The Question of Safety

Long minutes, maybe a few hours were spent this week in the heart of a police station where I for the first time  witnessed the daily workings of a place we usually associate with dark images of intimidation, apathy and incompetence, especially if you are a woman with a complaint. This one was surprisingly..for want of a better word, normal. There were women in uniform, one of whom has a toddler and she spends long hours at work without forgetting for a minute that she is a mother too. I learnt that FIR reports are technical documents where every little detail must have clarity. I saw a stray dog taking shelter in a corner of the station, empty  cells with mats where am sure on a bad day, you can see hardened criminals. For the time I was in the station though, I just heard the buzz and chatter of everyday business as inside jokes were cracked, a blushing young man extended a wedding card to a senior officer, a crime cop in mufti nodded and listened when he was told to poke around and try and find men who randomly forced their way into an auto. Assorted cops pulled out chairs for one to sit down while they tried to play the CCTV footage obtained from a few shops around the Richmond Road Circle where the incident reported by me on Monday, took place.

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The footage as of now does not capture the exact location of the episode and the only hope (to know who the men were) is if the eye witnesses come forward to offer some details if they had the time and the presence of mind to observe any. There were many that day including the auto driver who dropped me home  but even he did not want to be photographed for the fear of being somehow blamed or involved in the incident.

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I also saw the perils of stereo-typing this week. And learnt off the record, just how tough it is for conscientious policing to take place in a country where ordinary citizens will watch broad daylight murders but will not testify against criminals or cooperate with the police. The police in India, to quote without naming the source, “are like jokers caught between politics, media and common people.” All of whom point fingers when something goes drastically wrong.  The question was asked,”Is it possible for us to police every square inch of every road especially if citizens do not cooperate?” But the question that stayed with me was, “Where do we (the police) go to protest against the conditions we work in? Who will listen to us?”

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I was asked why no one interfered when they saw what was happening. I don’t know. I was not a very observant passenger either, was I? I just remember that the driver was a slim, young man, the auto was new and the men who jumped in were loud and intimidating. Were they two, three, four? How long did I hold on to the bar? How fast was the auto moving when they jumped in, how slow was it when I jumped out?

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All I remember is that, on a crowded road, in an afternoon like any other, I was outnumbered in the auto I boarded to get home and that I jumped out and for a while, was struggling to stay on my feet because the auto was moving and I had to keep up in order to not fall off. I also remembered my late father a lot this week who always reprimanded me when I was growing up for being absent minded in public spaces. For not being alert enough. Infact, I remember, once while coming back from college or school in a cycle rickshaw, he saw me staring in the space and caught up with me on his scooter and shouted at me to sit straight and FOCUS! Just one solid detail registered by me this Monday could have helped the police who are now battling media pressure and the public notion that Bangalore is no longer a safe city. We forget that we all need to do our bit to stay safe, and to help others feel safer too. Safety, I learnt this week cannot be given to us on a platter by cops. We have to co-create it.  yes, there is corruption and lethargy in all walks of life. Yes, things are not easy for women, especially those who are not lucky enough to have the support that poured out for me from so many quarters this week  Women are soft targets. I should know. Though this time, there were no visible injuries to recover from unlike in 1995 when my face looked like a rainbow coloured balloon for a very long time and I never again got into a bus without remembering what it was like to be beaten up before 30-35 passive passengers by two men.

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I remember that time also for another auto rickshaw driver, a kind soul again who had driven me to a police station, given me his hand kerchief to stop the bleeding from my lip and the courteous police officer who had gently told me that just because I had slapped the bus conductor first would be held as a “provocation.” I learnt that day, that no matter how grievous the assault against a woman, the question of “provocation” will always arise. She will somehow be made to feel accountable for what happened to her. Why did she talk back? Why did she slap a man who was abusing her? Someone had told me that time, “Apni izzat apne haath mein hoti hai, ” ( your honour is in your hands).

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Anyway, this week, I also learnt all over again that no matter what happens, women should be viewed as survivors, not victims. I do not feel disempowered by what happened. The fact that we raise our daughters in fear, as potential victims has a lot to do with why so many stay silent through and after even extreme abuse and violation. As women,we are also raised to somehow invalidate and play down what happens to us and to not make a fuss. So many of us have grown up listening to statements like, “So what if you are eve-teased? All women are!  What was the need to create such a big scene? Men will be men, YOU must learn to stay out of trouble.” We are taught that somehow we must never take ourselves and our injuries and our violations seriously be they occur on a road or in the confines of a home.As if we matter less than the appearance of normalcy. I recently learnt of a woman in an abusive marriage whose parents are telling her to hold on and “make it work.” As if her pain is of no value.

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 I realised just how ingrained this feeling of not validating your own experience is in the female psyche, when again and again after every conversation this week, I found myself saying, “Maybe they did not intend to harm me. And more ever, nothing happened, there are no injuries so let us not make a big deal out of it.” Till ofcourse, someone said, “The big deal is that someone violated your personal space. That nothing happened is not the point. The point is that something may have.” So to all of you who thought it was a big deal, thank you.

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I am not a victim and have never felt like one but am not a hero either. I was not trapped in a bus with six men and did not have to fight till I could not any more. I am just a daughter who was raised to not fear men and to stay alert and to make a fuss when needed. At the end of the day, women need to know that they are not alone responsible for their well-being. That others are watching out for them too.  Thank you for watching out for me. Not every woman  is as fortunate.

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