By Medhya Agarwal
India, you have hurt too many daughters; I think even they might have lost count by now.
You have killed far too many of them and scarred the ones who are yet to become a part of this statistic too.
You may not know why, but the reasons are as follows:
You’re too compassionate towards rapists; can’t really blame you, for you’re very busy blaming the victims.
You categorize a suicide by injuries covering a naked body, shattered glasses, and broken limbs.
You’re more keen on “protecting” us as if we’re possessions that must be locked away safely because our fragility makes us prone to being ruined.
You take up the duty of keeping us safe only if we’re someone’s sister, daughter, or mother, so you can think of yours because our lives matter, but only when you think of us in relation to our male counterparts,
And sometimes even then you’re too quick to take our lives away, so no matter what, there’s no winning with you.
Your first question on discovering a naked, lifeless, and injured woman’s body from the road is what she was wearing or why she was with a man who she wasn’t related to.
As if she was in control of her safety, as if she should’ve known better than entering an empty public bus late at night, she should not have been out at night at all, right?
Because, after all, a man is incapable of being a human, so women should be careful of the many monsters lurking around them.
You are a hypocrite, India.
Because you ask your Betis to be educated, but your Betas are the ones who need it more if you want to save your Betis lives.
You tell your daughters to learn martial arts, cover up their bodies, and carry pepper spray and a knife because men can’t be trusted to control their urges, so your daughters must be asked to do their job here too, as if they are their wives.
You stare; you give us so much unwanted attention, but when we urge you to take us seriously, to acknowledge our voice, suddenly we’re invisible, not in sight.
As if we’re only meant to be disgustingly looked at, our bodies created so men sitting on bikes could devour us with their eyes.
You can’t take up the responsibility of keeping anybody safe—doctors, wrestlers, visitors, preschoolers, teachers—all you can do is make false promises, deliver well-articulated speeches, and act on our concerns.
Putting in actual work—what an impossible ask that requires too much effort, so who cares if another daughter is killed in the process, hoping that even though her life didn’t matter, maybe her death will?
You know what’s funny? How you don’t realize how routine it is for us to devise an escape plan as soon as we step in a cab or a shady street or how effortlessly we act to be on call with someone if that means we’ll reach home safely.
You don’t realize the number of precautions we take, whether it’s carrying different clothes for the metro or instinctively putting our keys between our knuckles, whether it’s walking the long way home because the shorter route requires us to walk through an unlit alley or not being able to stand up for yourself when a group of boys catcall you.
And all this because your sons never truly learned that men and women are equal, or they couldn’t fathom it; they were never told “no,” so now their egos can’t tolerate it.
Above were the reasons; if you’re still not convinced, you’re one of the many still advocating for “not all men.”
India, when will you change? When will you grow up like the countless girls that had to grow up quickly because being a child was not a luxury their country allowed them to have?
How many deaths will shake you? How many cries for help will it take for you to finally wake up from your slumber? How many rapes will make you care enough to treat us better?
When will it finally be enough for you? I hope it's some time soon.
Because honestly I don’t want to be another one of your daughters. India