“You’re sure he’s safe to work with, right? There’s no #MeToo-type behaviour…?”

A young female theatre director – barely in her 30s – asked me this recently about a male theatre director. I cringed at how “safety” has become the primary consideration of working in the performing arts over ‘artistic merit’ or ‘body of work’.

Despite the waves #MeToo created in 2017, it feels like it barely caused a ripple in theatre. As my friend listed one male director’s name after another, my jaw dropped with shock. These were men held in high reverence with decades of experience. Ironically, they had even had staged plays on feminist themes. What shocked me even more was how unshocked she was. My outrage seemed like an overreaction next to her numb, almost clinical narration.

I wanted to tell her not to let cynicism cloud those bright, hopeful eyes. But on days like this… pardon my own cynicism. What exactly are women supposed to look forward to when the arts is such an unsafe space?

Her words unlocked memories I had buried away – some mine, some others’, stretching back years.

One such incident happened in Bombay. I was cast in a two-hander with a male co-actor and male director. The script required an intimate moment – a kiss. We were respectfully asked if we were comfortable, and we agreed. Both of us actors felt there was an artistic justification. I had never done an intimate scene before, so I spent hours mentally and emotionally preparing myself.

During rehearsal the next day, I initiated the kiss, trying my best to bury my discomfort and be my professional best. To his credit, so did my co-actor. When the scene ended, the director made an offhand comment that still haunts me: “You seemed so desperate to kiss him. You really went for it.”

Then he laughed.

I was stunned into silence. He then unanimously decided to remove the kiss altogether. All the emotional and mental labour was for nothing. This caused me grave personal hurt as well, since the director was a dear friend in the theatre community. He was a man who publicly championed feminist ideals. Years later, at one of those ‘Bombay parties’, he tried getting intimate with me as well.

As women in theatre, we tell ourselves so many lies just to keep going. But now I find myself asking: why? Is the love for theatre with no money and an unsafe environment worth it?

Sadly, perpetrators are often protected by women. Another friend of mine defended a male theatre director and teacher who used to hurl abuses along with objects at his students in the rehearsal space. He would express his disappointment by saying, “Why can’t you deliver a good performance? Are you not wet enough down there?” My friend considered this as his way of ‘toughening up’ and not ‘treating the female students as anything different’. I couldn’t help but feel otherwise.

The uncomfortable truth is this: the big names keep the big venues alive. In fact, if a boycott of these male directors were to happen, these big venues across metropolitan cities in India would run out of business. This ensures that these men continue to enjoy immunity.

Making theatre is hard. For a woman, it is harder. Every time I mention this I am branded as some ‘male basher’ and the ‘not all men’ comment is thrown at me. This unfortunately deflects from a reality that there is fear amongst young women entering theatre. Fear of being violated, bullied and harassed by seniors and co-actors, who are considered ‘mentors’.

Writing this piece has at least reassured me of one thing— I’ve not become a cynical person, yet. There is anger, and that means there is hope…somewhere.

Spatica Ramanujam is a theatre artist, actor and stand up comedian based in Bangalore.

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