i'm saying yankes ought to shut their gap.
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American female exchange student shares her experience after 3 months in India
- Thread starter Rogue Trader
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- ah neh rapist
i'm saying yankes ought to shut their gap.
Before you slag off the toilet habits of the Ah Nehs, may I remind you that China has some of the worst toilets in the world. Just a hole in the ground, no water, no sanitation - Yucks!
Americans have exploited the east. It's only natural for people to hit back.
This was her entry in CNN iReport. Really sounds like she didn't enjoy !ncredible !ndia very much 
India: the Story You Never Wanted to Hear
By RoseChasm | Posted August 18, 2013 | Chicago
When people ask me about my experience studying abroad in India, I always face the same dilemma. How does one convey the contradiction that over the past few months has torn my life apart, and convey it in a single succinct sentence?
“India was wonderful," I go with, "but extremely dangerous for women.” Part of me dreads the follow-up questions, and part of me hopes for more. I'm torn between believing in the efficacy of truth, and being wary of how much truth people want.
Because, how do I describe my three months in the University of Chicago Indian civilizations program when it was half dream, half nightmare? Which half do I give?
Do I tell them about our first night in the city of Pune, when we danced in the Ganesha festival, and leave it at that? Or do I go on and tell them how the festival actually stopped when the American women started dancing, so that we looked around to see a circle of men filming our every move?
Do I tell them about bargaining at the bazaar for beautiful saris costing a few dollars a piece, and not mention the men who stood watching us, who would push by us, clawing at our breasts and groins?
When people compliment me on my Indian sandals, do I talk about the man who stalked me for forty-five minutes after I purchased them, until I yelled in his face in a busy crowd?
Do I describe the lovely hotel in Goa when my strongest memory of it was lying hunched in a fetal position, holding a pair of scissors with the door bolted shut, while the staff member of the hotel who had tried to rape my roommate called me over and over, and breathing into the phone?
How, I ask, was I supposed to tell these stories at a Christmas party? But how could I talk about anything else when the image of the smiling man who masturbated at me on a bus was more real to me than my friends, my family, or our Christmas tree? All those nice people were asking the questions that demanded answers for which they just weren't prepared.
When I went to India, nearly a year ago, I thought I was prepared. I had been to India before; I was a South Asian Studies major; I spoke some Hindi. I knew that as a white woman I would be seen as a promiscuous being and a sexual prize. I was prepared to follow the University of Chicago’s advice to women, to dress conservatively, to not smile in the streets. And I was prepared for the curiosity my red hair, fair skin and blue eyes would arouse.
But I wasn't prepared.
There was no way to prepare for the eyes, the eyes that every day stared with such entitlement at my body, with no change of expression whether I met their gaze or not. Walking to the fruit seller's or the tailer's I got stares so sharp that they sliced away bits of me piece by piece. I was prepared for my actions to be taken as sex signals; I was not prepared to understand that there were no sex signals, only women's bodies to be taken, or hidden away.
I covered up, but I did not hide. And so I was taken, by eye after eye, picture after picture. Who knows how many photos there are of me in India, or on the internet: photos of me walking, cursing, flipping people off. Who knows how many strangers have used my image as pornography, and those of my friends. I deleted my fair share, but it was a drop in the ocean-- I had no chance of taking back everything they took.
For three months I lived this way, in a traveller's heaven and a woman's hell. I was stalked, groped, masturbated at; and yet I had adventures beyond my imagination. I hoped that my nightmare would end at the tarmac, but that was just the beginning. Back home Christmas red seemed faded after vermillion, and food tasted spiceless and bland. Friends, and family, and classes, and therapy, and everything at all was so much less real than the pain, the rage that was coursing through my blood, screaming so loud it deafened me to all other sounds. And after months of elation at living in freedom, months of running from the memories breathing down my neck, I woke up on April Fool's Day and found I wanted to be dead.
