Consent and sexuality – the moment I saw this was the theme of In Plainspeak, my mind shifted into reverse and stopped in a living room where the movie Pink was playing. It was only half-visible, as I, then a teenager, was watching it from behind the curtain, given that the ‘mausam’ (season) of board exams was soon approaching. Amitabh Bachchan’s monologue still gives me goose bumps: “ NO means NO”. Until this point in the film, I was clear about the fact that I had been brought up ‘right’ by my parents, especially by my mother, most of the time, who gave me restricted bits of wisdom on hush-hush topics like periods, sex, and how to interact with the opposite gender. My father was never in the picture when it came to these things. I know this was the case in most families where these topics were seen as falling under the mother’s domain. And that’s likely why, subconsciously, it engraves in our minds those watertight compartments about what we can discuss with our fathers and what with our mothers. Anyway, back to the movie – I peered from behind the curtain, initially believing the girls in the movie were in trouble simply because they were wearing short clothes and had somehow asked for Pandora’s box to open (in the scene where they were being harassed by a group of boys). However, the moment the lawyer (Amitabh Bachchan) defending the girls began his monologue, I realised there was so much to unlearn about what society teaches both girls and boys in various ways.
After the movie, my mind was obviously boggled, but I couldn’t talk about it with my mother, as I had watched the film sneakily. I vividly remember my geography book was open in front of me at the page about red soil, but Pink had overtaken my mind. Through the movie, I had been vicariously living out the what-if scenario of being in fight-or-flight mode, wondering how I would react if I were on the verge of being harassed when I started living alone.
The word ‘consent’ wasn’t used even one-fourth as much back then as it is now (though it still needs much more of a push). I was unaware of the word at that time, but if someone now were to ask me, like Karan Johar does, to describe the movie in a few words, I would say “breathing consent”. But to literally feel that consent is in the air, there needs to be a space where people of different age groups and genders meet. I attended an all-girls school. Our sessions on personality development included things like “Mind how you sit,” “Don’t smile at boys,” “Good girls go from school to home and vice versa,” and, among other things, “Be careful about the length of your skirt and the sleeves of your shirt, as these give boys hints for the wrong things.” Under the guise of personality development classes, these messages were being ingrained in us to mould us into custodians of patriarchy. It was only in my late teens that I learned that a kiss wouldn’t make you pregnant. In hindsight, I realise that the teenage years are already tumultuous, and trying to hide under the carpet the changes happening in one’s body during puberty, only makes things worse.
The people I’ve interacted with had been in relationships while they were still in school, so it’s clear that simply putting a finger to your lips doesn’t work. The irony, which irritates me is that parents, teachers, and relatives (the commentators at every family function) would tell us to focus solely on our studies and career, claiming that attractions and infatuations are for those who aren’t focussed on their education, the classic line being, “Padhai mein toh dimag lagta nahi hai isliye yeh sab me dhyan hai” (There’s no interest in studying and that’s why the mind focuses on all this). Yet, when they believed we were of the right age to marry, they urged us to “leave everything behind and get settled”. When marriage is considered such an important institution in our society, why not teach us about consent as well?
I’m not implying that consent should be taught only because one is getting married, but concepts like the physiology of our bodies, the emphasis on bodily autonomy regardless of our relationship with another person, the reiteration of consent, and the agency we hold over our bodies should be celebrated just like we celebrate marriages, anniversaries, and childbirth. I didn’t have the courage to discuss topics like sex or contraceptives with my mother, and I still wrestle with questions like: Why is sex treated as a taboo subject? Why isn’t consent taught from a young age? Why are songs (that are interpreted literally by impressionable young minds) with lyrics like Teri Na Mein Bhi Ha (Your No also contains a Yes) so popular?
I keep searching for what could spark these crucial conversations about consent. When I think about the big C word – consent – I imagine the analogy of a house where a burglary has recently occurred. In such a situation, no one would blame the owner of the house; obviously, it’s the thief’s fault, not the owner’s. However, when any form of harassment or assault happens, either inside or outside the home, the questions asked by society always revolve around things like, “What time was it?”, “What type of clothes were you wearing?”, and “Were you drinking alcohol?”
Nowadays, the Internet is flooded with conversations about sex, consent, and its importance in creating safer and more inclusive spaces for everyone, which is great. But just like advertisements of various brands on billboards and in television channels, schools, hospitals, malls, and barbershops, the concept of consent needs constant reiteration outside the online world, where the ground reality is often murkier. Parents need to talk more openly with their children so that the latter can assert agency around their bodies and relationships and understand that “No means No”.
