Stand Up To Sexism and No More Page 3: How one night of comedy proved sexism is still no laughing matter

Review: A hilarious comedy evening event featuring male and female comedians, organised by some of the loudest and most-relevant voices in feminism today ‒ plus, Sabrina Mahfouz and one of the most powerful anti-sexism poems I’ve ever been lucky enough to hear

No More Page 3 Stand up to sexism

Stand Up To Sexism: a taste of the line-up

Women in comedy. Three words always guaranteed to provoke at best defensive naming sessions of women that yes, actually, we do find funny; at worst a tired editorial on whether men are just better at laugh-making than women – and worse still, a general agreement from your immediate companions that women just don’t cut it compared to the men.

By way of example, allow me to wheel out that seemingly-ancient yet still-valid observation about the numbers of women on panel shows; as much as I love QI, Mock The Week et al, it has to be said, again and again, that female appearances, women-majority or, heaven, women-only line-ups seem as rare as a bag of purple Skittles (sigh).

But tonight, laughter rang to the rooftops of the beautiful Harold Pinter Theatre as woman after woman, mixed in with the odd brave bloke, prompted peals of amusement (as well as the odd overwhelmed tear) in the name of the online campaign feminist powerhouses that are Everyday Sexism and No More Page 3.

The Stand Up To Sexism event, which I found out about via social media (where else?!), was as hilarious as it promised ‒ presenting a solid line up of male and female comedians and poets, most of whom I’d never before heard of (save the wonderful compere Lucy Porter, whose repartee sparkled with biting yet reassuring joy), exploring everything from Page 3 models to the perils of Bikram yoga, via yummy mummies and how not to hate your body (yay).

Special mention must go to the absolutely glorious Tiffany Stevenson, who I’d never heard of before this evening but whose insights into body image, iPad apps for cats and aging was easily one of the comedic highlights of the night (basically guys, when you think flesh-coloured popsocks are a great idea and biscuits fall out of your bra when you take it off, which in no way stops you from eating them, it’s all over. Frankly though, I can think of worse ways to go, and when it comes to biscuits, I’m basically halfway there already).

John-Luke Roberts, another comedian I hadn’t heard of before (I know, sorry!), almost stole the show with his ‘burlesque’ act involving paper slogans taped to various layers of clothing, including such gems as ‘Stop asking if women are funny: Some are, some aren’t’ and ‘100% of rape cases are the fault of the rapist’ (since I have the memory of a distracted goldfish, these are paraphrased, but I hope you get the gist!). Kudos also go to the pleasingly dishevelled Joel Dommett, who should be applauded not only for being the first bloke on stage at a feminist gig, but also for his ability to hold a yoga position without dropping the microphone at the same time as talking enigmatically, inoffensively and bloody hilariously about the balancing power of an escaped cock (seriously). Genius.

The deadpan and sharp-mouthed Suzi Ruffell was also truly incomparable, while Kate Smurthwaite was both erudite and uncomfortably accurate in her side-splitting take-down of the Daily Mail’s consistently-disappointing, face-palmingly awful columnists, as well as one local newspaper’s charmingly barmy letters page on the subject of women and shoes.

Viv Groskop’s feminist-Wollstonecraft-Emily Davidson-referencing rap (along with her white-streaked hair and amazingly sparkly dress that said, in her own words, “Cruella De Vil from the neck up, Liza Minnelli, the Wilderness Years, from the neck down”) also gets a mention for sheer, bizarre, entertainment value.

Women and men alike whooped and clapped from a crowd that was as intelligent as it was friendly. Jokes about grammar, middle-class shopping and Muswell Hill revealed the audience’s predictably London, largely middle-class, lefty credentials, making my mind flit slightly wincingly over to the recent Twitter debate on intersectionality (for want of a better word, the discussion over the idea that feminism today appeals only to a certain class/kind of woman, and that feminism cannot/should not be considered in isolation to other forms of oppression) and yet I was in no doubt that here were my people – a set of fantastic individuals who share my sense of humour, my values, my notions that these issues and problems are still relevant and still not won. A quick scan of my Twitter afterwards revealed that loads of the feminists, journalists and bloggers who I admire were also in the audience, such as @VagendaMagazine  and @WeekWoman. It really was like my inspiring Twitter timeline made life, and holy shit, I loved it.

