Photo by IBRAHIM HOSSAIN on Unsplash
On a cold December night in 2012, the streets of Delhi bore witness to one of the most brutal crimes in modern India. A 23-year-old physiotherapy intern was gang-raped and mutilated aboard a moving bus. The nation erupted in outrage. Protests flooded the streets, laws were rewritten, and promises of justice echoed from every corner. And yet, more than a decade later, the headlines haven’t changed. Girls raped. Women mutilated. Survivors silenced. Justice delayed.
India does not just have a problem with sexual violence; it has a problem with rape culture. A culture that normalizes, trivializes, and even justifies sexual assault, often blaming the survivor instead of the perpetrator. From courts to campuses, homes to highways, the specter of rape culture looms large, sustained by centuries-old systems of patriarchy, power imbalance, and systemic apathy.
Rape culture is not about isolated incidents. It is a cultural environment where sexual violence is seen as inevitable. Where boys will be boys. Where consent is optional. Where silence is golden — especially if you're a woman.
In India, rape culture thrives on:
The National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) reported over 31,000 rapes in 2021. That's approximately 85 cases every single day. But what the statistics don’t reveal is even more horrifying: the vast majority of sexual assaults go unreported. According to estimates by the International Center for Research on Women, over 90% of sexual violence cases in India remain unreported.
And in over 94% of reported rapes, the perpetrator was known to the victim. These aren’t anonymous criminals lurking in the shadows; they are fathers, uncles, boyfriends, teachers, and employers. Rape culture isn’t a disease outside our doors — it is entrenched in our homes, schools, and places of worship.
In the aftermath of the Nirbhaya case, the Criminal Law (Amendment) Act, 2013 brought about significant changes. The definition of rape was expanded, and punishments were made more stringent. Fast-track courts were introduced, and acid attacks were criminalized.
Yet, the ground reality tells another story:
One of the most glaring legal lacunae is the non-criminalization of marital rape. A husband can legally rape his wife, as long as she is over 18. This legal endorsement of forced sex within marriage strips millions of women of their basic human rights.
Rape in India is not just about gender. It is about power. Dalit, Adivasi, Muslim, and transgender individuals face disproportionate levels of sexual violence.
The 2020 Hathras case, where a 19-year-old Dalit girl was raped and murdered by upper-caste men, sparked national outrage. But it also exposed how caste and patriarchy collide to silence victims. Authorities burned the girl’s body without the family’s consent, and attempts were made to frame the case as false.
Justice in India often mirrors privilege. Survivors from marginalized communities have to fight against not just the perpetrator, but also a hostile police, indifferent media, and a prejudiced judiciary.
Cinema and television are powerful cultural agents. Unfortunately, for decades, they have perpetuated rape culture. Bollywood has normalized stalking, glorified toxic male behavior, and reduced women to ornamental characters. Scenes where the hero ‘convinces’ the heroine through persistence or force are romanticized, not criticized.
Meanwhile, news channels often sensationalize rape, turning survivors into headlines while ignoring systemic issues. The media loves a brutal gang rape in a metro city but rarely covers the routine sexual violence in villages, small towns, and conflict zones.
Masculinity, as taught to Indian boys, is about dominance, aggression, and control. There is no space for empathy, vulnerability, or accountability. And this toxic masculinity lies at the heart of rape culture.
Educational institutions, instead of being sanctuaries of safety, often turn into sites of silence. Female students face harassment, moral policing, and institutional apathy.
Movements like Pinjra Tod have challenged discriminatory hostel rules that restrict girls’ movement while giving boys a free pass. Instead of addressing male behavior, colleges impose dress codes and curfews on women.
Sexual harassment committees, mandated by law, are often inactive or biased. Survivors fear backlash, bad grades, or expulsion. Universities that should be empowering students instead perpetuate the same silence that fuels rape culture.
Despite the darkness, there is resistance. The #MeToo movement in India, though limited, was a powerful beginning. Women called out powerful figures in journalism, entertainment, academia, and beyond. Survivors found strength in each other, and silence was broken.
Grassroots organizations like Sayfty (promoting gender education), Red Dot Foundation (mapping sexual violence), Blank Noise (fighting victim-blaming) have made significant strides in reshaping narratives around gender and safety.
Young people are leading change through art, protest, digital activism, and education. Instagram accounts, spoken word poetry, community theater, and classroom campaigns are challenging old norms.
India’s fight against rape culture cannot rely on outrage alone. It must be a long, deliberate revolution. A revolution that redefines parenting, rewrites textbooks, reframes media, reforms laws, and rebuilds justice systems.
Because until women feel safe in their homes, streets, workplaces, and relationships, we are not truly free. Until silence is replaced by solidarity, shame by dignity, and fear by justice, India will remain a democracy betrayed by its own apathy.
Let this not be another article that fades into memory.
Let it be a spark.