The young women lined up in an awkward half circle, six of them pulling at their long tunics, fidgeting with their scarves. For pants, they'd chosen jeans over the baggy shalwar trousers favored by India's traditional society -- a tiny rebellion. But it mattered, for girls who'd come of age in a southeast Delhi slum. As a journalist, I'd been following their progress in a program that was supposed to raise awareness of women's safety in urban India, and now, in early 2019, I'd brought some foreign visitors to see what these Gendering the Smart Safe City participants had to say.
六名年輕女性圍成一個半圓,她們把長衫拉平整,把圍巾整理好。六人選擇在下半身穿著牛仔褲,而不是印度傳統(tǒng)社會偏愛的寬松褲--算是個小小的反叛之舉,但對于德里東南部貧民窟里已經(jīng)成年的女孩來說,這一舉動非同小可。作為記者,我長期跟蹤報道她們的活動進展,該活動旨在提高人們對印度農(nóng)村女性安全問題的認識,此時,在2019年年初,我?guī)硪恍┩鈬L客,來看看這些“性別化智能安全城市”活動參與者要如何發(fā)聲。
"Can we sing our song?" one asked.
“我們可以唱我們的歌嗎?”其中一人問道。
Of course, we said. We watched as their stance changed -- feet apart, faces lifted, no pretense at smiles. They stared right at us. They made their own hip-hop beat, with knuckle beats, claps, finger snaps -- and they started to rap. Rapping in Hindi sounds extra tough:
當然可以,我們說。于是她們改變站姿--雙腿分立,抬起臉龐,抹去逢迎的微笑。她們直視我們,用指節(jié)叩擊、拍掌和響指打起嘻哈節(jié)拍,然后開始說唱。用印地語說唱聽起來格外費力:
Say it aloud once with me. This city is for you and me. This city is not anyone's property.
跟我一起說一遍。這是你和我的城市。不是任何人的私有物。