One small caveat, which I almost hate myself for writing, and yet, feel I must admit in order to give a full picture of the night: I am always left unbelievably frustrated by the fact that, despite all these wonderful people standing up against sexism, proclaiming the need to break free of fucked-up societal norms about what is and isn’t beautiful or clever, and all these women and men, of all shapes and sizes, shining on-stage with confidence and wit, I still leave the theatre irked by the usual self-hating bollocks that my thighs are too fat, my skin is too blemished, my stomach is more barrel than beautiful and my style is more drab than diva.

It’s pretty appalling that I simultaneously and sincerely believe these things about myself at the same time as knowing that there’s SO MUCH MORE TO LIFE. I guess old habits die hard, and when your culture has been pumping harmful images and messages at you as long as you can remember, it takes more than one night of feminist comedy to exorcise that panoply of body-image demons. But the fact that these people exist, that they are trying, and that they are symbolic of a wave of others, gives me hope and strength that I’m not alone. And that in itself is empowering.

To see people throwing such brilliant and funny lampoons into the issues that are so often shunned, attacked or marginalised as ‘wimmin complaining’ by utter, useless twatmonkeys who refuse to acknowledge that despite feminism having achieved lots already, there’s still more to do, was absolutely fantastic, and frankly one of the best ways I’ve found to spend a Sunday night (well, until the next series of Downton comes on, in any case).

But it wasn’t all fun. While I must acknowledge the comedians who entertained for hours on end, and the fantastic women who organised the whole thing (Lucy-Anne Holmes from No More Page 3 and the impassioned Laura Bates from Everyday Sexism, who have done so much to bring these discussions into the mainstream where they so dearly belong), the most powerful and poignant bit of the night has to be the poem by Sabrina Mahfouz (and here on Twitter), who nearly caused a riot with her incredible beat poem on why Page 3 exists.

I truly hope she won’t mind that I recorded it for future reference, and have transcribed the whole thing here (unbeknownst to me at the time, it can also be found here, on her website, which also reveals her to be a seriously big deal – I love how true it is that you really do learn something new every day). It was powerful, meaningful, and bloody well written, and, as I replayed it over and over, caused me to walk a little taller on my trip back home (which for me, standing all of five foot tall, is a pretty significant achievement).

Good on you Sabrina, and good on you all the comedians and behind-the-scenes wranglers. I hope you succeed. Here’s to No More Page 3, and all it represents. Gloriously, fabulously, hilariously good on you.

Sign the No More Page 3 petition here

Everyday Sexism

No More Page 3

Stand Up to Sexism

Video and transcription – entirely, 100% copyright of the absolutely fantastic Sabrina Mahfouz, website here.

No More Page 3 Campaign Poem

It’s like walking home late from raving

Hearing the drunks shuffle, scuffing the paving

Behind you, like just to remind you, that by the way,

You’re a girl

And that means danger towards your world,

And so shouldn’t you be curled up safe in bed with crumbly biscuits and a magazine

Filling your pretty head with thoughts of who you’d rather be

Instead? Cos I read

That 92% of girls under 22 hate their bodies, and yet,

63% of them want to be

Not Hilary, not JK, not MP, not Professor, Doctor, Lawyer, not mother, or even Beyoncé,

But a glamour model. A model of glamour. G-g-g-g-glamour.

