“Don’t talk to strangers; don’t play in unknown places; don’t unnecessarily befriend boys; be home before nightfall”—these were the instructions that most girls growing up in the late eighties in Mumbai heard. Including me. While being a word of caution, it also, at some level, instilled a fear of the unknown, of secluded places and strange people. It wasn’t the best way to face the world. The late nineties and early 2000s were more relaxed and open. Younger cousins had more freedom to stay out till late, hemlines weren’t scrutinised and hanging out with friends of the opposite gender—and their friends—was normal. Cities like Mumbai and Pune were hailed as safe. As journalists, we worked late nights, sometimes to hail a taxi at 3 AM. We looked over our shoulder but didn’t fear. Yes, parents stayed up till the daughters got home but paranoia was low.
It’s all suddenly changed in the past decade and moreover, in the past five years. Rape cases, instances of molestation have suddenly spiked. Is it because of more cases getting reported or spoken about? It’s possible but there’s a palpable fear among women and their immediate families.
The Badlapur case showed us that little girls aren’t safe even in school, once considered the safest place beyond their parent’s watch. Only because the case sparked outrage did we hear of the plight of the girls who suffered the attack. But there must be several more that we don’t hear about. Cases of harassment and sexual assaults at orphanages, hostels, rescue shelters have been spoken about in hushed tones for years but never in the public consciousness. Now, these are all around us.
A session on the POCSO Act revealed that a 16-year-old was raped multiple times on her college campus in Pune by four boys she had befriended on Instagram. She kept mum for fear of being shamed through objectionable videos and photographs. The year has recorded several sexual assaults that have made it to the headlines—a Spanish tourist and a young performer were raped in Jharkhand, a 17-year-old was raped in Uttar Pradesh’s Hathras and rape and murder of a doctor in Kolkatta sent shivers down the spine of every conscious Indian. The recorded figures are probably lower than the actual numbers—data from the National Crime Records Bureau states that 90 rapes a day were reported in India in 2022. But even if it were to be the correct figure, the situation is alarming. This grim statistic reflects a disturbing trend, revealing how societal indifference can breed an environment where such atrocities become disturbingly routine.
It’s the fear and shame that’s kept women from speaking out against their heinous crimes that crush the woman’s emotional well-being apart from causing immense physical pain. Hindi movies gloried a woman’s ‘izzat’ and that of her ‘khandaan’ when an evil ‘villain’ attempted to rape the heroine. Rape was almost normalised in movies as every other film had a villain-heroine scene with attempted or intended physical assault. Victims were considered ‘impure’ and looked as the sinners by society. Today, the threats have moved from the streets to social media. Trolls try to shut up a determined and opinionated woman by threatening her with rape. In Bandra, usually a very safe neighbourhood, a rickshaw driver threatened to rape a woman driving her car.
Violence against women and the lesser privileged sections of society is rampant and appears to be normalised. A culture of impunity seems to aggravate the situation even further. The accused get away with their contacts in high places or through the use of money power. A sociologist I recently spoke to, informally, pointed out that increasing attacks on women are a backlash from insecure men who feel their hegemony is threatened by women occupying high places in India’s patriarchal social set-up. Sexual assault is their only way of ‘getting back’. Police apathy and a sluggish judicial system allow perpetrators to get away lightly.
Dating apps and social media are new areas to prey on women by befriending them but the streets of our cities, towns and villages are equally unsafe. So, does that mean women should stay home and not venture out? Some men would want just that. But the solution isn’t in women living and working in fear. The answer is in creating safer cities and villages through a more vigilant and sensitive police force, swift and strict punishment for the perpetrators and a government and political machinery that shields their own. For the future generations, change will begin at home—where boys are taught to respect women’s choices and independence. Women don’t need men to protect them. We only need to reclaim our cities and streets.
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