#MeToo and Everyone Else

#MeToo and Everyone Else

It would seem that suers and accusers are coming out of the woodwork in hordes and blaming politicians, actors, judges and sportsmen for deeds done decades ago. Well, these victim complainants were not really hiding all these years. Many of them did make noises, but they were so feeble that they went unheard or were easy to drown in the overall cacophony. It seems that either the victim has to become powerful or the molester must become big for the grievance to be heard all over again with some seriousness.

It would be unlikely that all women victims would become strong enough in course of time to be able to raise their once again with a bigger force. But, the violator, who was a middling arrival in society - an actor, a politician, a fashion designer, a dance-music guru or a professional - on his path to higher achievements is more likely to reach levels, where he can be scrutinised once again. It is these men, though there must be a sizeable number of women too, who, inebriated with new-found power on the opposite sex thought that it was normal to seduce and rape, touch, push and grope their charge. 

Questions like “why now” will be asked and sometimes corrrectly as well. After all, didn’t these women have the option of giving a hard slap to the advancing pest or just to walk away? Was a career in the chosen path the only one available, was there unemployment and starvation staring at them, was the charm of the glitzy life too good to resist? Was it the norm to succumb, was it the shortcut to success and whether it was, after all, a small price to pay since every other girl was doing so anyways? The answer to all these may be a yes. But, it is not the right answer. A wrong answer does not become the right one by a majority vote. Whereas there may be a million wrong answers, there is only one right one. Don’t we all know that from our school examination papers?

One may even argue that social mores change and they can change quickly, for the better, with modern interactive society that speaks, demonstrates and broadcasts at the speed of light. News, good and bad, travel faster than ever and people come together for a cause even without the mandatory candles and the city square squatting. Why hold a perfectly respectable achiever guilty for something he did decades ago, when it was normal to indulge in mild flirtation and maybe a couch act and weren’t there ever conceding women ready to do the bidding? The society suddenly wakes up, fired by social media, everyone’s own TV channel called the YouTube, everyone’s personal newspaper, the Facebook and everyone’s personal loudspeakers, the WhatsApp and Twitter. The society then calls to question these past masters of exploitation and demands that they at least apologise, if not face the law. But, kicking and screaming, these guys deny bluntly and fight back as if it was they who are being wronged. 

So, whereas this recent spurt in bringing out old cases may or may not lead to catharsis, it exposes the reality that the woodwork was held together only by the thin layer of glossy paint; everything within had been eaten up by termites long ago. Big names are falling like ninepins for what they did when they wielded power on the vulnerable.

मैंने Kea, आपने किया क्या? (Or, the Idea Called Ikea)

The Ikea Store in Hyderabad is an essential pilgrimage destination for a visitor. I was expecting massive milling crowds, parking hassles, serpentine queues and drooling shoppers from the opening day news that I had read. But, nothing like that was to be seen, though the arrogance of being Ikea was visible aplenty in the shop. The modern day “spire” with IKEA painted on it made you feel oh-so-welcome until you reach the portals.

Your car goes to the drop off point as signages lead you to. The glass doors are locked. You are curtly told to get off and walk a flight of stairs down to enter through what looks like the back door. The back-door entrance, however, is a labyrinthine walkway partitioned by posts and ribbons like the security-line of a busy airport. There is even a hall-full of shopping trolleys in numbers that can shame the Walmart, the JFK and all the Dubai Malls put together. You are made to walk half a mile of empty maze even though there is no queue in sight. The entrance was designed by the Ikea guys, or their marketing consultants, hoping that they would have a Kumbh Mela like throng everyday. Alas, after the first day, it seems, it was more like a blood donation queue. But, the exercise does burn up an ounce of blood and builds an excitement like that of a ten-year old waiting for a ride in the Disney Park.

The haughtiness of the opening days can’t be corrected since it is all cast in concrete and a confusing snake-ladder like arrangement of escalators, probably bought in a discount sale in China. There are staircases and staircases, escalators and elevators, inside and outside and numerous docks for delivery trucks designed to sell furniture meant to terraform a planet - all empty.

It was a weekday, I must confess. But, there is nothing in the store that I would call Swedish. All the stuff was made in China, nothing that is not available in a Home Centre or any other furniture or hardware shop in the city. Of course, if the Ikea, oops the idea was to build a walk-through catalogue of all that is Chinese, it is a good job done, indeed. There is also enough concrete to build an airport and steel to build a cosmodrome. But, it sells cheap plastic and tinpots and not too well at that.

The display of arrogance is complete if you see the philosophy behind it all. Ikea surely thought that all Indians desperately needed to replace their table lamps with European sockets and plugs. Their consultants must have also advised them that all Indians have empty garages that needed to be stuffed with DIY tools and hardware. Of course, their plastic jars would seem imported from Venus to all housewives, who haven’t seen an airtight container in their kitchens ever. Item tags have names written in some alien tongue. The whole marketing plan looks driven by the dated Sylvania Laxman tagline - पूरे घर के बदल डालूँगा। Sales at any scale lower than this would have Ikea licking its wounds in a few years. There is only so far that plastic, particle boards and gaudy timepieces can take you. Empty checkout counters stand testimony to that. 

The humongous shop is built like an airport hangar with bare concrete roofs, hanging steel struts and exposed air-conditioning ducts and open steel-shelved warehouse, all designed to look “functional” and to cleverly give an impression that the shop is a no-frills establishment so that you get low-priced and economical stuff. But, the price tags suggest otherwise.

The restaurant is a favourite corner, where the guard rudely points you to use the other entrance as if you would be stampeded if you used the nearest one, which is totally free of traffic. But, one can eat insipid meatballs, which they insist on advertising and selling, only a few times. You buy and then carry your food in your own personal trolley and feel like an interning waiter.

The staff all over was probably recruited by the UPSC. At least their attitude suggested that. The restaurant staff was particularly ill-behaved and dismissive suggesting that they were not a rank lower than Joint Secretaries.

So friends, go and splurge. Buy Chinese at British prices and feel blessed. I have shown the path. It is for you to venture forward.