I stammer over the word, ‘cause when I first heard it back in the day, I was like

Yeah, I’ll take some of that

You can breathe your hot breath on to my neck

As between my breasts beaded with sweat in preparation

For being an Internet sensation

But I had a mad moment of realisation

At the meaning of forever and I didn’t do it

The modelling thing

The how deep can you sink in thing

The pink, brown, black, flesh, flash for cash thing

I didn’t – but I nearly did

Cos I was so caught up in the hype of papers, magazines, film, TV,

That even though I’d gone to grammar school not glamour school

And I was at university

It seemed to me that the only way that I could see to the top

Was through desirability

‘Cause that’s what I saw in the papers, magazines, films and on TV

Now fast-forward ten years later

And I hear of this thing

No More Page 3

And it makes me so happy

That finally

Eight-four years after winning the right to vote through protest and death, yes

Papers might actually

Start to fill pages

With the sagest

Almost outrageous

Words of powerful women, everyday women, whose faces don’t need to be pleasing

And stomachs don’t need to be thin and boobs don’t need to be bared

So a four-year-old son can see the family paper when painting at the dinner table

And he doesn’t grow up to think

All girls are fair game

And little daughters grow up to know that they will be valued for their brain

So the training is worth it

There’s no more excuses

We’ve got to stop it, the lot of it

On top of this, I’d just like to add

That I am all for free speech and keeping liberties

But these pictures are taking liberties

And they’re not speaking, except the word ‘pornography’

So do what you wanna do on your type-the-pincode-TV, but

NEWSpapers are made of paper that’s supposed to print the news

And boobs are not news so excuse me if I do more than just

Not buy it

I’ll scream it’s not right as it shines an airbrushed light

On the fact that this society sees women as bodies

That are commodities

But only at their peak of conceivability

After which please go away and don’t say anything

Not that you ever had anything to say anyway

Strange, you may say, that I’m a woman saying that

Given a mic and a stage from which to say it

But trust me

For every girl behind a mic

There’s ten thousand behind a phone screen

Keen to take pictures to send to men who’ve told them that

They can live the dream of Page 3

And maybe

They will

And maybe that is really their dream they want to fulfill

But if so then that’s a crying shame

‘Cause they’ll never get to know who they really could have been

So, to help let that 65% of under 22s find a different dream

Please sign the petition

No More Page 3

Sign the No More Page 3 petition here

Everyday Sexism

No More Page 3

Stand Up to Sexism

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On rape: Akin, Assange, Galloway and the #MenAgainstRape hashtag

With several men offensively seeking to re-define rape against women for their own political ends this week, I add my voice to those outraged at the fact this discussion is even still happening – but also argue in defence of the widely-denigrated #MenAgainstRape hashtag

Todd Akin

Todd Akin. The mind boggles

Rape. Unless you’ve been living under a rock with no internet connection for the past few days, it is unlikely to have escaped you that rape is on the news agenda at the moment. In a big way.

Talking about rape, even as someone who reckons themselves to be halfway clued-up on the feminist approaches towards this rightfully sensitive subject, feels a little like walking blindfolded into Oxford Circus on the last shopping day before Christmas. That is, ever so slightly-scary, possibly ill-advised, fraught with obstacles, genuine pitfalls and many, many opportunities to get quite publically and legitimately shouted at by people who know where they’re going far better than you.

But some of the stuff that’s been said has been so flabbergastingly-ridiculous, so inflammatory and, sometimes, so thought-provoking that I’ve felt obliged to finally write some stuff down.
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Book Review: Half The Human Race by Anthony Quinn

Half the Human Race, by Anthony Quinn

Half the Human Race, by Anthony Quinn

Set against the eventful years both pre-and-post World War One, this story of personal and public struggle, tender love and political upheaval touches upon many issues of gender, relationships, loneliness and standing up for what you believe in, while also providing a gentle, compelling and absorbing read.

It’s not the most incisive of books on the subject of the suffragettes, and the story’s strength fades out towards the end, but Quinn’s vivid descriptions of such varied settings as central London, Holloway prison, Paris, the Western front and the traditional British country house, as well as his deep ability to portray humanity and inner conflict, make Quinn’s characters memorably and convincingly real.

In fact, the characters’ believability is the best part of the book.

