The Men's Rights Activist

I met my first celebrity.It was a very.... intriguing experience.This happened a few days ago while I was travelling from Delhi to Nagpur, on my way home. I was running a bit late, as usual; still I made it to the New Delhi station a good 15 minutes before the departure time. 5 minutes were spent on good byes and shedding fake tears with the guys. If given a chance, us men can be as insufferable as girls when seeing someone off, especially if the one departing is ‘one of the guy’. We can go as low as hiding the luggage and seeing our friend squirm till the last minute and then running around like headless chicken when we realise he might indeed miss his train! In fact our farewell session was cut short when one of my friends noticed the obscenely long lines at the platform entrances. Then it was the headless chicken routine. Two of us grabbed the luggage and ran towards the queue while the remaining two searched for any alternate options to get me inside the station. Panic set in when we realised there was no other way, i had to go through that queue. One of my friends isolated a security personnel and made a ‘chai-pani’ offer and was glared at. Our only consolation was that the queue was moving fast. So we set in, alternately praying and cursing the anti- corruption movement as well as the close circuit cameras monitoring the check-in centres and keeping our police-chachu on a short leash. Finally with just one minute to spare i made it through the security check-in. Then it was a mad dash to platform number 15 and finally my train.I made it but i could have sworn that the train left 2 minutes late that day. Out of breath, i searched for my seat as the train started moving. I finally found my seat and collapsed in it with a huge sense of accomplishment.“You seem to be in a hurry.” The man sitting in front of me said. I looked up at him. We had the side berths and I had the lower one reserved so I assumed that he was the guy on the upper one. He looked to be in his forties if the slight greying of his hair and the hints of wrinkling around his eyes were an indication. He was dressed completely in black with a black jacket to protect him from the Delhi winter. He was clean shaved and had neatly combed hair but still I was getting an aura of shabbiness from him that I couldn’t pin-point at that moment. And he spoke in English.“Yeah.” I replied after a moment, in Hindi. “I nearly missed the train.” I smiled sheepishly. “I had to make a run for it.”“Oh.” He smiled sympathetically at me. “You are here now. Get relaxed! Get relaxed!” still English.For some time now I have been doing a little English test whenever i meet someone talking in it. I reply in Hindi. I have seen that most of the people then switch to Hindi either as common courtesy or as pity to the poor guy unable to understand English. They are the normal people. The remaining few who continue to speak in English are the interesting ones. Some of them have English as their mother tongue; these are the rarest, at least amongst the ones i have come across. Some of the people have a third language as mother tongue and speak almost no Hindi in their community. They, however, have a working knowledge of English. These are the most common; predominantly from south or north-east India. Many of them are so polite that they even attempt to converse in their broken Hindi. The third type is the learning type. They are on a mission to learn the language and try to speak in English whenever they can. The next type is the shrewd ones; they instantly know what i am trying to do and one-up me by continuing to talk in English. They are also rare; thank God! The last type is that of the show-off people. As the great Mr. Amitabh Bachan has said, ‘English is a very funny language’. I agree. It’s funny the way it gives some people a great sense of confidence and superiority by just being able to converse in it. It doesn’t matter how broken or grammatically incorrect they may sound. What matters is that they are speaking the ‘universal language’ and the lowly peasant before them is still restricted to the local one. I know they shouldn’t but these people irritate me to no end. Knowingly or unknowingly they keep insulting the same language they profess to love- English. I was not certain which category to put this man sitting before me. He was by no means fluent in English; he was barely speaking so the mother tongue was out. He didn’t look to be from south or north-east neither did he have the accent typical to them. He might be one of the learners though; or the last one. I decided to give him the benefit of doubt.On the six remaining seats in our compartment there was another guy my age and a slightly elder man. The rest of the four seats were occupied by a family of mother, father and their two young kids. The father was assisting the younger boy against the elder in a game of checkers. The mother was looking on amused.“Actually,” the guy sitting before me said, addressing the father. “parental intervention is not require in this game.”“Ji?” the father asked, thinking he didn’t get what the gentleman was trying to say correctly.“I said,” the man continued in English. “that there is no need for father to get involved in the game of children. Let the boy think for himself.”I stared at him as did the rest of the compartment. He was starting to irritate me slightly. The father smiled at him politely and promptly ignored him. The family continued laughing and playing as if the man didn’t exist at all. Seeing that his so generously given advice was not getting the proper respect he turned towards me. I cursed inwardly and started searching my bag for an excuse to get busy.“And what do you do?” he asked me in his sympathetic tone, maybe already deciding that I was a student or a no good bum.