You Lookin at Me?

There is a war on in the streets, subways, parks, and public meeting grounds of New York City. It is fought mainly between women. I was enlisted on, and I have yet to meet a single American woman to escape it entirely. This fight is won and lost every day, all day long, and often, when there are enough of us to pick up our weapons, throughout the night. We battle each other, not to the death, but slowly wear away at each other and only the wise, resourceful, and reflective make it out alive and kicking.
A typical battle scene will progress in the following way. A woman will be sitting on the train reading perhaps, or listening to music; sometimes fighting sleep or not doing anything at all, when another woman will enter her car. Depending on the degree of insecurity in each woman--determined by how they were raised, the amount of exposure to popular culture at a young age, their own chemical balance, and/or a variety of other known and unknown factors--they will size each other up with varying degrees of interest. Who is wearing nicer jeans? Who has better skin? is taller? seems happier? seems more "together"? The battle is often quickly won or lost, except if the two are closely matched, or one is very wrapped up in whatever she is doing on the train to engage right away. The winner is determined by who is more distracted, interested, jealous essentially of the other. It sucks to be the loser, as you are hypnotized by the other's power, staring helplessly while she remains aloof, cool, seemingly oblivious or disinterested in your attention. Winning isn't so great either, as it feeds the ego but lends no sense of strength or stability. There is always another battle as soon as you step off the train, or someone else steps on.
I came to India, among many other reasons, to escape this particular battle. I expected new kinds of unsettling stares and was attracted to the idea of a new society, a new war. What I've found thus far a fighting style not nearly as subtle and at times laughable, other times quite scary. At about five feet nine inches, of European descent, and a normal build certainly doesn't help me to blend in here, but I've found many women are ogled to an uncomfortable degree regardless of their skin color, size, shape, language, or style. The staring is indiscriminate. What's more, practically any response is inviting, with the exception of an outright scream which will often cause the offenders to run and hide in shame.
In spending time with a wonderful family in a suburb of Pune, I've heard 's stories about what happens every day in their village. A boss in the mob lives across the street from them and is very friendly, smiling and waving at them in the mornings, but inside his home, beats his wife and daughters regularly. Another family that lives in their building a few floors up (the village has recently seen vast development), runs a mother-daughter sex service business, with all monies collected by the father and husband. The young woman in the family with whom I'm staying has a best friend locked in a five year relationship with a man who hits her. She is under pressure from her parents to get married at 20 years old, and her boyfriend has threatened to tell them of her abortion she had while with him a year ago. She is also attempting to finish her degree in biology and work as an anchor at a local news station.
All this bubbles under the stares in the street. It makes me thank god I'm American and free from the underbelly of this foreign war. But I hesitate to believe that things are "better" in the States. In New York City, we battle for each others' attention and a woman's self worth is measured, with a few highly-evolved and admirable exceptions, by the length of her legs, the shape of her hips, the elegance of her walk, essentially, how well she plays the role of "woman" in our society.
Of course a cease fire on all fronts would be preferable. Peace, love, and happiness all around would be great. In the meantime, it seems both wars must first be overcome from within...