No Country for Western Wear

Amongst the many attractions of Bangalore when I first landed here five years ago was the security and freedom it offered to young, single women like me. This was especially true of Indiranagar, my adopted neighbourhood in the city. I could drive back from work at 3 or 4 in the morning, every day. I could walk back home after dinner at 10 pm, 11 pm or midnight. I could stop to rescue a puppy at 1 in the morning while driving the wrong way up a one way road. I did not have to think twice before booking the 10 pm movie show (heck, this has become my preferred movie show now!). I could hop into an auto at 11 pm, and be assured of safe delivery. All while wearing jeans (or a skirt) and a t-shirt. Unlike in Delhi, I was not constantly worrying about my safety - no longer did my environment remind me that I was vulnerable.

For the last four days, as I drive back from work, from the late night movie or from a late dinner at a friend's house, I seem to notice many more clumps of men hanging around street corners. Each time I see such a group, I clutch the steering tighter and reach our for my cell phone. If Im walking, I look downwards and quicken my pace. Will they think my jeans are too tight, my t-shirt too short? Or that my dress is inappropriate, unsuitable to Indian culture? Will they heckle me and humiliate me for forgetting my roots and values, even as a vast hoarde of my countrymen will speed past, ignoring my predicament, glad that their wives and daughters and sisters are safely at home?

And then we snigger at Pakistan ceding ground to the Taliban in Swat valley.