{"id":1773,"date":"2016-03-06T15:39:01","date_gmt":"2016-03-06T10:09:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=1773"},"modified":"2016-03-06T15:39:01","modified_gmt":"2016-03-06T10:09:01","slug":"cat-person-new-yorker-sexual-harassment","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=1773","title":{"rendered":"Cat Person and the Complexity of Consent"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I<\/span><\/p><\/div>

t was a particularly warm August when a friend dragged me to a terrace party in Delhi\u2019s posh GK2 area. I was still rather new to the city, and it was my first such party where almost everyone was too friendly, not everyone knew everyone. Drinking, smoking, smoking up, listening to music nobody listened to in the town I came from, everyone seemed to be having a good time. With the exception of one person: me.\n\nMy friend suggested I make the most of my time there, drink up all the sangria I could, and just have a good time. I followed her advice, and one too many sangrias down, I finally settled for a group of people who, like me, did not know anyone else at the party. We were soon joined by this guy who, looked a little like Hagrid from Harry Potter<\/i><\/em>, but the events that followed that night, proved he was anything but.\n\nWhen we started talking, the conversation was largely pretentious, something I used to pretend to enjoy, just to get some attention. So we spoke about organic farming \u2013 I had no clue what I was talking about, but the sangria helped \u2013 about theatre, and then finally, we slipped into the comforting bosom of literature, talking about Pessoa, the epitome of cool for me then, and Sartre.\n\nIt was somewhere between Pessoa and Sartre that he started hitting on me. It started with something like \u201cYou are so cute,\u201d and graduated to \u201cAre you going to the loo alone? It\u2019s downstairs, are you sure you don\u2019t want me to come?\u201d I was sure. I was bursting with clarity that there was no way I wanted this guy in my loo. But he wouldn\u2019t go away. Then when, as a last resort, I told him I was with someone, he seemed to take that as a challenge. \u201cYou cannot be a serious reader, and the intelligent woman that you are, and still believe in monogamy.\u201d There it was, the woke dudebro<\/a>, trying to make a liberated woman of me.\n\nI was a slobbering mess at this point, and not really in full control of my senses, yet I was clear: I did not want him around me. But I was the one who had encouraged him to talk to me, feigned interest in him. I did enjoy the compliments and the attention. And I loved the fact that I had someone just talking to me, at a party where I did not know anyone.\n\n

Was the fat girl in me anxious for attention, even as she was scared of it?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\nSo, I wondered, was I responsible<\/a>\u00a0for this attention I was getting? Did I have the right to stop him from pursuing me? Did I secretly want to be pursued? Was the fat girl in me anxious for attention, even as she was scared of it? I was confused.\n\nWhile eating some chips, I dropped a few on my cleavage, and he brushed them off, lest they ruin my \u201cpretty dress.\u201d After which he told me he wanted to kiss me, and that I also wanted to kiss him, I just didn\u2019t know that yet. At that point I decided to look for my friend and we eventually left the party. This wasn\u2019t my first encounter with sexual harassment<\/a>, but this certainly was the first one where I found myself questioning the idea of consent<\/a>. Did I invite this guy? If I did, was I now obligated to keep him entertained? Because when he was flirting, I flirted back, did I owe him a kiss? If he looked disappointed, was that on me?\n\nI was reminded of this when I read the now viral short story, \u201cCat Person\u201d<\/a>\u00a0by Kristen Roupenian in The New Yorker a couple of days ago. The story explores the idea of consent, and the pressure women feel to give in to sex, even when they don\u2019t want it, just because they feel obligated; or they feel that after dragging the situation to the climactic moment, they have to take the act to its very end.\n\nThe story, which is now being considered a valuable addition to the #MeToo conversation<\/a>, has been read as an essay by many. I found myself in the story. The female protagonist is a 20-year-old woman, who isn\u2019t really likeable. She is self-indulgent and vain \u2013 attributes that I can relate to. What we get in the story are the inner workings of the woman, where she is constantly in conversation with herself, where she comes across as self-centered, delusional, anxious, and maybe a little bit paranoid, all at the same time.