Considering Invisible Labour, I have been thinking about two texts. The first is a book called Flâneuse, which I found in a bookshop in London when I was studying there. Its written by Lauren Elkin, an American scholar who, upon experiencing a semester abroad in Paris after growing up in suburban America, discovered the joys of walking, and what she calls the “creative potential” and “liberating possibilities of a good walk”. She first unpacks the ‘Flâneur’ – defined as a man who saunters around, observing society. A flaneur has many names – he is a saunterer, a loafer, a stroller, a lounger, and above all, always exclusively a man. These words make him sound like a shoe, a piece of furniture or a means of transport for a baby. The irony of this will become clear later.
The flaneur is bold, and confident and yet remains unseen. See, this is the essential attribute of the flaneur – the ability to become invisible, blend into the crowd. To tour the city without being noticed. Thus, by default, a woman can’t be a flâneur because she can’t be invisible in a public space. She doesn’t belong there and this will be made very clear to her when she attempts to claim any part of it.
Why is it that when I woman wants to be invisible, she isn’t allowed to be?
She steps out only to be dissected, and examined, and when the examination is over she is kindly offered some kind of unsolicited evaluation.
Why does a woman have to work as hard to be invisible, as she does to be visible?
Elkin talks about this woman walking on the street. Her flâneuse. She says – “the flâneuse is not merely a female flâneur, but a figure to be reckoned with, and inspired by, all on her own. She voyages out and goes where she’s not supposed to; she forces us to confront the ways in which words like home and belonging are used against women.” She also once said, before the release of this book, when she searched online for the word “Flâneuse” she was mostly shown images of lounge chairs in French homes. This is why I find it ironic and a little hilarious when a flâneur is referred to as a “lounger”.
I have been thinking about what it means to ‘flâneuse’ as a woman in India, and have been noticing the way men and women use public space.
I admit, I haven’t flâneused a whole lot here. When I walked to and from work for a few months in Mumbai, I would stride and stomp and put my blinders on so I could shut out the world. I armed myself with my tiffin on one side, hand bag on the other and automatically pasted the biggest scowl on my face as I exuded as much hostility as I could muster in order to avoid the hands and elbows and to navigate the pavement bottleneck that always seemed to form right next to the public loo.
I am able to drive now, and I feel I’ve learned more about this city by driving than I have walking in it. I understand the roads and the potholes, and how fast or slow the corporation works to fix them. But of course, it’s a privilege because I watch women on the streets now, living, working and raising a family in a public space. Even when they are loitering, it feels purposeful. As I drive I see them cradle their children, I see the women ragpickers at work. At the same time, I also see men standing confidently on the very edge of the road where they could easily be hit by a vehicle, yawning largely and scratching their bellies. Gossiping on benches and idly staring at me staring at them. And of course, the men urinating on the side of the road, facing a wall.
I once saw a woman urinating on the side of a road, not facing the wall but actually facing the road. She made eye contact with almost everyone who passed by. I can’t explain what a revelation that was, that one and only time I saw a woman squatting in her sari and urinating in public, in the city.
This brings me to another short story I have been thinking about, Sultana’s Dream by Begum Rokheya Sakhawat Hossain. In this 1905 feminist fantasy set in the fictitious queendom of Ladyland, the roles of men and women are reversed, in a nuanced way.
In her dream, Sultana is called “mannish” by other women in the streets because she is “shy and timid like men”. A timid disposition makes her stand out, and almost to the point of being ridiculed.
Peace-loving women roam the streets freely, not needing to veil their faces in purdah, and men lived behind closed doors in their zenanasmurdanas. They are empowered and educated, and use their intelligence and ability to strengthen their community rather than rip it apart. I find it interesting that Begum Rokheya explored this fantasy of women claiming public space, not just as a fictional narrative, but through the subconscious of Sultana, and her utopian dream. Like the idea of a woman roaming in public without purdah was so fantastical that it couldn’t exist in any realm of reality.
I haven’t got a comprehensive list of thoughts to share about Sultana’s Dream, every time I flip through my copy, I find something new to think about, supported by some brilliant illustrations by Durga bai, a Gond artist. Today I think about this courtyard we’re in and how sacred spaces like these are for women. In Sultana’s dream, the home is literally situated in the centre of a heart-shaped garden, but the free women also created public spaces that are just as sacred, thoughtful, respectful and respected. While these are created with consideration and in harmony with nature, there is also a respect for land, space and property. There is a focus on botany and agriculture and innovative agricultural practices and technological advancements in this field. Turning the queendom into one great big garden.