Continue reading

Review: Women In India Exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery

Uniting my twin loves of women’s rights and India, I knew I had to see this exhibition. And I wasn’t disappointed – it powerfully showcases a fantastically colourful patchwork of women’s changing opportunities across the contemporary sub-continent

Outside the Saatchi Gallery...finally

Outside the Saatchi Gallery...finally

Women’s rights, and the history thereof, is one of my most passionate interests. I have rarely been as interested or as animated about studying anything than I was during my first term of my third year at Cambridge, reading about women’s fight for the vote, Mary Wollstonecraft’s early battle hymn for education and equality, the purple and green symbolism of the cat-and-mouse beleaguered Suffragettes and their less ‘militant’ Suffragist counterparts, women’s domination by men and society as a whole, women’s attempts to live alongside men, as men themselves struggled to maintain an understanding of what manliness means in a rapidly-changing world, where women’s ‘place’ is no longer taken for granted. It’s a cliché that after studying feminism at Uni, women become militantly feminist, placard-toting activists who hate men, and refuse to shave their armpits as an act of rebellion, but frankly, who gives a shit – none of those descriptions fit me, and I’m just grateful that I had the chance to understand, even briefly, the complex attitudes that continue to define the relations between the sexes.

To this end, I still consume books, magazine articles, online debates and community-hall-based discussions on so-called ‘feminist’ issues as much as my schedule and wallet can handle. When one intern at work took up the role as a stopgap between finishing her ‘Gender Studies’ MA and starting work, I was immediately on the Internet to Google, casting myself in dreams in which I have endless pots of money to fund a life in which I flit happily about university libraries endlessly reading and writing about the activities of militant, strong women, who are now and then redefining what it means to impress and succeed because of who you are; what it means to be completely at ease with, but not solely defined by, your gender or your ‘place’ – or about women for whom life has dealt a poor hand, and their struggle to overcome this injustice.

The strands of struggle and wildly varying definitions of equality and feminism continue, of course, to weave themselves inexorably through men and women’s lives today, but in Britain, it is often suggested that the war for equality has been ‘won’. While this, in so many ways, is patently nonsense, women on the whole in this country arguably have it much better than at most times in history, and have it much better, one could also posit, than the many millions of women in third world countries, who are shackled not just by their gender, but by poverty, poor education, retrogressive laws, poor sanitation facilities and much, much more. It is easy to think that, for all the small struggles that women continue to face on a daily basis in this, most liberal and, still, even post-recession, rich of countries, women in far-flung, poverty-stricken nations have but a snowball’s chance in hell of ever achieving an equal, dignified society for their populations, the women included.

Which is why the Saatchi Gallery’s photographic exhibition, ‘Women Changing India’ was so deeply inspiring – it proved that this does not have to be the case.

India – why I love it

India is one of my small obsessions as well – as far as I can remember, I have always been mesmerised by the glorious colours, the expansive architecture, the packed bazaars, the crowds of people, the melting pot of a hundred thousand different cultures and religions, all jostling for space in a sea of saris and gleefully decorated bangles. As my article here laments, I have never been, but I am currently saving money with a dedication I have never before felt in a bid to get to the sub-continent, to see once and for all what it’s really like, and decide for myself if I truly love it (or, as some ominously warn me I might, loathe it) once I’m actually there.

When I saw that London was playing host to a travelling exhibition of photographs about Indian women and their role in their booming society, that this was the last weekend it was on, and what’s more, that it was free, I knew I had to go. Photographs about pioneering women, and Indian women, come to that? Sounds made for me.

Women’s place in Indian culture

Women who have benefitted from a loan

Loans can help women raise themselves out of poverty

I was expecting to be transfixed by the beautiful colours of the clothes and landscapes, as I usually am whenever confronted with India. But, bar the snippet of information given to advertise the event on various websites, I didn’t really know what to expect when it came to the content of the photographs themselves. Because sadly, when it comes to Indian women, for all their unabashedly kitsch, wonderfully decorated and riotously coloured attire, they often seem woefully hidden – especially the poorer ones. It seems that middle class Indian women may resemble more and more their Western counterparts in dress, thought, manner and desires, pushing the boundaries in everything from education (becoming doctors and lawyers) to redefining their love lives (with many espousing the Western concept of a ‘love match’ rather than an arranged marriage). But for poorer Indian women, it seems life can so easily become nothing but a drudge of cooking, child-rearing (preferably boys), illiteracy and servitude.