The student counselors diagnosed me with a personality disorder and prescribed me pills I wouldn't take. After a public breakdown I ended up in a psych ward for two days held against my will, and was released on the condition that I took a "mental leave of absence" from school and went to live with my mother. I thought I had lost my mind; I didn't connect any of it to India-- I had moved on. But then a therapist diagnosed me with PTSD and I realized I hadn't moved a single inch. I had frozen in time. And I’d fallen. And I’d shattered.
But I wasn't the only one, the only woman from my trip to be diagnosed with PTSD, to be forced into a psych ward, to wake up wanting to be dead. And I am not the only woman who is on a mental leave of absence from the University of Chicago for reasons of sexual assault and is unable to take classes.
Understanding my pain has helped me own it, if not relieve it. PTSD strikes me as a euphemism, because a syndrome implies a cure. What, may I ask, is the cure for seeing reality, of feeling for three months what its like for one's humanity to be taken away? But I thank God for my experiences in India, and for my disillusionment. Truth is a gift, a burden, and a responsibility. And I mean to share it.
This is the story you don't want to hear when you ask me about India. But this is the story you need.
India: the Story You Never Wanted to Hear
By RoseChasm | Posted August 18, 2013 | Chicago
When people ask me about my experience studying abroad in India, I always face the same dilemma. How does one convey the contradiction that over the past few months has torn my life apart, and convey it in a single succinct sentence?
“India was wonderful," I go with, "but extremely dangerous for women.” Part of me dreads the follow-up questions, and part of me hopes for more. I'm torn between believing in the efficacy of truth, and being wary of how much truth people want.
Because, how do I describe my three months in the University of Chicago Indian civilizations program when it was half dream, half nightmare? Which half do I give?
Do I tell them about our first night in the city of Pune, when we danced in the Ganesha festival, and leave it at that? Or do I go on and tell them how the festival actually stopped when the American women started dancing, so that we looked around to see a circle of men filming our every move?
Do I tell them about bargaining at the bazaar for beautiful saris costing a few dollars a piece, and not mention the men who stood watching us, who would push by us, clawing at our breasts and groins?
When people compliment me on my Indian sandals, do I talk about the man who stalked me for forty-five minutes after I purchased them, until I yelled in his face in a busy crowd?
Do I describe the lovely hotel in Goa when my strongest memory of it was lying hunched in a fetal position, holding a pair of scissors with the door bolted shut, while the staff member of the hotel who had tried to rape my roommate called me over and over, and breathing into the phone?
How, I ask, was I supposed to tell these stories at a Christmas party? But how could I talk about anything else when the image of the smiling man who masturbated at me on a bus was more real to me than my friends, my family, or our Christmas tree? All those nice people were asking the questions that demanded answers for which they just weren't prepared.
When I went to India, nearly a year ago, I thought I was prepared. I had been to India before; I was a South Asian Studies major; I spoke some Hindi. I knew that as a white woman I would be seen as a promiscuous being and a sexual prize. I was prepared to follow the University of Chicago’s advice to women, to dress conservatively, to not smile in the streets. And I was prepared for the curiosity my red hair, fair skin and blue eyes would arouse.
But I wasn't prepared.
There was no way to prepare for the eyes, the eyes that every day stared with such entitlement at my body, with no change of expression whether I met their gaze or not. Walking to the fruit seller's or the tailer's I got stares so sharp that they sliced away bits of me piece by piece. I was prepared for my actions to be taken as sex signals; I was not prepared to understand that there were no sex signals, only women's bodies to be taken, or hidden away.
I covered up, but I did not hide. And so I was taken, by eye after eye, picture after picture. Who knows how many photos there are of me in India, or on the internet: photos of me walking, cursing, flipping people off. Who knows how many strangers have used my image as pornography, and those of my friends. I deleted my fair share, but it was a drop in the ocean-- I had no chance of taking back everything they took.
