Women’s Safety in India Should Be Beyond Politics

Indian women walking in front of a graffiti image

Recently, a slew of rape cases have emerged in Delhi. It made think – can we, collectively as women, demand better protection for Indian women from governments across the political spectrum?

Rape cases in Keralam (where I am from) are also increasing each year. This year, up to July, Kerala Police had recorded 1538 cases. Even little boys are being sexually assaulted.

But somehow, no one seems to take sexual violence seriously enough.

This is not a political game where we pull out data to show that only women in BJP-ruled states are getting raped, or that only women in Congress-ruled states are getting raped. Rape is a serious issue that needs to be addressed in India, regardless of which state it happens in or which political party is in power.

I’m sure there isn’t a single woman in India, even in Keralam, who hasn’t had some kind of bad experience.

And I’m not saying India is the only place where this happens. I have had bad experiences in other countries too, involving locals.

Change Should Happen Within Families First Before Society Adopts It

I think my most mind-numbing experience happened when I was 16 or 17 because it involved someone I considered my own brother.

I used to be very comfortable around him and quite physical in the innocent way you can be with someone you completely trust. I would hold his arm, playfully hit him and behave as I normally would around someone I considered family.

Until one day, he crossed a line and groped me.

I know the feeling of shock that goes through your mind when something like that happens. You can become completely paralysed for a moment because your brain simply cannot process what is happening.

But I somehow found the strength to push him away and get out of the situation.

After that experience, I became much more conscious about physical contact with men. I only touch someone if I feel completely comfortable around them. Otherwise, I instinctively recoil.

Another experience happened when I was learning to drive.

I remember the man teaching me repeatedly placing his hand on the steering wheel right next to my breast. At the time, I thought he was doing it accidentally. So I would simply place my hand there to prevent it from happening again.

Looking back now, I realise how naive I was. I instinctively believed that people were good and that there had to be an innocent explanation for their behaviour.

And that’s the thing about sexual harassment and sexual assault. Sometimes these experiences don’t happen with strangers. They happen with people we know. People we trust. And sometimes, even people we never imagined we would have to protect ourselves from.

Women’s Safety Cannot Be a Political Game

Ideally, I would love to see women in every state demand better protection from both the central and state governments. This is something I feel very intensely about.

There are already stringent laws against rape in India. But having laws on paper is not enough. Their implementation remains a problem in many places.

The central and state governments need to work together to ensure that existing laws are properly enforced and that survivors have access to justice and protection.

Unfortunately, sexual violence has also become another opportunity for governments and political parties to blame each other in India.

But what does that achieve for women?

How does it make a woman feel safer?

And how do we prevent sexual violence when there are still people who believe that a woman’s body is somehow their property?

Sex Education Is Part of the Conversation

Society also needs to change, and one way to start is through proper sex education.

Yet even parents in my age group sometimes respond with, “Cheee, little kids don’t need to know all that,” whenever sex education is mentioned.

Many people seem to think sex education means teaching children “how to have sex” or something. I’m not joking.

But age-appropriate sex education is also about teaching children about boundaries, consent, inappropriate touching, body safety and the fact that they have the right to say no.

If we struggle to have these conversations among relatively educated urban families, imagine how difficult it must be to introduce them in more conservative or rural communities.

This is exactly why conversations about sexual abuse and women’s safety in India cannot be limited to one political party, one government or one election.

Change is needed from so many different sides if we genuinely want to reduce rape and sexual violence in India.

It’s not easy. But it should be done.

Delhi’s Reputation for Women’s Safety

Delhi also has a very bad reputation when it comes to women’s safety, regardless of which government is in power.

There seems to be a sense of status quo around it, both among some people and within the political system: “It’s unsafe, and it will remain unsafe.” If that attitude didn’t exist, wouldn’t there be a much stronger public reaction every time a rape case occurred?