My knowledge of women in India comes mostly from my study of the sub-continent ‒ again in that halcyon third year ‒ where the place for many seemed entirely built on the problems inherent in the caste system, along with female infanticide, illiteracy, lack of political power, poverty, ignorance, early marriage, rape, and sati (the now outlawed but still-to-be-found practice of burning widows on the pyre with their dead husbands). India always looks to be full of women, but lamentably bereft of them when it comes to actual financial power, dignity, education or influence.

I was itching to find out more, and desperate to see this exhibition, which seemed to be focusing on the more human, hidden, female angle on India’s incredible economic boom.

Sloanes, Saatchi and saris

So off I went – and it’s just as well as I was so interested. If it had been anything else, I would have given up and gone home, so unexpectedly difficult was it for me to find the gallery, deeply nestled as it is in the heart of well-heeled (and therefore entirely self-satisfied and markedly smug, it has, unfortunately, to be said) London district of Sloane Square. But the gallery, once found, is an oasis of peace and creativity. Before this trip, I hadn’t had the chance to go, the gallery not marking one of the most famous posts of the London exhibition circuit, overshadowed by its grander, more central cousins, the National, the Portrait, the British, and not much advertised on my usual journeys on public transport around the capital. Nonetheless, two trains, some walking, much Google-mapping, road-crossing and brow-furrowing later, I found it, white and beautiful in the middle of some not-especially hidden (why was it so difficult to find?!) greenery and expensive-looking cafés. Its tall columns looked impassively out over a manicured, impressive lawn, and I took a few photos to take it all in before wandering relaxedly inside to immerse myself in sari fabric and, I was promised, inspirational women. I wasn’t disappointed.

The exhibition was pleasingly large, but just small enough to take in everything – exactly the right size for a properly intense browse. The variety of images was impressive, and while I couldn’t quite work out exactly which route visitors were intended to take around the place, each picture presented a fantastic snapshot into the varied, and often heavily-embroidered (literally), lives of women at the vanguard of the sub-continent’s changing social and economic landscape. The photos were grouped by categories such as ‘Banking on Ourselves’, ‘Generation Now’ and ‘Women at the Grassroots’, and presented a patchwork mix of the ever-increasing choices that women, both rural and urban, rich and poor, have in today’s India.

Cultural context: women’s changing roles

History was not much talked about as the images and quotations of famous Indian businesswomen, artists, filmmakers, politicians and entrepreneurs took the stage, impressing on visitors that they were the future in a vast and complex world. I felt that the exhibition suffered somewhat from this total lack of explicit background context – someone who had not studied India might wonder what was so revolutionary about Indian women driving taxis, or embroidering ‒ but the happiness, peace, enthusiasm and dedication writ across the faces of all those captured on film was evident to see – these were women pursuing their dreams, and coming out better for it on the other side. The variety of the roles that women now find accessible to them was clearly displayed throughout the exhibition, and was almost overwhelming in its scope.

Women making a difference

Women making a difference

There were students of engineering, biology and technology; young, all-female taxi drivers negotiating the crazy Mumbai streets, trained in self-defence; traditional embroiderers wearing bangles up to their elbows, starting their own businesses to keep their ancient trades alive; policewomen taking their place alongside super-tough men to guard the entrances of India’s mushrooming shopping malls; and the powerful politicians running the old system of ‘panchayats’ – essentially local village councils run by members of the community. This was an example of women defiantly taking up powerful roles despite deep-rooted opposition and patriarchy-based prejudice.

In 1992, the Indian Parliament passed a quota that compelled the newly-powerful panchayats to have at least 40% of their ranks filled with women, but, as is so often the case, changing a law does not mean changing a mindset. Indian women who populate the panchayats still face opposition, and must, as well as becoming involved in political life, usually also keep the household running, making food, washing clothes and fetching water.

