Let me start with a confession. I’m a starer. Put it down to my Malayali genes. For those who are not Mallu or have no Mallu friends (really?): the state of Kerala wins all staring contests hands down.
This is no mean feat in a country that stares. We stare at anything that seems strange to us, and that is a ginormous list which includes black men in dreadlocks, white women in anything at all, women smoking, women anywhere, people on the beach dressed appropriately for the seaside, people on the beach dressed in shirt-pant and salwar-kameez, aloo parathas being fried on giant tavas, a brilliant sunset, a nasty road accident, a couple fighting in public, a couple showing excessive PDA in public, and lots more
Now this can be very intrusive, so some of us have transmuted the art to people-watching. Which involves lightly but intently observing all the objects of interest mentioned above, but with an ability to immediately switch focus the moment the staring is found to be offensive.
Which is why I was rather dismayed to hear that posters had come up in the Tube stations of the UK warning people that intrusive staring, along with upskirting, pressing, touching, could be construed as a sexual offense, and urging people to report such incidents to the police.
Not for a minute am I downplaying the very real and serious threat of sexual harassment faced by my gender on trains, buses, all kinds of public transport. And upskirting, pressing and touching are all crimes of sexual harassment. But there is staring and staring. Women immediately recognise and flinch from the kind that undresses them, a gaze fixed where it should not be.
But what of the (increasingly rare, these days) commuter who is not checking their socials, not watching something on their phone, not reading their book ,the commuter who just wants to sit back and take everything in, which of course must include their fellow travellers? These people are being termed barebackers (wince) or rawdoggers in the UK, and roundly condemned for the people-watching they do.
But people-watching is fun. How else would you spot the latest trends in a city if not for the casual fashionistas on the train wearing socks with sandals, grandad jeans, lacy long skirts? How else will you see that the colour puce, pants folded at the hem and giant totes have made a comeback? How else will your eyes alight on an interesting book cover that has you quietly noting the title and name of the author?
Also, what about the absent-minded starer? They are not staring at all; they just fix their eyes on something even as their mind grapples with sudden worrying questions. Like, have they left the lights on? Have they turned that faulty shower faucet to the right degree so it won’t leak? Did they send that email to everyone at office, damn it?
Then there’s the subset which stares primarily as away to just unwind, do nothing, collect their thoughts and prep for the day ahead. Decompression, anyone?
Let me conclude with a confession. A couple of days ago, I stared at someone in the Metro, a resplendent creature with purple streaks in his hair, a magenta jacket with a string vest underneath, fuchsia sneaks on his feet. I stared and so did the whole compartment. Just imagine if staring was declared a crime. How deprived we would be.