For three months I lived this way, in a traveller's heaven and a woman's hell. I was stalked, groped, masturbated at; and yet I had adventures beyond my imagination. I hoped that my nightmare would end at the tarmac, but that was just the beginning. Back home Christmas red seemed faded after vermillion, and food tasted spiceless and bland. Friends, and family, and classes, and therapy, and everything at all was so much less real than the pain, the rage that was coursing through my blood, screaming so loud it deafened me to all other sounds. And after months of elation at living in freedom, months of running from the memories breathing down my neck, I woke up on April Fool's Day and found I wanted to be dead.
The student counselors diagnosed me with a personality disorder and prescribed me pills I wouldn't take. After a public breakdown I ended up in a psych ward for two days held against my will, and was released on the condition that I took a "mental leave of absence" from school and went to live with my mother. I thought I had lost my mind; I didn't connect any of it to India-- I had moved on. But then a therapist diagnosed me with PTSD and I realized I hadn't moved a single inch. I had frozen in time. And I’d fallen. And I’d shattered.
But I wasn't the only one, the only woman from my trip to be diagnosed with PTSD, to be forced into a psych ward, to wake up wanting to be dead. And I am not the only woman who is on a mental leave of absence from the University of Chicago for reasons of sexual assault and is unable to take classes.
Understanding my pain has helped me own it, if not relieve it. PTSD strikes me as a euphemism, because a syndrome implies a cure. What, may I ask, is the cure for seeing reality, of feeling for three months what its like for one's humanity to be taken away? But I thank God for my experiences in India, and for my disillusionment. Truth is a gift, a burden, and a responsibility. And I mean to share it.
This is the story you don't want to hear when you ask me about India. But this is the story you need.
Parts of America are just as terrible or worse than India. You can also get groped and raped
still better than kelings did you see that shit skin shitting like that in the open.
This was her entry in CNN iReport. Really sounds like she didn't enjoy !ncredible !ndia very much
India: the Story You Never Wanted to Hear
By RoseChasm | Posted August 18, 2013 | Chicago
When people ask me about my experience studying abroad in India, I always face the same dilemma. How does one convey the contradiction that over the past few months has torn my life apart, and convey it in a single succinct sentence?
“India was wonderful," I go with, "but extremely dangerous for women.” Part of me dreads the follow-up questions, and part of me hopes for more. I'm torn between believing in the efficacy of truth, and being wary of how much truth people want.
This story already showcases how wrong ppls perceptions are of these shit skins.
Firstly why does she even have a dilemma and secondly how the fuck can the place be extemely wonderful but yet dangerous for women and she is a woman.
Let me give my take on this and i am sure you guys will agree with me. India is like a spiritual homeland of white caucasian ppl and even one nazi female renamed herself devi and took up this so called indian or rather north indian or vedic culture. Anyway let's talk about the west's perception of india. Oh the ppl are nice and all that just that it's a little backwards but it's ok.
Of course it does not apply to china and china's modernization is seen in a negative light while india's backwardness is celebrated.In short it's she herself fighting again not only her own stereotypes of india as some paradize but the west's perception of shitland as some cool place when it's poor and the men rape women especially white women.
Contrast this with china where the men don't rape women and it is cleaner, more modern and more civilized but somehow has a badder reputation in the west. It is totally hogwash.
This stupid cunt didn't even get raped and she has already written such a long article. Imagine the books she will write if she did in fact get raped.
She would have at least 40 books to publish if she had been raped!
lianbeng says: maybe she is just writing an adult porn story lah!
We don't have to read the article and feel for her. We have it right here in Singapore!! Yes!
Some examples:-
"Do I tell them about our first night in the city of Pune, when we danced in the Ganesha festival, and leave it at that? Or do I go on and tell them how the festival actually stopped when the American women started dancing, so that we looked around to see a circle of men filming our every move?
..... Isnt this staring happening already in Singapore? Look at the MRTs, buses and even on Sentosa beach. Look at any Indian guy (professional or laborer) staring a a woman wearing Bermudas or mini skirts. They are all the same ...
"Do I tell them about bargaining at the bazaar for beautiful saris costing a few dollars a piece, and not mention the men who stood watching us, who would push by us, clawing at our breasts and groins?