I was recently watching a YouTube video of a Nepali woman visiting Delhi. The comments were overwhelmingly along the lines of, “Be careful, Delhi is not safe,” instead of simply saying, “Enjoy your trip.”

That is a shame for India as a whole. Shaming one place in India is, in a way, equivalent to shaming the whole country for me. I have never once thought, “Oh, she should visit Keralam instead because it’s safer.” Instead, I feel bad that anyone visiting India might have to worry about their safety in the first place. I want India as a whole to be safe.

Even Justice Becomes Political

There is another problem.

Even when someone is found guilty and strict punishment is imposed, activists and people from Opposition parties often come forward questioning the evidence or saying, “There’s no proof.”

Then the government, whoever is in power, ends up caught in another political battle.

And when everything becomes a political fight, governments become reluctant to act decisively because there is no obvious political “win.”

This is precisely why the Centre and the states should work together on women’s safety and tackling sexual violence.

Let the critics say whatever they want.

Let political parties argue about everything else.

Some things are bigger than politics.

The safety of women and children should be one of them.

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Photo by Shiva Kumar Reddy

Gen-Z Men Pursuing Older Women: What Is Going On?

One thing I have noticed about Gen-Z in India is that they are unhinged. I am not sure if it is the same case with Gen-Z around the world, but the ones in India truly seem to be. And no, I am not talking about student protests or anything political. I am talking about something much more personal.

As a 40+ unmarried woman, I have found myself being stared at by boys in their 20s while I am simply out and about. And interestingly, it is not the older men who are doing it. It is the younger ones, making their best attempts to lock eyes with me.

Apparently, according to what I keep seeing on social media, this is becoming a thing. There seems to be growing interest among younger men in dating significantly older women. Maybe it is a genuine preference. Maybe it is a fantasy. Maybe it is simply curiosity. From what I have read, many of these relationships don’t necessarily translate into long-term commitments, but the fact that younger men seem increasingly comfortable making their interest obvious is interesting in itself.

This changing scenario has resulted in books and movies exploring age-gap romances where the woman is older, like The Idea of You, as well as One & Only. One thing I’ve realised is that my mind is still not fully adapted to the idea of an age-gap romance. So when the lead characters make out, my first reaction is always, “OMG! But he’s just a kid!” Even when he’s actually a full-blown adult.

Now, getting to personal experiences. Recently, I mentioned my age to a boy in his 20s who simply wouldn’t look away.

His response?

“Age is just a number.”

So, apparently, that’s where we are now. Of course, this does not apply to all, because society at large age-shames women and finds older women unsuitable for relationships. But there is another part of this that I find much more interesting.

There is a very common, and frankly somewhat misogynistic, term for women who date significantly younger men: cougar.

Almost everyone knows the word. It has become so mainstream that you will find it casually used in movies, television, social media and everyday conversations.

But did you know there is a term for older men who pursue much younger women too?

Manther.

It is nowhere near as well known. In fact, I would bet that many people reading this have never heard the word before.

And that, in itself, says something about how we view relationships between older and younger people.

We are generally much more comfortable with men dating women who are 20 or 30 years younger, or even more. We rarely question it. “Love has no age,” we say.

Popular culture has reflected this dynamic for decades, with stories where an older man falls in love with a much younger woman being treated as perfectly normal, romantic or even aspirational.

But reverse the genders and suddenly the conversation changes.

An older woman with a younger man becomes a “cougar.” Her age becomes the focus. Her motives are questioned. She can be ridiculed, sexualized or shamed in a way that the older man in the equivalent relationship often isn’t.

And that brings me to something I genuinely wonder about.

How many people would actually be comfortable watching a mainstream movie where an older woman falls in love with a man 20 or 30 years younger than her, and the story treats their relationship with the same seriousness and romantic legitimacy usually given to an older man and a younger woman?

Would we call it a love story?

Or would we call her a cougar?

