Dear Indian Man, It Is Never Just ¡®Other Men¡¯ Who Rape. You Are To Blame Too!

Dear Indian Man,

Do you know what it feels like to be your contemporary, yet a secondary citizen in this country? Let me tell you.

For an Indian woman, it begins early. You notice how people look at you, the instructions to you as a child are different than your male friends. ¡°Don¡¯t go there alone!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t talk to boys¡± ¡°Don¡¯t sway and walk¡± ¡°Cover your knees¡± These instructions are a constant, and you wonder if you are the one doing something wrong.

Then you grow up and ask questions. Simple ones. ¡°Why can I not go in a taxi alone?¡± For a newly minted teen, you wonder if you have overstepped the line. The answer is always the same. ¡°It is not safe for you¡±

The whole world is like a maze - raging hormones, adolescence apart, you have to battle not just your own emotions but rebel against everyone who keeps you down. Then you grow up and learn to keep yourself away from harm. Keep yourself constantly aware of the danger. This is life as a woman in India.

You walk to your front door to answer the doorbell, you do a mental check on what you are wearing. You could be lying around on your couch in your own house, yet, you worry about how you may not be presentable to a stranger, a man who has come to your door. You dress up and leave home for work, you can feel the glances, the quick once over from men in a public space. You can feel their eyes on you.

It is a constant nightmare. This never-ending check on yourself, the idea that as a woman you have to save yourself.

The world is bad, what are you going to do little girl? Protect yourself. We have reacted constantly to the news of rape, we cry, protest and yet, nothing changes.

What can we do? When as kids we are told to be careful. When four men drink, rape and burn a woman, this piece of news is still shown to women, back again. ¡°Look, you have to be careful when you go outside.¡± When will people learn that you can never be careful? The girl is never safe in India.

No girl wants to be celebrated as a brave heart or India¡¯s daughter, because she has been beaten, raped, abused and then as a survivor, celebrated. Or as a survivor, further beaten down by society.

We don¡¯t need examples to highlight these emotions. Women don¡¯t need one day to protest against this horrific crime, women don¡¯t need two seats in a general Delhi metro coach, they don¡¯t need one tiny ladies¡¯ compartment. Indian women need public urinals that are clean, public spaces that are useful for all genders in our society. The dark alleys don¡¯t help, the lack of toilets don¡¯t help.

The uncles, who lech and send texts to underage girls. The same fathers, brothers who pride themselves on how they keep ¡®their ladies¡¯ in ¡®their homes¡¯ safe, look at their own neighborhood girls with lecherous eyes.

The bhaiya with his wrist full of rakhis stops his bike next to your car, but not before licking his lips and winking at you, a girl who is driving.

A girl who hurriedly winds up the car window. All we sometimes have is a sheet of glass to protect us for centuries of the male gaze.

The next time you see me holding my bag against my body to keep myself safe, dear Indian man, know that you have failed because while you may say you are the good guy, yet instruct a girl to ¡®stay out of trouble¡¯, you say you are a good guy, still staring at a woman¡¯s chest, you don¡¯t realize the same happens every day to your own wife, daughter or mother.

Hope you think again, before saying ¡®hey, but I am a good guy, it is just the other men¡¯. It is never just ¡®other men¡¯.