Women are becoming instrumental in local politics

Women are becoming instrumental in local politics

It’s an age old problem that seems strikingly similar to the issues still faced by women today in this country: how to get involved with life outside the home, while also maintaining order within it; a daunting task which society still sees as your own. These unexpected flashes of recognition I felt while looking at a culture that looked so different to my own, were at once startling and heart-warming. The question of how to combine the often conflicting options of independence with the spectre of commitment to relationships and future family life seems pertinent to me, even during these years of apparent lack of responsibility, and youthful freedom.

The women photographed for the exhibition seem inspirationally capable, juggling their still- new roles with determination and strength, while the personal images interspersed with more public ones hinted at the vulnerability and braveness that sits just beyond the surface. The display was at once breath-taking and extraordinarily compelling.

Making a real difference

Deserving of special mention was the place given in the exhibition to Ela Bhatt, a diminutive, grey-haired but determined-looking old woman who in the seventies began the revolutionary financial collective the ‘Self Employed Women’s Association’ (SEWA) to help often landless, slum-dwelling and/or illiterate women to gain loans that they would otherwise never have had access to.

Ela Bhatt, who set up the SEWA

Ela Bhatt, who set up the SEWA

In setting up the SEWA, Bhatt gave hitherto powerless women the chance to sell their products, make a profit, and not only prove that they could pay their loans back, but improve the lives of themselves and those around them, and show that women can make a difference if given a real chance. Just as happily, the women involved in education and in the historic Mumbai film industry, are shining examples of the ways in which India demonstrates to the world that women can and will lead in what might have seemed closed shops to them just a few years earlier. Many of the photographs chronicled the widespread education available in India, especially to the growing middle classes, and showed how this access to learning can empower a woman to make her own money, and choose her actions herself rather than at the behest of an overbearing family or husband. The images of women sitting in polished lecture halls, enraptured, having fun, smiling and socialising with others, were particularly powerful.

New York educated lawyer in Indian clothing

A New York educated lawyer...

Getting ready for work at the Supreme Court

Getting ready for work at the Supreme Court

The case of a New-York educated lawyer returned to her home country and now winning cases in the Indian Supreme Court was also especially edifying. Having graduated from extremely well-regarded Columbia University, she practised law at a high level in America before deciding to come back to India, and is now a top lawyer there. The contrasts in her life were palpable and glorious. From a photo of her looking all the world like a traditional Indian daughter, clad in colourful sari veil holding rose petals as part of a traditional festival, to another of her dressing in sober, western clothes to take up another hard-hitting case at work, her role at the edge of the new India looked evident.

Bollywood meets feminism

At the heart of the Mumbai film industry

At the heart of the Mumbai film industry

Notwithstanding, I wasn’t wholly convinced by the section of the exhibition about the Mumbai film industry. While I could see the advantage of having women as directors of films that don’t always cast women as mute objects of the male gaze, the fact that one of the women the photographs concentrated on came from an established film family, in that she is married to one of the most famous male film stars in Bollywood, made for a less convincing tale of women working their way up from the grassroots.

Her achievements in themselves, however, are still very impressive, and her clear contribution to the industry undeniable. But while photos of women working behind the scenes, as gaffers, technicians, choreographers or writers gave a snapshot into how the industry is changing, with film stars and the films they appear in still generally adhering to the traditional roles of ‘look beautiful, thin, long-haired and gorgeous, be desired, meet boy, fall in love with boy, defy family, come back, be forgiven, marry boy’, it’s hard to be convinced, by these set of photographs anyway, and from the scant knowledge I have of major Bollywood films, that the wholesale sexism that once ran rampant through the industry has been entirely eradicated. Maybe I just don’t know enough about it – I’m willing to be proven wrong. Director Farah Khan was quoted by the exhibition as saying ‘I believe we have true democracy in the film industry’ – and she would know. I just couldn’t really see it myself – although I could be expecting too much – a female gaffer and director is still an undeniable step forward, so perhaps it’s just the first on a much longer road to real equality.

Has Bollywood really changed?