Maybe the younger generation really is changing some of these attitudes. Maybe the increased visibility of age-gap dating is slowly making older women dating younger men less unusual.

Or maybe we are simply becoming more comfortable talking about something that has always existed.

Either way, I find it fascinating that a 20-something can look at a woman in her 40s, hear her age, shrug and say, “Age is just a number.”

Perhaps Gen-Z really is unhinged.

Or perhaps they are just less bothered by rules that previous generations took for granted.

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Photo by Ron Lach

Breaking Taboos, One Bindi at a Time

The other day, a neighbour came over for a chat.

She’s a Muslim and a communist. I mention both because it helps explain the situation. Despite coming from a deeply religious and conservative family, she’s personally quite liberal.

She told me how her daughter landed in trouble for posting a photo on social media wearing a bindi, the small forehead dot traditionally worn by many Indian women, especially Hindus.

Her sister’s daughters, who apparently keep tabs on everyone’s social media, spotted the photo, shared it with the rest of the family, and turned it into a full-blown controversy.

The best part?

The girl refused to delete the photo.

I told my neighbour something I genuinely believe. If someone has an irrational “allergy” to something completely harmless, the solution isn’t to hide it. The solution is to let them see it so often that it eventually becomes normal.

If a harmless bindi causes outrage, keep wearing it until people get used to seeing it.

If colours like saffron, orange, or green trigger unnecessary controversy, keep wearing them until they stop attracting attention. This is related to the incessant mockery that the actress Priya Prakash Varrier faced in Kerala from a journalist for appearing in a Cuticura campaign wearing a Orange coloured outfit (or in his words “Saffron-coloured”). She had chosen the outfit simply to match the brand’s colours. Even something as ordinary as a dress colour became a point of criticism.

Similarly, if being divorced is treated as a stigma, then more divorced people should stop hiding, own the label without shame, and help normalize it.

That’s how irrational taboos lose their power. Not through arguments, but through familiarity. When ordinary people refuse to feel ashamed of harmless personal choices, those choices gradually stop being controversial.

I’m obviously not saying, “Keep using drugs until people get used to it.” I’m talking about harmless personal choices, whether it’s wearing a bindi, choosing a colour, or being divorced, that other people feel entitled to police.

The more these everyday choices are seen in public, the less power stigma and social policing have over people’s lives.

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Photo by Sharath G.

When Did Millennials Get So Serious?

So I’m in my 40s now, and one thing I’ve noticed lately is just how serious many of my peers have become.

Of course, the reason is obvious – life happened. Careers happened. Marriage, kids, ageing parents, bills, responsibilities… they all have a way of changing you. It’s not like our 20s when many of us had fewer worries and life felt a lot more carefree. Growing up changes everyone.

But even then, the transformation is fascinating.

I’ve seen people who once had the most ridiculous sense of humour become almost unrecognisable. The ones who could turn any conversation into a comedy show are now quiet, serious, and sometimes even a little weighed down by life. It’s sad to see, but I understand it. That’s what life does.

That seriousness has shifted online too. Most of the funny content is by Gen Z.

I’m guilty of it myself. Somewhere along the way, I also started posting only about serious issues rather than silly ones. I look at my old posts on Facebook and don’t recognise myself either.

Surely life isn’t meant to be taken this seriously all the time?

Take the Reposts tab on Instagram, for example.

When I open someone’s reposts, I’m hoping to learn something about them. What kind of humour they enjoy. The movies they love. The random memes that made them laugh. Maybe a dog video that melted their heart. Something that tells me who they are.

Instead, I often find an endless stream of political posts.

By the time I leave their profile, I know exactly which political party they dislike, but nothing else about them.

It’s strange. Politics has become such a huge part of social media that it’s slowly replaced personality. Our online identities now revolve around what we’re against instead of what we enjoy.

