I spent a couple of years living in a student hostel in Thiruvananthapuram (formerly Trivandrum), the capital of my home state Kerala, while I completed my pre-degree course (11th and 12th grade). It was a mixed experience back in the 1980s. That the city was conservative would be an understatement, its inhabitants seemingly more equine than human, as most had blinkers on. Hopefully attitudes have changed in the interim, but I haven’t visited to find out. Hostel life was primitive but we had our share of escapades and fun.

Late one afternoon, I was walking back to the hostel alone, down a narrow, winding road behind the neighboring Government College for Women. I was lost in thought (unfamiliar territory, you know!) and barely noticed a man standing further on. When I glanced at him, he looked back with an expectant smirk. I frowned and then wondered at the sudden change in his expression to one of disappointment, but dismissed him completely from my mind as I passed him. Minutes later I reached the hostel gates and there was a sudden hubbub behind me – shrill screams and the sound of running footsteps. I wheeled about and thought it wisest to step aside as a crowd of girls I recognized from the hostel stampeded past, shrieking hysterically. One actually ran blindly past the gate, frantically chanting prayers to all the gods of the Hindu pantheon, and I had to gently redirect her in.

I finally caught up with the breathless gaggle, now assembled by the study hall. I was curious to find out what had provoked the flight of the flighty – a rabid dog, or a more exotic monitor lizard, perhaps? But I was taken aback when they began to throw a barrage of questions at me!

“Didn’t you see that?” demanded Suja.

“What?” I frowned.

“That man…” Annie piped up.

“Yeah, I did… so what?”

“No! No! Didn’t you see what he DID?” asked Uma, covering her mouth with a hand and rolling her eyes heavenward.

Some of the others giggled uncontrollably.

“He was just standing there… vayi noki-fying* I think!” I replied puzzled.

More hysterical laughter.

[*Vayi noki (Malayalam slang) - literally someone who "mouth looks" when you eat. In this context a guy drooling over a gal. (The English suffix "-fying" converts it into a verb!)]

“Gawd!” Suja slapped her forehead in disbelief. “You must be blind!”

I considered. True, I am a high myope, possibly legally blind too, but I can see perfectly well with my glasses on. But what was it – obviously larger than life to the others – that I had managed to so seriously overlook? To that innocent query, Suja dropped a bombshell – the guy had dropped his lungi (loincloth) and had been standing there in the buff – and I had walked past him without noticing. How -um- deflating it must have been for the chap’s -er- ego!

Ergo, the next question of course, directed at me, was – how the heck had I missed it? I think it’s because, when I look at someone, I tend to focus exclusively on his or her face – not the nether regions!

Unfortunately these girls had a clearer view by virtue of distance and then had had no choice but to run the gauntlet. It seemed that particular lane was the favorite haunt of several local flashers.

Of course, the last questions was – what would I have done had I noticed? To that I had to truthfully reply – I don’t know. I still don’t know because, though I’ve heard several women complain about it in Chennai too, I have never observed the phenomenon firsthand – thanks, I think, to my habit of drifting through life with my head in the clouds!

The week after my near miss there was a flutter of excitement. Another group of hostelites had been on their way out for a leisurely Saturday afternoon stroll through town when they were accosted by an exhibitionist at the selfsame spot.

What the fellow did not expect was the presence – and reaction – of Bobby, who had been raised in Kuwait and was much bolder than the rest. She was one of the first to notice and, before the others could react and run helter skelter like a flock of panicked goats, she snatched a large ‘appoopan koda’ (‘grandfather’s (straight) umbrella‘) from another girl and charged forward. She swung the brolly furiously at him, its long, pointed steel tip glinting dangerously in the sun.

The chap gathered up his lungi and fled, with Bobby hot on his heels shouting curses and threats. Though the perpetrator escaped with all body parts intact (much to our disappointment), Bobby was feted as the heroine of the hostel.

Unfortunately I missed a ringside view of the action. If I’d been there, I mused aloud, I would have helped bring the guy down and thrashed him…

“Huh! You!” snorted Suja. “You would have stood there blinking right through it all, and finally asked – ‘What happened?’”

It was only twenty years later that I learned that exhibitionism is a mental disorder, classified as part of the obsessive compulsive spectrum, and should be treated with psychotherapy and medication.

I did not, however, miss a dozen hostel girls ‘vayi noki-fying’ a gang of college boys, simply because I happened to be part of the former. We gathered accross the street from the guys’ street corner haunt, emboldened by our numbers. Up rode a dashing helmeted figure on an Enfield Fury (remember that bike?) and we let out a collective, appreciative “Ooooh!” We waited with bated breath as young Galahad eased off his armor – to reveal a callow youth with a pimply visage.

We girls, without exception, went “Yeeuurrgh!”. Disappointed we trooped off to look at something more pleasing at the ‘ladies’ fancy store‘ down MG Road.

© Sosha Srinivasan