied to your own history.

Fear... that makes us shrink our physical presence in an instant, become insignificant, and let things slide. The same fear that paralyzes and condemns us, the same fear we want to overcome but often can't find the strength to confront.

–And do not forget the fact that you're white," added Raamez. "That gives you a certain 'immunity.' White skin here is considered pure by many people. Being white is a huge privilege, both among Indians and foreigners alike."

Unfortunately, despite the "modern" times, skin color still defines social status, as it does in much of the world, like in Argentina, where it remains a hard-to-shake label of status.

"–So what is it like for Indian women, then?" I asked. "–Being an Indian woman isn't easy either. It’s a bit tricky," he replied. Being a woman in any society is always a bit tricky, I thought.

As everyone knows, the position of men and women in India is not equal, and this is evident at a glance, in the number of men you see on the streets versus the number of women you don't see. It’s not common to see traditional village women leisurely enjoying themselves in public as men do. They are usually working hard, both in their homes and with domestic chores that often extend to heavy labor – and yes, even in construction and agriculture. Carrying massive bundles of grass on their heads, baskets of crops on their shoulders, herding livestock, and even shoveling sand and transporting building materials. Why? There is no reason, or perhaps there is: economic necessity, customs, exploitation, lack of labor regulation, social inequality, and, essentially, cultural norms.

"–Women work the hardest here," Ilo once told me, and she was right.

The place of women is often subordinate to that of men, and while many changes have taken place, mainly in big cities, these deeply ingrained structures still persist in more traditional Hindu families and small villages. Men on the streets, women inside their homes. They walk around in their beautiful saris – those colorful, somewhat complicated-to-wear fabrics that for many are culturally mandatory. Depending on which state of India you are in, you will see them more or less covered, almost always with a dupatta – the shawl they use to cover their heads – and in some parts of India, their entire faces as well. Not all Indian women wear this every day, which also marks a social and cultural position for them within society.

Arranged marriages are still common in many places. Being single is still a sin and a stigma, and this is the crucial question everyone asks when you arrive in India, no matter your age or how long you've known them – even if it’s just been half a second.

–Are you married? No? Why?"

Having relationships before marriage is not at all well-regarded, and divorce is a tremendous disgrace that dishonors the entire family – a situation that, in practice, rarely happens. The matter of marriage has become a duty to be resolved, something many want to just get over with so they can move on with their lives and have a smoother path, with fewer questions. Social mandate fulfilled, structure, order, and sex, without too many questions about the nature of love – at least not in the way we see it.

Just to give you an idea, doctors are still prohibited from revealing the sex of the baby before it is born because of the cultural preference for boys, due to the "dowry" system and other cultural factors. This is such a serious issue that it is regulated by law. Imagine why.

Fortunately, India is vast, and everything changes dramatically depending on whether you are in a small village, a progressive city, a traditional Hindu family, or in the hybrid circles of foreigners, where cultures begin to mix and loosen up significantly. The caste you belong to will also greatly influence your lifestyle and social status, but you can still feel the lingering weight of a very dogmatic and deterministic family structure. There are many incredibly cool Indians, and there are countless corners still stuck in the shadows of a terrible past.

As a tourist, the story is different, but it still asks us questions and confronts us with other realities that can be hard to grasp.

The third time I arrived in India, the country was buzzing with news about the brutal rape of a Spanish tourist who had been traveling by motorbike with her boyfriend. She was attacked by seven Indian men in Jharkhand, a town near the state of Bihar. Of course, I had heard about similar incidents before, but perhaps at that time, I just couldn’t fully see it.

After a year in India, I could perceive many things I couldn’t before. The first time I arrived, I was completely captivated by the spirituality, philosophy, and mysticism of India – like everyone. I needed purity and healing with all my soul – like most do – so I just reached for the light, like a moth to a flame.

Now I can see more broadly, with a bit more distance and sharper insight. Now I can look at what I had already seen, but hadn’t fully accepted. What is real, what is a story, what is spiritual consumerism, and what are the masks for tourists – the bait that catches our attention everywhere. What is light, what is darkness, what is transcendence, what is just talk, and how to approach each of these. It doesn’t always work perfectly, but at least my gaze is getting a bit sharper.

There is a beautiful India, one that is light, deep, and peaceful – the one that draws us like bees to honey.But there is another India that is harsh, inequitable, rigid, cruel, macho, and violent. Often bitter and, quite frequently, the boundaries between the two are not clearly defined. They coexist, in the same place and sometimes even within the same people.

The first one blinds us to the second. Like lighting a candle in a dark room – almost everything lights up. Almost everything. But over time, you start to look into the corners and under the bed as well.

The light-peace is too strong, and it appears like the promised land to our souls, thirsty for meaning, making us overlook the Other India. The harsher one.

May the energy of so many enlightened beings in these lands help us understand the Other India. May we have the courage and strength to shine a light on that India too, and not just glance at it from the side.

It’s not easy. It’s a very different culture, but how far can we accept cultural particularities without standing up to them? How can we judge them with eyes that understand nothing of this, and with what authority?Where are the limits?

Perhaps at the point where they trample on human rights, we might think?

Meryl Streep once spoke about the situation of women in Afghanistan, saying that a kitten or a bird has more freedom to go outside or run through a park than girls and women under the Taliban regime. How can we not think of India too, and of so many places in Asia and Africa in general, when we see cultural oppressions that are light-years away from what we can even begin to understand?

Cultural diversity or the abolition of rights?

What is certain is that India cannot leave you indifferent. It cannot help but touch you deeply and make you stop for a moment to reflect. Sometimes we find better answers, sometimes they are not so simple.

 Every morning in Pune, 1848, India, Savitribai Phule packed an extra sari before walking to work. It wasn’t because she had a long commute or feared the weather; she needed it because crowds would pelt her with cow dung, mud, and stones as she walked to teach at India’s first school for girls.

This remarkable woman, born into the "untouchable" Dalit caste, had been educated by her visionary husband, Jyotirao Phule. Together with Fatima Sheikh, a Muslim woman who offered her shelter when others would not, they founded a revolutionary institution in Bhidewada, Pune.

Their school initially welcomed just nine students – girls from Dalit, Muslim, and other marginalized communities who had never before been deemed worthy of education. Despite the violent opposition from those who saw them as "destroyers of religion," these pioneering women persisted.

The results were extraordinary. By 1852, just four years after opening their first school, the Phules had expanded to 18 schools for girls across Pune. Later, they added night schools for workers, creating educational opportunities for those most neglected by society.

Their work challenged not just gender norms but also the deeply entrenched caste prejudices of colonial India.

The courage of Savitribai, Jyotirao, and Fatima opened doors that had been closed for generations, creating educational pathways that transcended barriers of caste, religion, and gender. Though often overlooked in mainstream history, their legacy lives on in every girl who receives an education in India today.

Sources and photo: Historical records of colonial India, preserved letters from Savitribai, writings of Jyotirao Phule, Maharashtra historical archives.