I’m trying to disconnect from all of it, but it feels like a lost cause. In India, there’s almost no escaping politics. Even when you’re sitting in a hospital waiting room in Kerala, there’s usually a news channel playing on the TV. It’s as if we’re not allowed to switch off from the constant political noise, even when we’re unwell.

And when did millennials become this serious?

We were genuinely funny. I would even argue we were funnier than Gen Z.

Every now and then, I go back and read old Facebook posts and comments, and it’s like opening a time capsule. People teased each other endlessly. There was harmless banter, ridiculous inside jokes, and conversations that wandered off in every direction.

Nobody was trying to go viral. Nobody cared about engagement or reach. We were just… hanging out online.

Of course, social media algorithms haven’t helped.

Today, a post from your friend with 4 likes gets buried, while a random stranger whom you’re not following ends up at the top of your feed.

Half the time, when I open Facebook, I’m looking at people I’ve never met. If I actually want to see what my friends are posting, I have to switch to the Friends feed. Extra steps, too cumbersome, leading to less engagement.

I really hope someone builds a social media platform that brings back what made the early internet so much fun. A place where the goal isn’t chasing likes, growing followers, or gaming the algorithm.

Just a place where friends share everyday moments. Random thoughts. Terrible jokes. Blurry photos. Half-baked opinions. Embarrassing stories.

You know… life.

I would join that platform in a heartbeat.

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Photo by MART PRODUCTION

An Ode to Feminichi Fathima

Feminichi Fathima is a Malayalam movie I had been waiting to watch for a long time. The film received strong appreciation at several film festivals. Many critics also spoke highly of it in their reviews. Now that it has finally released on OTT, the wait feels worth it. After watching the film, I can say it truly lives up to the praise it received.

The movie is a bold and thoughtful effort by director Fasil Muhammed to explore feminism from the perspective of a Muslim woman. This is a refreshing shift in Indian cinema, where feminist narratives are often shown through a cultural Hindu lens. Films like The Great Indian Kitchen (Mrs. in Hindi) and Thappad shaped much of that earlier conversation. Against that backdrop, this film feels timely and necessary. It adds a new voice to discussions on gender, faith, and everyday patriarchy.

What’s It About?

Fathima is married into a conservative and deeply religious family in the Malappuram district in Kerala. Her husband is a usthad (a religious leader) who expects his household to follow every rule without question. Life in the home is seen only through a strict, conservative lens.

Trouble begins when their young son wets the mattress. Fathima cleans it and leaves it outside to dry, but a dog later urinates on it. Since dogs are viewed as ritually impure, her husband reacts with anger and disgust. What follows is Fathima’s quiet struggle to fix the situation, facing resistance at every step.

The film makes a strong point that a woman in religious clothing can also be a feminichi (a slur often used by Malayalee misogynists to dismiss feminists).

Thoughts

Shamla Hamza and Kumar Sunil deliver standout performances. Shamla Hamza, in particular, is remarkable throughout the movie. It is hard to believe this is only her second project, after 1001 Nunakal, released in 2022. She performs with the ease and control of a seasoned actor. Her expressions carry much of the film’s emotional weight. Shamla winning the Kerala State Film Award for Best Actress feels well deserved. The storyline is fresh and quietly rebellious, which makes her performance even more powerful.

In many ways, the film feels braver than other feminist movies. Dissent is rarely encouraged in conservative Muslim families, which makes this narrative more powerful. The story shows how questioning norms itself becomes an act of courage. That is what sets this Malayalam feminist film apart. It opens space for conversations that are often silenced. Ideally, it will inspire more Feminichi Fathimas to speak up and stand for their rights.

Even though the subject is heavy, the movie never becomes overwhelming. It avoids melodrama and keeps emotions grounded. Light comedy is woven into the narrative. This balance makes the film feel surprisingly breezy. The pacing is tight and engaging throughout. You can easily watch the full 1.5 hours in one sitting without needing a break.

