A need for empathetic tolerance

Farhin Kabir
Published : 7 Feb 2016, 03:34 PM
Updated : 7 Feb 2016, 03:34 PM

It was the same old city streets underneath the wheels of the rickshaw I was riding. The same old stares at my breasts. The same old frowns for how I dressed (my casual jeans and tee, with a shawl). Being in a jolly good mood, I did not bother.

I had an amazing evening at Rabindra Sarabar, witnessing feminist themed performances and artistic pieces of One Billion Rising's open-air event. I talked to the initiative's Founders. I was blown away by the messages their team conveyed to the Dhaka crowd. I even took part in the flash mob gladly. I danced to the tune of 'Break the chain'.

Then I headed home. I was in a rush to write a piece on the event. Being a women's rights activist and pro-feminist woman of 26, I kept beaming and humming the songs performed at the event.

It was a long and exhausting ride facing the Dhaka traffic. I felt hungry and went to a small restaurant. While I was waiting for my parcel to arrive, I heard a female voice. She did not even bother to whisper to hide her opinion about me.

The woman, almost my mother's age, called me a 'Hijra' (trans-gendered person). I heard her the first time and looked at her. She was now poking her daughter, asking her whether I was a Hijra. Her daughter scanned me from head to toe with her gaze, smirked and replied that I wasn't. Then she said, 'Kemon meye eita' (What kind of a girl is 'that'). Her mother gazed back with frowned eyebrows and said, 'Beyadober baccha' (Insolent bastard).

Usually I feel disgusted and respond with a harsh comeback. This evening, I did not feel anything. I moved my things to the table next to them and sat on a chair from where they could have a good look at me. They were still staring at me. I simply stared back, with no rage, no emotions in my eyes. I just kept looking right into their eyes.

And suddenly, the smirks and the frowns disappeared from their faces. They started feeling awkward, while I kept my 'dead look'. They were looking for a waiter, and occasionally gazing at me, only to find the same look and same dead stare from me. I noticed that they could not have the casual chat anymore. When the waiter arrived with their food on plates, the daughter immediately asked for making it a parcel. Within five minutes, they hurried out of the restaurant.

Today I took away something from them. I took away their comfort of gossiping about a person who does not fit their conception of the norm. I showed no emotions, almost no reaction, but pushed the disgust and awkwardness back at them.

This is how I cope these days. This is how I fight back.