Surviving Fearlessly in the Rape Capital of India
Indian women have learned to take nothing for granted
Trigger Warning: this article contains descriptions of sexual assault and harassment that may not be suitable for all readers. Fearless community, please read with care.
I was born and raised in India — a diverse land, with people who speak 122 languages, 29 states, and 7 union territories. With its varied cuisine, colorful people, vibrant clothing, and decorated women, India is surely known as an exotic land.
It may be a paradise for food and a feast for the eyes, but it's a living hell for females cursed to be born here. As the eldest of three sisters raised in the capital, New Delhi, I attempt to enumerate the challenges faced by a woman on Delhi’s unforgiving streets, and in India as a whole.
Unfortunately, we all have many stories of dangerous encounters of harassment.
During the pandemic in Germany, where I currently stay, I hear people crib about not being able to do anything except walk with their loved ones in the fresh air.
Neither is the air in Delhi clean, nor the people. I couldn’t have dared to walk during dawn or dusk with my two little sisters without having experienced something unnerving. We had to constantly watch out for men following us or speeding motorbikes slapping our breasts in the dark.
We lived in south Delhi, in one of the poshest neighborhoods. We frequently crossed a railway line to get to the access point for more possible means of public transport. Many a time, we had to wait to cross because of goods trains that were indefinitely stopped. This junction also served as a meeting point for drug addicts exchanging goods.
One chilly evening, as I came back from tutoring and took this path that should have been forbidden in the dark, a frequent follower waited with me on the tracks. His discerning gaze violated me, making me feel naked when I was fully clothed.
I attempted to run but was stopped by the goods train in my way. The guy rushed to follow behind on his motorcycle. I had to make the foolish decision of crossing underneath those train tracks in order to save my life.
Thankfully the train stood still and I scampered under it, breathlessly making my way home. When I reached my dad saw fear in my face and made it a point to pick me up and drop me for tutoring thereafter. This however did not stop that same man from showing up again. My dad saw him but never said a thing.
Some parents send their daughters away to protect them — but no matter where we go, we are still not fully safe.
My mother decided to send me to the hills in Shimla, Himachal Pradesh to study, away from Delhi’s polluted air and spirit. Our parents did not get along, were constantly fighting, and this was not helping us girls.
Each time I undertook the ten-hour journey through those meandering hills, I became motion sick, but the men sitting next to me made me sicker. Their ‘considerate’ patting hands miraculously landed from my fully covered back to my bra strap.
Having experienced random hands touching my body during my travels, I made it a point to keep my sisters close to me. We sang concerts and musicals together. Everywhere we found someone who wanted to touch us as he was unhappy with his wife, or an acquaintance who just wanted to feel female softness for the first time.
Being raised in a girls convent school, amid strictly disciplined nuns and teachers, provided us with impeccable English but zero guts to speak out. We were however taught about the probability of molestation and even provided defense courses to counter such attacks.
A shapely body with a pair of boobs and a vagina was meant to be unwantedly exploited by anyone with that touch-me-not stick.
We have not just survived in this danger, but have thrived because we are strong together.
We were a family of all women. My mother had three daughters, and our immediate family — my mother’s sister also had two girls and one son. She and my maternal grandma were in charge of taking care of us five girls during the two-month summer vacation.
One day, all of us went to the trade fair. We were two women, five girls, and a one-year-old boy trying to plunge our way through the rowdy crowd. All of us were pinched horribly on our nipples or butts by strangers we could not see. We felt warm in places we should not feel, through fluids originating from places we could not track.
At the end of the day, a glimpse of our naked flesh revealed blue bruises in places we had been clenched by abusive hands.
Another night, when both my parents were working at the airport a desperate male kept calling us. He said he wanted to come over as his wife did not have sex with him.
I was then 16 and felt responsible for two younger girls at home. I did not think about the fact that he had no address to come over. Mobile phones weren’t there at that time and I did not know who to call.
The three of us were each other’s strength and the dogs our guardian angels. That night, after a period of five years, my youngest sister confessed about being abused by a pedophile who lived as a paying guest with us for three years. It was three years too late. Today he is married with two of his own daughters.
Slowly we shared instances of men who wanted to shove porn in our faces and shamelessly jack off in front of us. Of sophisticated men trying to trick us into drinking and smoking to get laid. Of men who acted protective and nice only to want physical satisfaction in return.
The fact that we were practicing Christians in a Hindu-dominant nation did not help. Fellow neighbors blamed our forward religion for being immoral, addicted to smoke and dope, wearing skimpy skirts, and having many male friends. None of this was true.
Women deserve to live in a safer world.
As three daughters born to a set of parents who did not get along with each other, we were never cocooned in a paradise we got used to, until reality struck us.
Instead, we learned to accept the stark reality of India from the start. We got a taste of being used to the prevalent male chauvinism here, right at home. This taught us to appreciate the freedom many developed countries take for granted.
Being raised in India as a woman is like being born with a permanent Covid mask. The environment stifles you until you make the effort to set out and breathe fresher unpolluted air.
The exposure has made me appreciate women who have managed to survive in this rut without feeling the need to break free. Or those who quietly have carried on their homely duties while being subjected to extreme male chauvinism.
Today some of those vulnerable women have had enough and are attempting to break the chain. They are educating themselves in order to emerge ambitious and successful.
Awareness however is not going to magically gift them strength to counter the unbalanced, judgemental opposite sex — the reason they are known as the weaker sex.
“The truth is most women are weak, be they mortal or immortal. But when they are strong, they are absolutely unpredictable.”
Anne Rice
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Shireen is an avid writer, budding Opera singer, apprentice nurse in Germany, wildlife rehabilitator, dog sitter, dog walker, walker…. Jack of all trades and master of one- Mother to two children aged 7 and 9!