Has Bollywood really changed its views towards women?

Finally came a short film, complete with fantastically foot-tapping traditional Indian music, chronicling one of the photographer’s journeys throughout parts of India to capture her images. Much of it was unnecessary commentary, largely overshadowed by the power of the final photographs, and full of clichés about women’s empowerment, but, sadly, it’s quite difficult to write about women’s rights without sounding at least a little trite, and clichés are often there because they happen to point to a wider truth in any case. The film, and the input from some of the photographers themselves was a clever way to end the show – not only did it seem to place the pictures in contemporary context, it also brought them closer, making them seem part of a wider journey, and not just still moments in time from another world. The music helped, couching the women within their native environment and showing them as just some of the many millions doing the same as them within India. The women seemed inspirational and typical; both revolutionary and routine.

Poverty is universal

The last panel, about iconic women, and how women are rife throughout Hindu theology, with the goddesses Sita, Shakti, Kali, Lakshmi, Radha potent examples of a women’s ability to rule and define, both inspired and troubled me. Yes, it laid out why women’s role in society is paramount, why women have the power to lead, to create, to manage, and run a family all at the same time, but it also seemed to suggest that women started out as superior to the man, and that improving women’s conditions in India meant remembering that, and reverting to it. It complained about how women were seen as merely the ‘rib’ of the man, and then proceeded to explain why men are nothing but the ‘sterile’ ‘ribs’ of women.

This kind of man-bashing, and total lack of irony when it comes to some feminist principles, annoys me and baffles me in equal measure. Female equality isn’t about dominating men, it’s about creating a society where men and women are equally valued, for whatever they choose to do, however they choose to do it. It’s about giving both sexes the tools to become economically independent, and giving both sexes the space and opportunities to maximise their abilities. Giving women equality and choices doesn’t have to mean taking them away from men – it means setting out a pattern in which there is room for everyone, removing the barriers to all. It’s why, to take it back to a more familiar example, the suffragettes’ should be remembered not just for their fight for the suffrage not just of women, but for everyone – for ‘universal suffrage’.

Balancing the books: Women at the SEWA

Balancing the books: Women at the SEWA

Poverty, ignorance and illiteracy in India is universal – but these photos, by and large, showed ways in which women are finally managing to work their way out of it, without their gender being an issue. That was what was so inspiring, women working for women, depending on themselves, becoming beacons of power and changing attitudes across the sub-continent. The power of India, its economic boom and cultural richness is unmistakeable, and women, this exhibition proudly showed, are getting up and taking the portion that they are due. I felt inspired, if not a little overwhelmed. There’s still so much left to do in this country, especially among the poor, the uneducated, the rural.

But if these women can find small, but snowballing, ways to achieve what they want, then bloody hell, so should I. And first of all, I’m going to get to India, and see it, in all its unabashed, colourful, game-changing glory. The exhibition wasn’t perfect, but it was thought-provoking, wide-ranging and laid out in such a way that made complex obstacles of issues look surmountable – and made me want to see the country all the more.

Good lessons for life

Good lessons for life

Beyond that, my only complaint was that there were no postcards or posters of any of it in the Saatchi shop, beyond a hugely heavy hardback ‘catalogue’ priced at an eyebrow-raising £27 ‒ hence my furtive and rather poor-quality snapshots of the images behind glass as I went round for a second time capturing my favourite elements. Nobody was stopping me from taking photos, but I felt that a stridently-coloured poster would have been the perfect end to an intensely interesting show. If you want to see it though, you’d better be quick – it leaves for Europe on 29th September, moving just as quickly and intensely as the country of India itself.

Chanda Kochhar is one of the only female CEOs in India

Chanda Kochhar is one of the only female CEOs in India

The ‘Women Changing India’ exhibition is supported by BNP Paribas, in association with the Read India programme, helping improve the literacy and arithmetic skills of children aged 6-14, in underprivileged communities around the world, including in India.

The exhibition was first shown around India, including in Mumbai and Chennai, and in 2011 will travel to London, Brussels, Paris and Milan.