There’s a haunting reality that shadows the lives of many women in India—a reality where a woman's existence is cursed from the moment she’s born until the day she dies. The terms, definitions, and laws that describe sexual abuse are just words, unable to capture the sheer cruelty of a patriarchal mindset that infects our society. This mindset, which sees women as disposable objects for a man’s fleeting pleasure, is the true source of this violence. And until we eradicate this toxic mentality, these horrors will never end.
We remember Nirbhaya, and today we cry for the latest victim of a brutal rape in Kolkata. But who will it be tomorrow? She was a living, breathing woman, a soul full of dreams and fears, a human being made of flesh and blood. What was destroyed in that vile act was not just her body but the very essence of hope and humanity. It was not only her bones that were shattered, nor just her flesh that was violated; it was the trust in men to protect, the belief in justice, the very foundation of our shared humanity. We fight today, not just for her, but for the hope that was torn apart, the fear that was unleashed, and the shattered belief that women are safe. We fight to reclaim justice, to restore the broken, and to heal the wounds left on our collective conscience.
It wasn’t the same deserted road or an isolated bus. She wasn’t out partying or enjoying a late night with friends. She wasn’t wearing what society calls a "provocative dress" nor sending out any so-called signals. She was a doctor, fulfilling her duty in a place that, until yesterday, was considered safe. She wore a white coat—a symbol of healing, a sign of a deity on earth. Yet, despite all this, she was brutally raped and suffocated to death. Still, some will ask why she went to the seminar hall and wasn’t more careful. They’ll search for reasons to blame her rather than confronting the true horror of what was done to her.
During my school days, I had a friend who volunteered for an NGO dedicated to women’s empowerment and safety. One day, I had the chance to join them for an event supporting survivors of sexual abuse. We spent the day interacting with those women, offering them support and helping them navigate the trauma they had endured. We met many victims—some who had found the strength to move forward and were trying to live normal lives, others who had become volunteers themselves, determined to prevent such horrors from happening to others. But some had taken their own lives, unable to bear the pain, and some remained trapped in their fear, still haunted by the shadows of their past and too terrified to trust anyone, even their loved ones.
One girl in particular shared her story with us. She cried as she confessed that every day she tries to forget the horrible things that happened to her, but every single day she fails. Her words were like a knife to my heart. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the darkness they had lived through. The weight of their pain was too much for me to bear, and I found myself fighting back tears. Unable to handle it any longer, I turned to my friend and whispered, “I’ll wait outside.”
As I stepped out, I tried to process all the trauma these women had endured. But the more I thought about it, the more the emotions overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I burst into tears, trying desperately to regain control but failing. The pain they had shared with me had seeped into my soul, leaving me utterly shattered.
At an event where many victims were sharing the struggles they faced after their trauma, one of the most devastating stories came from a girl from a rural area. She said that more than the incident itself, what hurt her the most was that society still blames women as the primary cause of these horrors. After what she had endured, she got scolded and cursed by those around her. She spoke in a soft voice, but her words carried the weight of a heavy heart. With tears that seemed to flow from her very soul, she told us that the words society hurled at her were killing her slowly. Yet she expressed a fierce determination to fight against these injustices until her last breath. She ended with a gentle smile—a smile that carried the burden of her pain and the strength of her fearless resolve.
That smile, filled with a burdened heart and an unyielding spirit, pierced me more deeply than anything else. I didn’t know what to say, so I simply whispered, “I’m sorry.” She smiled back through her tears, and I was overwhelmed. Sorry, everyone. I need a moment to wipe my tears before I continue.
At that event, where many victims shared their experiences, one girl stood out. She was silent, isolated, and had an air of arrogance about her. I found myself sitting beside her, unsure of what to say. After a moment, I gently asked, “Why are you so silent?” She turned to me, stared for a moment, and then, with a smirk, said, “Too much pain turns someone silent.”
Her words left me completely speechless. I tried to console her, and slowly, she opened up. She told me she had once been full of life, with a carefree, childish nature—until that night. She had been gang raped when she was at the age of 15, the age that marks the transition from a carefree, childish nature to the early stages of becoming an individual.
She shared that it has been years since she’s had a peaceful night’s sleep. Every night, she is terrorized by the fear of countless hands reaching for her, dragging her into an endless cycle of pain. The last words she cried out that night were, “Anna, please leave me, please leave me.” Those words, that scream, still echo in her mind, trapped in the darkness and the shadow of those monsters. Her outburst, filled with years of buried pain and wounds, felt like the heaviest thing in the world. Her tears, filled with deep, unresolved pain, were the most intense expression of suffering I have ever seen.
Today, the pervasive objectification of women, fueled by exposure to degrading content and pornography, is contributing to the increasing violence against them. The little things we overlook eventually lead to these horrific incidents. Girls aren’t products; they’re individuals with feelings and emotions, often ignored by society. How long will we keep telling girls to stay safe instead of raising our voices against the boys who make them feel unsafe? I can’t go away by saying alone and expect change. The nation prayed for the safety of women but nothing changed. It’s time to stop treating prayers as a solution.
And to the girls who sexualize themselves for attention: remember, you’re not a product for this patriarchal society to use and discard. You’re an individual, equal to men—fight for that. Make them realize who you are, rather than seeking validation from those who would objectify you. The actions of a few should not lead to the suffering of innocent souls. The pain they endure should never happen to anyone. Some victims don’t dare to speak out; some don’t even know how to explain the horrors they’ve faced. Murder brings pain that ends in minutes, but the trauma of rape is a living hell—a darkness and a scream that should never be inflicted on anyone. Instead of telling girls how to dress, be obedient, and avoid talking to others, we should teach boys how to respect women, understand their emotions, and see them as individuals. That’s where real change begins.
I hope that there will be an independence day for women from the chains of this patriarchal society. Let's hold onto the hope and work towards making it a reality.