“I am a doctor.” I replied politely. “I work in a hospital in Delhi.” I was satisfied when he looked at me surprised. I took advantage of his silence and quickly fished out the book i had bought for the journey- Jeffrey Archer’s collection of short stories. It was a combination of his three short stories books, around a thousand pages; quite a thick book. Sufficient for me to hide behind. Being a loyal Indian cricket fan, i went straight to the cricket related story- The Century. Seeing that i was fairly busy the man decided to leave me alone. I happily got started on the story. It was quite good, as expected. While I was reading I barely noticed him leaving for a short time, probably for bathroom. As I was turning for the next story he decided to interrupt. I sighed; people just didn’t seem to appreciate the value of a good read now-a-days.“So you are a Doctor, eh?” he said pulling something out of his bag. “Tell me what you think of this.” He offered a bunch of papers. I took them and started reading. It was a manual regarding the recent Sexual Harassment of Women Bill pending in Rajya Sabha. It criticised the bill’s language as well as many of the bill’s amendments. Its basic argument was that the bill should be gender neutral, making provisions for equal punishments of men as well as women for sexual harassment of both the sexes. According to the manual, the bill didn’t recognise that men could be sexually harassed. In our laws a man or more commonly a young boy can be raped, it cited, but not sexually harassed; only a woman can be. It’s like, the manual argued, a woman can do robberies but not petty theft!I was intrigued. I remembered reading something like this in the newspapers sometime back, so I had a general idea about the topic but the man had asked my opinion about the manual so I started reading a bit closely. It was obviously not a work of professional both from the literary as well as legal aspect. The no-nonsense, strict to the point language was missing as were the many citations and precedence that could have been made, from both the national and international circles. It went so far as to say, I noted amusedly, that the entire bill was a conspiracy of certain militant women’s rights groups! It was a struggle controlling my laughter when I read that, as I had an inkling that the man sitting before me had played a significant part in writing it. And what did I know about such things anyway, it might as well be true. Besides it was not right to criticise it on this single point as it indeed present a very valid point; gender neutrality was indeed the need of hour in our sexual offences laws.“Quite good.” I said after I finished reading it. “The language is a bit harsh and personal for a legal manual but it does present a very good point.”The man went deathly still. “What do you mean by,” he intoned, “harsh and personal?”“I mean for a layman,” I replied a bit uneasy at his sudden shift in behaviour, “ who is new to this topic, it might sound overly critical and accusing towards the women’s rights groups and by personal I meant that it has a slightly personal tone, as if the author is narrating from a personal experience.” I said honestly. I shouldn’t have bothered; the moment I said that I realised that I had struck a very raw nerve.I was so surprised by his reaction that my mouth fell open as i stared at him. The man went blue in face with anger. “What....” he started and stopped and started again, “What do you think about the society?”I knew i was in deep waters here but i had no clue why. Did the man seriously think that i would instantly fall on my knees after reading his manual and declare him as my messiah against this cruel world dominated and dictated by militant women?! Well, I may have if he had really succeeded in convincing me. The picture was a bit frightening, I admit but this was ridiculous. I also realised that my very act of criticising had offended him greatly. I was also starting to suspect where that persistent smell of Ilaichi was coming from.“What do you mean by that?” i asked him carefully.“Exactly what I asked. What do you think about the society?” he asked aggressively leaning forward.“What do you want to ask me? How do I think the society works? Is it fair? What can I do for the society? Or,” I too leaned forward and started deflecting with confidence. I am a doctor after all; we know deflection like the back of our hands. “What do I expect from the society?”“It’s foolish to expect anything from the society.” He said venomously. Uh-oh. I was now sure we had left the discussion mode way back and there was no use using it. I was not even sure whether he would think about whatever I say if it’s against his doctrine. I now deeply regretted making that personal tone comment. However true it might have been.“Are you going to marry?” he asked seeing that he was not going to get me with his previous line of questioning.“Yes.” I replied without thinking and instantly bit my tongue. I had forgotten the name of his organisation.“Do you know anything about the marriage laws?” he sneered.“No.” I replied honestly, deciding to give him the upper hand and end this quickly. The atmosphere in the compartment was becoming tense, even the kids were looking uneasy. The activist looked oblivious to all of this.“You don’t know anything about the marriage laws and yet you are desperate to get married?! “he asked me triumphantly. I raised my eyebrows. This was the first time i was being called desperate and that too by a man. I smiled thinking what would the guys think of this. He mistook my smile for something else. “When your wife will f*** your life up and leave your family on the road,” he said contemptuously, stressing the f-word, “then you’ll come running towards me.” All the activity stopped in the compartment. The couple instinctively shielded their kids, wary of the coming confrontation. The remaining two guys kept their mobiles aside and concentrated on us. I was aware of this happening but most of my concentration was on the guy in front of me. I was feeling as if i was in the hospital again and the person before me was just another angry relative, unable to cope with his patient’s deteriorating condition. In pain and prone to use anyone he comes across as an outlet to his frustration. Don’t shout at him, i told myself, keep him off-balance. Get him to explain and talk. Talking helps. Make sure that he stays civil and don’t cross a line he would latter regret. Get him to cool down. Finally, under any circumstances, don’t show him that you are either angry or scared of him. Keep a neutral face, and make him wonder about what you are feeling.