Indian Streets Not for Women After Dark

Sarah Abraham, theindianrepublic,30 March 2014: When you’re 20 and living in a hostel, life is different. For one thing, night and day become irrelevant – if you have a project to submit or an exam to cram for, you stay up all night and all day. This, of course, means that you need pots and pots of coffee. One night around 11, my roommate and I realised that we’d run out of any caffeinated drink at all. We had to be up for at least a few more hours. We knew that about ten minutes away, a chai bandiwas open till three in the morning. Students used to go there quite often. So we figured we’d take a break and go there, maybe see if he had any bread omelettes left, too.

We were both post-grad students at one of the smaller universities close to Osmania campus in Hyderabad. The entire area was what we considered safe – well-lit, with security guards. Unless there are any political upheaval was in the offing, Osmania campus was safe too. Not so safe that I’d go there alone after dark, but safe enough that two of us would go there, especially when we knew that we were bound to see people we knew at the chai bandi when we got there. There were always students there.

Since our university at that point had rather egalitarian rules, there was no curfew. I was one of the youngest students of the batch, having been chucked in kindergarten earlier than most. I was one of the only ones who weren’t 21 yet – it was a campus with rules meant for adults. Women could come and go as we pleased, just as the men could. So we took a break and made our way outside campus to get that chai.

We were laughing about something or the other when a traffic police car stopped next to us. The officer said something. We couldn’t hear him. He turned on the loudspeaker and asked:

“Who are you?” His voice was so loud and distorted over the speaker. Every person in the area turned and looked at us.

“Umm…. We’re students?” We were uncomfortable at being put in the spotlight like that. We were just going to the chai place.

“What are you doing outside? Do you have ID?” The speaker made his voice sound barely human, but everyone – almost all men – was staring at us now.

We were completely confused – why would we need ID? We were just walking. But we mumbled, “Yes, sir, we do, we’re just going round the corner there.”

“Go and get back inside.”

We were startled and unsettled enough to turn back – we were just half a kilometre from campus. About 200 metres from the gates, we heard a bike coming up behind us. It stopped a few yards away. We turned and saw that there were two guys on the bike. We recognised them – they’d been hanging around smoking when the officers pulled over. We’d felt their stares then. We’d just turned into the lane with the campus side gate.

We were scared, but some defiance made us not run like rabbits when one of the guys got off the bike and came to us. We could see the gate. We’d be fine.

It must’ve been obvious that we were not locals, because he went with broken English to scream at us.

“What you think you’re doing? I teach you to be outside! Who you think you are?”

My friend shoved me out of the way as he grabbed for me. She had a few years of kalaripayattu under her belt. Maybe the training kicked in, maybe not, but she kept his hands away from her and went for his throat and face.

He was yelling abuses by now, calling us whores, sluts, telling us he’d be teaching us a lesson. I kicked at his legs and pulled at his shirt. My friend’s shirt was ripped by now. We’re told to cover ourselves like ladies, but clothes can be ripped away so easily.

His phone fell on the floor. He was distracted. We ran – we ran for our sanity. We didn’t stop until we were about halfway inside campus. We were shaken, trembling, close to tears but stubbornly refused to cry.

We didn’t report it. Who would we report it to? It was just one of the thousands of incidents that happen every day. The traffic police had already made it clear that we were wrong to be outside.

We refused to let fear keep us locked in, but we were scared every evening when we went out. I got a pepper spray. She got a pen knife. Even today, when I’m out after seven even right around the corner from home, I’m so aware of the space around me, of bikes that are too close, men who’re within reach of my body. That fear is there to be faced every single time I step out. We refused to be cowed, but we learnt our lesson. Free country? Not for women, not after dark.