Today, about 85% of people working in agriculture in India are women, but when we think of a ‘farmer’ our minds by default associate the word with men.
As I reflect on the utopic paradise of Ladyland, I think – when women DO have the choice, the capability and the claim over public space, what would they do with it? In reality, would we have to hoodwink men into confinement just to get some peace? Just to be left alone, to be invisible, or visible, loud, quiet or anything that we want to be?
And when will the Sultanas of the world be able to actually flâneuse in reality and not just in their dreams? Will she be able to carve out a path for herself in public and be bold or quiet, girlish or mannish, however she pleases, without facing scrutiny from the men and women around her?
Looking back, I wondered how my thoughts flâneused from one point to another and ended up here, and then, interestingly, I realised the story of Sultana’s Dream begins and ends with Sultana “lounging on an easy-chair”. It seems when it begins with a lounger, it always comes back to the lounger.
Ananya Patel.
My text is a little reflection written in response to 2 texts – the book “Flaneuse” by Lauren Elkin and the short story “Sultana’s Dream” by Begum Rokheya Sakhawat Hossain. It focuses Elkin’s ‘flâneuse’ – a subversion of the male flâneur – and Begum Rokheya’s Sultana, a woman who flâneuses through a fantasy world called Ladyland in her dream one night, where in a gender role reversal, men are confined indoors and women work, study and roam freely in public without purdah. Drawing from personal experience, I consider the idea of Invisible Labour in the relationship between women and public space. The reflection is inconclusive and open-ended, and I pose my own unanswered questions, like ‘when women want to be invisible, why aren’t they allowed to be?’ to the others in the gathering, starting a conversation about our observations, experiences and frustrations as women claiming public space.
Ananya Patel presented a reading of the text she wrote (above) for Womanifesto 2020: Gatherings. Voices from the courtyard, Baroda, December 20, 2020.
Ananya is a multi-disciplinary artist and designer, who was born in London and grew up in Baroda, India. She has been based between both cities since graduating from Goldsmiths College with a degree in Design in 2018. Her practice is an ongoing exploration of cultural and social narratives, and creating engaging and active forms of sharing research through material experimentation, archival investigation and empirical study. www.ananyapatel.com
Considering Invisible Labour, I have been thinking about two texts. The first is a book called Flâneuse, which I found in a bookshop in London when I was studying there. Its written by Lauren Elkin, an American scholar who, upon experiencing a semester abroad in Paris after growing up in suburban America, discovered the joys of walking, and what she calls the “creative potential” and “liberating possibilities of a good walk”. She first unpacks the ‘Flâneur’ – defined as a man who saunters around, observing society. A flaneur has many names – he is a saunterer, a loafer, a stroller, a lounger, and above all, always exclusively a man. These words make him sound like a shoe, a piece of furniture or a means of transport for a baby. The irony of this will become clear later.
The flaneur is bold, and confident and yet remains unseen. See, this is the essential attribute of the flaneur – the ability to become invisible, blend into the crowd. To tour the city without being noticed. Thus, by default, a woman can’t be a flâneur because she can’t be invisible in a public space. She doesn’t belong there and this will be made very clear to her when she attempts to claim any part of it.
Why is it that when I woman wants to be invisible, she isn’t allowed to be?
She steps out only to be dissected, and examined, and when the examination is over she is kindly offered some kind of unsolicited evaluation.
Why does a woman have to work as hard to be invisible, as she does to be visible?
Elkin talks about this woman walking on the street. Her flâneuse. She says – “the flâneuse is not merely a female flâneur, but a figure to be reckoned with, and inspired by, all on her own. She voyages out and goes where she’s not supposed to; she forces us to confront the ways in which words like home and belonging are used against women.” She also once said, before the release of this book, when she searched online for the word “Flâneuse” she was mostly shown images of lounge chairs in French homes. This is why I find it ironic and a little hilarious when a flâneur is referred to as a “lounger”.
I have been thinking about what it means to ‘flâneuse’ as a woman in India, and have been noticing the way men and women use public space.
I admit, I haven’t flâneused a whole lot here. When I walked to and from work for a few months in Mumbai, I would stride and stomp and put my blinders on so I could shut out the world. I armed myself with my tiffin on one side, hand bag on the other and automatically pasted the biggest scowl on my face as I exuded as much hostility as I could muster in order to avoid the hands and elbows and to navigate the pavement bottleneck that always seemed to form right next to the public loo.
