I must admit this piece got inspired (wrong choice of word, I know) by How Not To Get Raped And Other Dumb Ideas by Diya Banerjee which washed up on The Huffington Post the other day. To people who still have no clue as to what I’m talking about, it’s about the numerous instances of heinous rapes that have started dotting a once-civilized country called India.
Well-meaning activists and pressure groups have been dishing out the standard fare when it comes to solutions: increased security for women, more stringent laws, speedy and time-bound delivery of justice, setting up of fast-track courts, “women only” service providers, sensitizing men and boys, raising noise levels by organized picketing, lobbying for banning of radio taxis, protesting the ban after the government bans them, yadda yadda yadda.
Bollocks, I say. These are duds at best. Been there, tried that, didn’t work. Can’t blame the poor sods who suggested these measures, either. There are only so many “sane”, “implementable” solutions to go around.
Now, perverts are everywhere. Like houseflies. You can’t just wish them away. You have something that he doesn’t, but wants. Clearly, a case of sour rapes! So, you can’t wish away the rapes either.
You need solutions that have more bite. Erm, at least more teeth.
Like the following.
Lobby the authorities for a Central Government tax on rapes. If there’s one thing Indians hate more than traffic lights, cleanliness and neighbors, it’s paying taxes. Threaten sexual offenders with rape tax and see the sex crime graph go limp faster than an offender’s johnny.
Develop virginity locks operating on Microsoft operating systems. All you got to do is arm your delectable panties with virginity locks that run on MS gookware and forget the password. Good luck to you (and your pervert rapist) trying to recover from that. Better still, if your operating system crashes (and God knows it will), you can kiss your hopes of unlocking your panties goodbye.
Install a guillotine-type cigar cutter in your you-know-what. I don’t need to tell you how this works, right?
Say you have Ebola. And jump on the hapless pervert, with the express and verbalized intention of raping him. You will be, unwittingly, the cause for the new (and suddenly unassailable) record in the 100 meters dash. Warning: Think of something funny to say when a certain Mr. Bolt comes after you for ruining his sprint monopoly.
Use reverse psychology. Perverts are like kids (yeah, yeah, wrong example, I know) in this respect – a dash of reverse psychology always works. Spread open your haunches and sit with your junk nicely laid out. In the open. In the shadiest of alleys. And roll your eyes in opposite directions. Beat me silly if your would-be rapist doesn’t stop and think, “I know that look from Sonagachi. The hoe’s down with something. I’m outta here!” Pointless to add, this one’s an offshoot of the preceding trick.
Play dead. No, I’m serious. Men are like animals. Correction – men are animals. Once they sniff around and find you no good, they’ll vamoose. No squirming? No fun. Simple logic (from their limited perspective), na? If bad comes to ugly, they may, at most, take a leak on you (marking territory, if you will) before they saunter off in search of their next doe-eyed prey.
If you have zanier solutions to this clear and present menace in Indian society, you know where to hoot and picket. Meanwhile, zip up, girl!
NOTE: This post is part of the Here and Now series (a satirical take on everyday happenings) on this blog. Read the previous post in this series: Hiss Of Love (The Indian Chamcha’s Take). Read the next post in this series: Of Open Doors And Cracks.