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"It's a very safe city, absolutely safe city. Very safe city. As safe as any other Capital of a developing...developed country and safe in general sense and even safe for women," Pramod Kushwa, the Delhi Police’s additional deputy commissioner is seen saying more than half-way into the documentary, India's Daughter. He then relaxes into his chair seemingly exhausted by all the repetitions.
It was only a month back when my stomach turned when two men on a motorbike caught up with the auto-rickshaw I was in. They peeped in to see me, and then drove ahead to wait at the traffic light to catch up with the auto once again. It was 10. 30 p.m. and I was on my way back from work. I tapped the auto driver's shoulder, pointed at the men and requested him to drive fast or drive towards a police check-post.
"Don't worry, you are almost home," he said and I just nervously grinned at him through the rear-view mirror. Fortunately, the men lost interest in me and turned back and I expressed my gratitude by attempting to pay the auto-driver much more than we had bargained. He refused the extra money.
That night I had put all my faith in an unknown man. Just like I routinely do so with my friends and colleagues or the office cabbie who ensure that my passage home is safe. Though it’s not always ideal – just this week, two college boys on a bike caught up with my moving auto, and targeted me with water balloons. I was taken aback with the unprovoked ‘Holi’ attack and looked immediately at the auto-driver who sniggered just as the boys had. Perhaps, I thought there was an unwritten rule that suggested he must look out for me. He, on the other hand, probably felt I deserved it for refusing him the extra ten rupees. I felt shaken by the experience.
India’s Daughter, which I saw this morning, taught me nothing new about attitudes men have about women or the culture of rape that has gripped this country. What stood out for me were not the inane comments by the rapists and their defence lawyers which Twitter is aghast over. In fact, I found testimonies by these men, comical and laughable. Like a grand charade one must keep up for the rolling cameras in a case that is still under appeal in the Supreme Court. It was as if they were asked to keep up the tough-guy act even in the face of adversity while their lawyers made incredibly regressive statements like: “We have the best culture; in our culture there is no place for women.”
What struck me most about the documentary is the level of respect the young physiotherapy student and her parents had for each other. The happiness with which they welcomed a girl baby, the ‘home’ in which she grew up, the space her parents provided her to flourish and the faith they had in her achievements. “It seems that God didn’t like this. He ended everything there,” says her mother as a tragic note to her daughter’s life. And, it is telling that her parents never once blamed their daughter for going out alone with a male friend on the night of December 16.
It’s this respect that I take away from this hour-long documentary. The kind of respect that was prevalent within the four walls of the house I grew up in Madras. My mother, who always wished she could be a housewife, has never stopped working since I was born. I was raised by an intelligent, strong and generous grandmother who still firmly clings on to gender stereotypes. We have had raging arguments over several issues that directly affect the way I can live my life. Somewhere along the line, she gave in and I did too when I learnt to cook.
Yet, I know my phone will ring each time a new rape incident is reported in the National Capital. It will either be my mother or my grandmother telling me to be safe. I understand that fear because I more or less face it every day but I will never pack up and leave a city because of it.
I don’t agree with Mr. Kushwa just yet but I hope to do so very soon.
