In Delhi, Even My Own Car Is No Refuge From Harassment

Ruth Fremson/The New York Times A woman driving a car on the outskirts of Delhi on April 15, 2011.

NEW DELHIâ€" In February, I was driving my car through a busy street in Connaught Place when a taxi driver began honking his horn at me. It was around noon, and honking is hardly unusual for chaotic Delhi traffic, but the driver kept angrily pounding on his horn. The noise ended only after the taxi had pulled beside me at a red light. Then the driver angled his car to block mine. I was stunned.

The man was enraged. He rolled down his window and angrily gestured that I do the same. I worried that he might ram into my car if I didn’t comply. But when I did, he shouted the foulest, most sexist insults I’ve ever heard.

“Why are you holding the steering wheel Go hold a penis!” he yelled at one point.

He was screaming so fast that I struggled to piece together why he was so furious: He had been behind my car earlier, trying to pass, but I couldn’t make room because of the narrowness of the road. But what infuriated him was seeing me at the stoplight: he was angry that a young, female driver had stopped him from passing. He did not hesitate to humiliate and threaten me. I’m sure he never would have acted the same way to a man.

Finally, the light turned green, and the man sped off. I drove slowly, but I quickly called the “100” number for the police to seek help. I was terrified.

Violence against women is a familiar problem in Delhi, and domestic violence, rape and dowry killings remain common across the country. I realize my story cannot compare. But the anger and powerlessness I felt - both during the encounter and later after a lukewarm police response to my complaint - only reinforced, to me, how unsafe this city remains for women.

My car had represented a small zone of personal freedom for me. Before I bought it last year, I spent long hours commuting by subway from my home in suburban Gurgaon to my office in Connaught Place. Having a car was a risk: the auto loan was a financial burden, and my parents were nervous about my driving alone on the crazy streets of Delhi. But the car gave me liberty, if I was working late or out meeting friends, and saved me from the unnerving hassles of traveling in overcrowded Metro trains or haggling with auto-rickshaw drivers. It instilled a sense of security and a renewed feeling of independence.

Yet now I realize that a woman is as vulnerable to driving her own car as she is riding public transport. For several days after my encounter I was haunted by the memories of the 2008 murder of my friend, a journalist with an Indian television network. She was shot and killed by one of the men chasing her in a car while driving home from work.

Even as I drove slowly away from the red light, I soon realized that I hadn’t escaped my harasser. Within a few hundred meters, I saw the same white vehicle bearing a yellow number plate with an NCR Radio Taxi sign. It was the same plate number. He had pulled over to a corner, and when I passed, he started following me. I was talking to the police via Bluetooth, and he stayed right behind me until I turned onto the street to my office.

I was shaking: What if my harasser had pulled out a gun when I rolled down my car window

The government recently passed a sweeping new law to protect women from harassment, but I can’t say I noticed any urgency when police took up my complaint.

My initial phone call did lead to some action. A police van showed up, and an officer took a handwritten complaint, in which I gave him the taxi driver’s license plate number. The officer promised he would follow up. But a few days later, I learned that police had found my harasser but applied the weakest possible charges. Ultimately, he was forced to pay a 100-rupee ($1.80) fine for misbehavior.

That didn’t seem right to me. Could a man get away with harassing and intimidating a woman, just by paying 100 rupees

Ram Babu Singh, the station house officer who filed my complaint with the local court, said that “based on your complaint, only sections relating to misbehavior were invoked as no other legal provisions were applicable.”

But the police investigation clearly had not been thorough. Among the glaring errors in the complaint presented to the magistrate: they wrongly said the incident occurred in the evening when it happened in broad daylight. There was no mention of the driver following me just short of my workplace, or hurling sexist abuse or intimidating me. The accused told officers that he had not “misbehaved” but had only asked me to drive properly.

Lawyers say that the police could have invoked other sections of the Indian law as well. Rajiv K. Luthra, founder and managing partner of the Delhi law firm Luthra & Luthra, said in an e-mail that the police, rather than framing the case as a traffic violation, could have invoked at least five sections of the Indian Penal Code.

I’m not exactly sure why the police didn’t pursue tougher charges, though in the absence of any video or audio recording, my complaint depended heavily on whatever the police presented in the case before the court.

So, now I just drive around Delhi feeling a bit less safe. I now keep in my car what for me is a weapon: a huge pink umbrella, bearing a pointed tip, that can be whipped out the next time I sense danger.