\n\nThe woman gets herself invited to the man\u2019s house, and here comes the pivotal point of the story. Now that she is in the house, sex is expected. Maybe at some point she wanted that. The man who is a bad kisser, is human, and she tells herself she has immense power over him. With her perfect body and flawless skin, she can hurt him, and make him feel better; she can make him feel like he must have her, or he will die. There is a certain thrill to this thought, but it doesn\u2019t last, because she doesn\u2019t want sex, and this isn\u2019t something she can communicate.\n\nSo what ensues is disgusting sex, where she isn\u2019t into it and the man can\u2019t sense that. Now, the man \u2013 as we get to know through the eyes of the woman \u2013 isn\u2019t a bad man. He is often found reassuring her that she doesn\u2019t have to be nervous and that they will take it slow.\n\nHow often does it happen that the seemingly gentle and harmless men end up violating us? The pressure to give consent makes consent null and void, but unless that is communicated, does it matter? Does consent<\/a>\u00a0require verbal communication? If we can\u2019t communicate our discomfort, can we really say Me Too? Is discomfort something that can be communicated through body language? Is every no a resounding no?\n\nIn a recent judgment, Mahmood Farooqui<\/a>\u00a0was acquitted of rape, when the court cited that while consent wasn\u2019t given, the survivor\u2019s \u201cno\u201d was feeble, and Farooqui could have misread that as yes. While the \u201cno\u201d wasn\u2019t feeble in this case, what if it was?<\/i><\/em>\u00a0In Imtiaz Ali\u2019s Jab Harry Met Sejal<\/i><\/em><\/a>, the protagonists are being followed by a bunch of goons, and Sejal wonders what she\u2019d do \u201cpractically\u201d if they got caught. There are situations when the no is feeble because it\u2019s more practical and safer for you to remain silent.\n\nAnd then there are the tricky situations where consent is given but then withdrawn, within moments. Are women told often enough that they are allowed to change their minds? Growing up in an environment that encourages male entitlement, haven\u2019t we all come to accept the idea that we owe this to the nice man<\/a>\u00a0who took us out for a lovely meal, took care of us when we were drunk, saved us from the wolves outside, who bought us a care package when we were sick or too busy to buy food?\n\nIn the Roupenian story, the female protagonist journeys from being a precious, delicate doll \u2013 something that needs to be taken care of \u2013 to being a sex doll who is moved around in different positions to suit the needs of the man she is with. In both scenarios, she is an inanimate object, a thing, and not a person. This alienating experience of being a doll is one that we often find alluring, because we have been told that the man who takes care of us is the man we want. However, dolls don\u2019t really have feelings, and cannot give consent, so they can just as easily become sex dolls, and no one can or will call that a violation.\n\nTo the guy who picked potato chips off my cleavage and told me in a patronising tone that I don\u2019t know what I want, because I too am a doll, how do I say no and make it stick? To the nice man who can read Sartre and quote Simone de Beauvoir most definitely better than me, who wants to rescue me from my patriarchal trappings, who cares about me being nervous, but not for the reason behind that nervousness, how do we explain consent?\n\nIf I say Me Too to him, he will sympathise with me. Then he will probably proceed to unhook my bra to help me calm down and validate my existence. Because nice men are nice like that.\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At a drunken party, a guy I was chatting with told me he wanted to kiss me, and that I also wanted to kiss him, I just didn\u2019t know it yet. This was the first time where I found myself questioning the idea of consent. Did I invite this guy? Because we were flirting, did I owe him a kiss?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":185,"featured_media":1774,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[170],"tags":[3496,943,2568,3497,2750,3498,803],"class_list":["post-1773","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-gender","tag-cat-person","tag-consent","tag-harvey-weinstein","tag-kristen-roupenian","tag-me-too","tag-new-yorker","tag-sexual-harassment"],"yoast_head":"\nCat Person and the Complexity of Consent<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"At a drunken party, a guy I was chatting with told me he wanted to kiss me, and that I also wanted to kiss him, I just didn\u2019t know it yet. This was the first time where I found myself questioning the idea of consent. Did I invite this guy? 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