On Monday, the perpetrator of the incident was sentenced to life in prison. (Express Photo/Partha Paul)
Jan 21, 2025 12:44 IST First published on: Jan 21, 2025 at 12:44 IST
Written by Moumita Alam
Two days after the rape and murder of a medical student at RG Kar Hospital, I get a tense call from one of my students: “How are you, ma’am?” I am surprised by the unease in her voice but she tells me the incident reminded her of me. She was worried because she knew I often get rape threats for my writings. But after she hung up, the question lingered in the air: How safe am I? Am I safe?
When protests erupted in Bengal after the incident, it was noticeably different in tone. It came from the upper-middle-class people, the bhadralok, the socio-economic class that finds safety in high-rise apartments and gated residential spaces. The ghastly incident had jolted them out of their reverie – it had happened to a doctor. In a state where regular employment has dried up, middle-class parents have nothing to aspire to but the medical profession as a dream job. And this crime in the heart of the capital shook the foundation of that dream.
Would the incident have evoked the same reaction if it had happened at the periphery and not in the heart of the state? After the incident, we saw the “reclaim the nights” movement take over the city. But language can often tie itself up in knots. When were the “nights” ever ours? And if we didn’t own the “nights” in the first place, could we even “reclaim” them? Perhaps, we could “claim” our stake in them. But, for that matter, were the “days” even ours?
The “reclaim the nights” movement was also protesting against the victim shaming that follows after case of sexual assault – why was the victim out late at night, why was she dressed a certain way – but it could never breach the city walls and touch the small towns and villages.
On Monday, the perpetrator of the incident was sentenced to life in prison. There are murmurs of dissent in the city that would have preferred a death sentence. But would that stop another assault on a woman? Every 16 minutes, there is a rape in India. In most cases, the perpetrators are the victims’ kin. When the victim belongs to the periphery, chances are her voice might not even reach the centre. The voices of the marginalised never cross the thick gated walls of the middle and upper classes until and unless the incident shakes their own interests.
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But even then, the moot question that remains unanswered is what leads to rape? Rape is the tool of the powerful, the power translating into different forms: Caste, religion, gender. And if you are a woman, you are already at a disadvantage. Patriarchy can show you your aukat – your place – in many different ways, physical violence included.
My student’s anxious call, as I think back to it now, was not a mistake. My tongue and my pen threaten patriarchy and fundamentalists alike. But notwithstanding that, she knew where we stand, simply because we are women.
Alam is a poet and writer based out of North Bengal
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