I am able to drive now, and I feel I’ve learned more about this city by driving than I have walking in it. I understand the roads and the potholes, and how fast or slow the corporation works to fix them. But of course, it’s a privilege because I watch women on the streets now, living, working and raising a family in a public space. Even when they are loitering, it feels purposeful. As I drive I see them cradle their children, I see the women ragpickers at work. At the same time, I also see men standing confidently on the very edge of the road where they could easily be hit by a vehicle, yawning largely and scratching their bellies. Gossiping on benches and idly staring at me staring at them. And of course, the men urinating on the side of the road, facing a wall.
I once saw a woman urinating on the side of a road, not facing the wall but actually facing the road. She made eye contact with almost everyone who passed by. I can’t explain what a revelation that was, that one and only time I saw a woman squatting in her sari and urinating in public, in the city.
This brings me to another short story I have been thinking about, Sultana’s Dream by Begum Rokheya Sakhawat Hossain. In this 1905 feminist fantasy set in the fictitious queendom of Ladyland, the roles of men and women are reversed, in a nuanced way.
In her dream, Sultana is called “mannish” by other women in the streets because she is “shy and timid like men”. A timid disposition makes her stand out, and almost to the point of being ridiculed.
Peace-loving women roam the streets freely, not needing to veil their faces in purdah, and men lived behind closed doors in their zenanas murdanas. They are empowered and educated, and use their intelligence and ability to strengthen their community rather than rip it apart. I find it interesting that Begum Rokheya explored this fantasy of women claiming public space, not just as a fictional narrative, but through the subconscious of Sultana, and her utopian dream. Like the idea of a woman roaming in public without purdah was so fantastical that it couldn’t exist in any realm of reality.
I haven’t got a comprehensive list of thoughts to share about Sultana’s Dream, every time I flip through my copy, I find something new to think about, supported by some brilliant illustrations by Durga bai, a Gond artist. Today I think about this courtyard we’re in and how sacred spaces like these are for women. In Sultana’s dream, the home is literally situated in the centre of a heart-shaped garden, but the free women also created public spaces that are just as sacred, thoughtful, respectful and respected. While these are created with consideration and in harmony with nature, there is also a respect for land, space and property. There is a focus on botany and agriculture and innovative agricultural practices and technological advancements in this field. Turning the queendom into one great big garden.
Today, about 85% of people working in agriculture in India are women, but when we think of a ‘farmer’ our minds by default associate the word with men.
As I reflect on the utopic paradise of Ladyland, I think – when women DO have the choice, the capability and the claim over public space, what would they do with it? In reality, would we have to hoodwink men into confinement just to get some peace? Just to be left alone, to be invisible, or visible, loud, quiet or anything that we want to be?
And when will the Sultanas of the world be able to actually flâneuse in reality and not just in their dreams? Will she be able to carve out a path for herself in public and be bold or quiet, girlish or mannish, however she pleases, without facing scrutiny from the men and women around her?
Looking back, I wondered how my thoughts flâneused from one point to another and ended up here, and then, interestingly, I realised the story of Sultana’s Dream begins and ends with Sultana “lounging on an easy-chair”. It seems when it begins with a lounger, it always comes back to the lounger.
Ananya Patel.
My text is a little reflection written in response to 2 texts – the book “Flaneuse” by Lauren Elkin and the short story “Sultana’s Dream” by Begum Rokheya Sakhawat Hossain. It focuses Elkin’s ‘flâneuse’ – a subversion of the male flâneur – and Begum Rokheya’s Sultana, a woman who flâneuses through a fantasy world called Ladyland in her dream one night, where in a gender role reversal, men are confined indoors and women work, study and roam freely in public without purdah. Drawing from personal experience, I consider the idea of Invisible Labour in the relationship between women and public space. The reflection is inconclusive and open-ended, and I pose my own unanswered questions, like ‘when women want to be invisible, why aren’t they allowed to be?’ to the others in the gathering, starting a conversation about our observations, experiences and frustrations as women claiming public space.
Ananya Patel presented a reading of the text she wrote (above) for Womanifesto 2020: Gatherings. Voices from the courtyard, Baroda, December 20, 2020.
Ananya is a multi-disciplinary artist and designer, who was born in London and grew up in Baroda, India. She has been based between both cities since graduating from Goldsmiths College with a degree in Design in 2018. Her practice is an ongoing exploration of cultural and social narratives, and creating engaging and active forms of sharing research through material experimentation, archival investigation and empirical study. www.ananyapatel.com