Enough and more has been said and written about the Delhi gangrape and the reactions of the nation to that horrific crime. I shed tears, along with many women I know, the day she died. I went for a peaceful protest demonstration at Shivaji Park, I discussed it endlessly with my husband and followed every word written about it on twitter. I was outraged by some of the remarks made by attention-seeking politicians and sociologists and joined the mass pillory party. And I kept wondering, rapes occur every day, perhaps every minute in India. What made people react so strongly this time?
This time, it’s personal.
This time, it was not some girl working in the fields of Bihar, not a woman who had gone out to pee in the slums of Delhi, not a mother who was punished because her son ran away with a girl from another caste. It was not something that happened to someone we can never connect with, in a world far, far removed from ours and in a place where we will never be. This time, it could have been any of us. But for the grace of god, it could have been you or me.
And that realization hit hard.
When I fought with the cab driver on my way home from the airport in Bangalore, I was scared when he glared at me as he dropped me home.
Just to put things in perspective (even to myself), I have come home alone in a cab at 1 a.m. having got off an international flight. We have taken long road trips, high on the thrill of exploring new and unknown roads and I have travelled alone through India and elsewhere, on buses and trains.
Now, I take a deep breath and think. I refuse to be scared any longer. I refuse to let misogynistic men rob from me my independent spirit. And I will do what I can for women to to be safe, feel safe in this country – even if it is by the only way I know – writing about it.
Also read Harini’s (always) balanced view on what needs to be done…