..... Again, this is happening here. Remember the Sentosa incident with pictures. The Indian community out cried that the victim was a transvestite and it was fine then. BUT its was THEIR words again...
"When people compliment me on my Indian sandals, do I talk about the man who stalked me for 45 minutes after I purchased them, until I yelled in his face in a busy crowd?"
... Sounds like the recent case in Little India where the boyfriend almost got beaten up by a pack of Indians? ........
Some examples:-
"Do I tell them about our first night in the city of Pune, when we danced in the Ganesha festival, and leave it at that? Or do I go on and tell them how the festival actually stopped when the American women started dancing, so that we looked around to see a circle of men filming our every move?
..... Isnt this staring happening already in Singapore? Look at the MRTs, buses and even on Sentosa beach. Look at any Indian guy (professional or laborer) staring a a woman wearing Bermudas or mini skirts. They are all the same ...
"Do I tell them about bargaining at the bazaar for beautiful saris costing a few dollars a piece, and not mention the men who stood watching us, who would push by us, clawing at our breasts and groins?
..... Again, this is happening here. Remember the Sentosa incident with pictures. The Indian community out cried that the victim was a transvestite and it was fine then. BUT its was THEIR words again...
"When people compliment me on my Indian sandals, do I talk about the man who stalked me for 45 minutes after I purchased them, until I yelled in his face in a busy crowd?"
... Sounds like the recent case in Little India where the boyfriend almost got beaten up by a pack of Indians? ........
You should watch the Youtube BBC documentary on life as a woman in India. If you are born a woman in India, i think you are better off dead than alive. These pathetic buggers in India with their small penises like to act big shot.
Americans think they are superior. You can get sexually assaulted in many states in the US
What a silly Ang moh! Chow ah neh trying to integrate.
One thing about ang mors in general. They think shitland is some mystical spiritual exotice place like Shangri la. They think its as safe as any mor land n everyone is nice n safe etc. They don't know wat a shithole it can be. I mean look at her article. Was told not to smile at strangers etc. Wat kind of fuck up society will interpretate a smile from a lady as invitation to rape? N groping strangers etc seems to be the norm. How do shitskin parents educate their kids? They promote groping n molest as normal?
These shitskins love to tell the world they have 5k years worth of history. Got ancient religions etc etc n their culture n attitudes is nothing but barbaric.
N any mor lands n singkie lands is letting these shitskins enter the country by the plane loads. They are asking to be fucked.....
And after the rape and abuse of the lady on the bus..n it made headlines..the rape cases go up even more..wat sort of shit society is tat? Incredible India indeed..incredibly full of shit..its like the sewerage plant of the world.
These shitskins love to tell the world they have 5k years worth of history. Got ancient religions etc etc n their culture n attitudes is nothing but barbaric.
N any mor lands n singkie lands is letting these shitskins enter the country by the plane loads. They are asking to be fucked.....
And after the rape and abuse of the lady on the bus..n it made headlines..the rape cases go up even more..wat sort of shit society is tat? Incredible India indeed..incredibly full of shit..its like the sewerage plant of the world.
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Unfortunately we have many here that want to ape that culture so quickly adopt the herding culture...
But back to the point, many ang mo have not even stepped out of their countries let alone to the states next to their homeland. Many do not even own a passport!! To be very honest, Asians on the overall are more widely traveled and read than most of the ang mo! So, in fact, many ang mos have not even been to places like India and only read from magazines or hear only from friends of friends. Hence the ever growing mythical stories about India.
This probably sounds racist to some of the ang mo/ang mo supporters but a fact cannot be a racist thing.
But back to the point, many ang mo have not even stepped out of their countries let alone to the states next to their homeland. Many do not even own a passport!! To be very honest, Asians on the overall are more widely traveled and read than most of the ang mo! So, in fact, many ang mos have not even been to places like India and only read from magazines or hear only from friends of friends. Hence the ever growing mythical stories about India.
This probably sounds racist to some of the ang mo/ang mo supporters but a fact cannot be a racist thing.