“Oh?” I said with faint curiosity and looking him straight in the eye. Whatever he was expecting, curiosity was not it. “Is it really that bad?”“You bet!” he said, triumphant that at last he had succeeded in gaining my attention. “Even your nurse might f*** you up and you won’t be able to do anything about it, such are the laws.” Where did my nurse come in the discussion from?“Please, there are families here.” I requested him. “Try to avoid such language.”“Arey, I don’t care about them!” he waved his hand in contempt.“I request you again.” I said firmly now. “There are families here with kids.” Seeing that i was not going to acquiesce on this he finally agreed.“There are 74 laws against us men, you know?” He informed me.“No I don’t.” I said“Well then read the laws.” He told me haughtily. “It’s the men like you, the youth are sleeping. It’s because of you that we are in this predicament. Did you know they passed this sexual harassment bill in Lok Sabha without even a debate?”“They did?” I was honestly surprised. I know this topic is not on the scale of poverty or unemployment but it’s surprising that not even a single MP thought of asking why the bill isn’t gender neutral.“Yes.” He affirmed. “It’s now pending in the Rajya Sabha. But should it pass, any female co-worker of yours can get you suspended and in jail before you even realise what happened, by just lodging a single complaint against you.”That was a very grave scenario, unlikely but still grave.“So you were in Delhi to protest against this bill?” I asked.“Yes.” He affirmed. “This and the other one. I went from door to door, met 40 MPs and totally f***** them.” I quirked my eyebrows and stared at him till he lowered his voice. “If any of these bills get passed we’ll take to streets against them with full forces.” Having never heard of his organisation, i rather doubted how much their ‘full forces’ would amount but then again, you never know.“What other Bill?” I asked. He again rummaged in his bag and pulled out a bunch of papers. I took them and started reading.They were about the latest changes proposed in the Hindu Marriage Act. To tell in brief, the activist and his organisation were against the recent proposals of making a wife, in case of a divorce, owner of 50% of not only the husband’s properties but also his parent’s and other inherited properties. The husband however couldn’t claim a share in the wife’s properties. I had to admit, that did sound a bit unfair for a guy. It’s a good law if the wife looks after the household and the husband is earning and he does have obscenely rich parents while she is of a poor family. But what if the situation is totally opposite? Can she still demand a share of her poor husband?“Yes she can.” The activist said confidently. “in fact she can demand money for the education of the children, including college education, and not give the husband account of even a single rupee. How do we know she is spending it on the kids?”Now I was taking everything he was telling me with a pinch of salt but still i couldn’t help but get a little worried. I had simply never thought of such things before.“And you want to get married.....” he snorted.“I am not so sure now.” I smiled jokingly. I don’t know if he got that. “After talking with you I think I would rather not take the risk. We already have a huge population problem. I think I’ll just adopt a kid instead of get in the hassle of marrying. I am already looking into child-sponsorship.”“You can’t.” He shook his head. “You can’t adopt a kid without a wife.”“But Sushmita Sen did without marrying,” I asked confused, “I even heard the talk of a second child.”“She is a woman, she can.” He replied grinning. “You are a man, a single one at that. You can’t provide a child a healthy homely environment that it needs; according to the commonly held beliefs in the courts.” Now this would require an extensive research. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe what he was saying. In a country where orphanages have always been massively overloaded, there just couldn’t be such a law. But still..... Sushmita Sen can adopt a child and I can’t...... what the heck?!Dinner had arrived and we were trying to nibble whatever the train authorities had seen fit to give us. I looked at the papers he had given me earlier and saw various newspaper clippings. I came across a name that was present in all of them and asked the activist if he was that person.“Yes it’s me.” He said puffing out his chest. “You try to Google me and you’d find many articles about what I and my organisation have done for the men’s rights.” Whatever the activist might have been, modest he was not.“Do you know there is a World Men’s Day?” he asked me after we finished the dinner.“No.” I shook my head.“Do you know the Woman’s day?” he asked sneering.“I have heard of it.” I replied flippantly, now used to his anti-women mood swings.“The Mother’s Day?”“That too.” I replied and then said brightly, “I know of the Father’s Day though.”“We organize protest rallies on that day.” He informed me. I stared at him surprised.“Why?” I couldn't help ask him.“Many of us can’t meet our kids.....” he said softly and stopped. Were his eyes shining or were they.....?The activist shortly excused himself to finally go to sleep. I am not sure but i think i heard him mumble, “..... Won’t let me meet my kids.”That day i learned an important lesson; it’s not always the kind or the just men who fight for a cause. Sometimes a bitter man can do it too.