Talking Dirty

Recently, I joined the thousands of women on social media who pasted #metoo on their walls to acknowledge the fact that they had been subjected to sexual harassment in some form or the other. I added that I had been in denial for most of my life. I realise now it is not just the blatant, more physical acts of harassment that one was referring to. But also the more everyday incidents — in public places, public transports, offices, that left me feeling violated. But I rarely did anything about it.

I worked with this suave, high-profile professional-turned-entrepreneur in a media company — a well-known social figure these days — who loved to share graphic details of his sexual exploits.

We were told about how he cheated on his wife, how many girls he had been caught with and how he preferred fruits over vegetables on some nights. Yes, all this, in between serious discussions about a start-up we were all a part of. The boys in our group, played along. I cannot imagine why we women never thought this was sexual harassment. If being bombarded by lurid details of a guy’s sexual encounters at work place is not offensive, what is?

What bothers me, even to this day, was the fact that all of us smiled our way through those days. He is an immensely likeable person otherwise. Articulate and an achiever. And for most of us, his brilliance, and his polished airs blindsided us to the fact that he was talking dirty all the time, using sexist, offensive language in the presence of female colleagues at a work place.

There are men, like him, who get the kicks out of talking dirty with friends and colleagues. The more suave ones will use the colourful language to describe their escapades and fantasies. The others, perhaps like a certain Khodu Irani, will direct it at female colleagues.

To be fair, there are some women too, who have a thing for sex talk, perhaps to make themselves look larger-than-life, as powerful as the dirty-talking men. One former colleague loved to describe her sexual acts in minute details. We knew exactly how her husband like to do it, and how many times, what turned him on and how the light from the swimming pool downstairs sometimes played ripples on the two of them as they went for it. Till this day, none of us have had the courage to look at her husband and keep a straight face.

Thankfully, her audience was all female. But I wonder now, what if it was otherwise?

Scribbler, scribe, traveller Chandrima Pal takes you through the sexual landscape of today

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