I would call this movie a must-watch for anyone interested in meaningful Malayalam cinema. Feminichi Fathima is now streaming on Manorama Max. You can also watch it via Amazon Prime with a Manorama Max subscription. English subtitles are available.

I Watched Homebound… and Ended Up Thinking About India Beyond the Film

I waited a while before watching Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound on Netflix. Even with glowing reviews and friends urging me to watch it, I knew it wouldn’t be an easy experience. It’s heavy in more ways than one, because the film doesn’t just explore caste discrimination, it also shines a light on the prejudice faced by Muslims in India. So from the beginning, you know you’re stepping into something intense and uncomfortable.

Neeraj Ghaywan holds an important place in Indian cinema as he’s one of the very few Dalit directors who publicly acknowledge his Dalit identity. As viewers, most of us don’t sit and think about a filmmaker’s caste or religion when watching a movie. But the uncomfortable truth is that opportunities in the film industry still seem to be uneven. If he is the first Dalit filmmaker in decades because of gatekeeping rather than lack of talent, then that says a lot about how deep systemic bias still runs in India, even in an artistic platform like the film industry. This is something the film industries across India need to acknowledge and work on.

As expected, the story in Homebound was heartwrenching. It’s based on a real incident, which sadly doesn’t come as a surprise. The film also draws inspiration from the Bhim-Meem idea, a political expression that promotes Dalit-Muslim unity, adding another layer of depth and context to its narrative.

For me, the most heartbreaking scene was when Ishaan’s character, a young Muslim boy, is accused of being Pakistani after an India vs Pakistan cricket match. That moment was infuriating and hard to sit through.

At the same time, I feel Indian films need to move beyond the usual “General Category vs Dalit” and “Hindu vs Muslim” framework when addressing oppression. Recent incidents, including the honour killing of a Dalit man by an OBC family because he dared to love their girl, show that reality is much more complex in India, and discrimination doesn’t come from one direction. It exists across castes and religions. Dalit Christians, Pasmanda Muslims, and many others face layered forms of exclusion, yet these conversations rarely enter mainstream media or pop culture.

I recently spoke to someone from the Yadav community who felt that Yadavs should be getting more opportunities than others in Bihar. It surprised me, because it shows how deeply caste identity shapes expectations, even among groups that aren’t “upper caste.” It’s even sadder to see communities that once faced discrimination now repeating the same mindset toward those they see as lower in the hierarchy. Many people assume caste hierarchy is a simple top-to-bottom structure, but in reality, it behaves more like overlapping layers of status, power, and regional identity.

I also think about the discrimination that exists within minority communities. My neighbour, a very liberal Muslim woman in Kerala, once told me that some of her extended family members won’t eat food cooked by non-Muslims. So who addresses that side of prejudice?

If we want a more equal and united India, we need to acknowledge and call out all forms of discrimination. But if someone tries to make a film exploring other angles, it often gets labelled propaganda or agenda-driven. That makes honest conversation difficult.

We’ve seen similar themes in films like Dhadak 2 this year, and even the first Dhadak explored the same kind of social divide. Something that stood out to me across movies in this space was the prominent placement of Ambedkar’s photograph. It’s a small detail, but it says a lot. Ambedkar himself is a layered and complex figure. His critique was not limited to Hinduism, and he questioned multiple belief systems with the same sharpness. But that side of him rarely enters public discussion, because even many of his admirers seem hesitant or defensive about acknowledging it.

Many of us are ready to recognise discrimination against Muslims and Dalits, and those conversations are important. But there should also be space to talk about other traumatic histories like the Kashmiri Pandit exodus without being dismissed or judged. Empathy and understanding shouldn’t stop at one group. If injustice matters, it should matter universally.

This isn’t a rant. Just a hope that our films, stories, and discussions grow braver and more layered. Because India isn’t simple. It’s diverse, complicated, emotional, and full of uncomfortable truths. And storytelling feels meaningful when it reflects that reality rather than just one slice of it.