Unsafe in Her Own City?

“Call me when you reach home.” — a phrase that millions of women in India repeat daily, not as a casual courtesy, but as a shield of reassurance in an unsafe world.

The recently released NARI 2025 survey has laid bare a grim truth: nearly 40% of Indian women feel unsafe or “not so safe” in their daily lives. Whether walking home after work, commuting on crowded buses, or stepping out after dusk, fear shadows freedom.

What makes the findings more alarming is the divide between cities. Metros like Bengaluru, Pune, and Chennai are perceived as relatively safer, while Delhi, Patna, and Lucknow emerged as the least safe. The survey is not just data — it is a wake-up call.

This debate article asks a pressing question: Is women’s safety in India primarily a matter of stronger law enforcement and infrastructure, or does the real battle lie in reshaping our cultural mindset?

“A safe city is not just where crime is low, but where women feel free to live without fear.” — UN Women Report

The Ground Reality Exposed by NARI 2025

The NARI 2025 survey has delivered a stark reminder of India’s unfinished struggle for women’s safety: 40% of women report feeling unsafe or “not so safe” in their daily lives.

While metros like Bengaluru and Chennai benefit from better surveillance, improved street lighting, and IT-driven vigilance, the story shifts dramatically in cities like Delhi and Patna, where women often hesitate to step out after dark. The divide is not merely geographical; it exposes the unevenness of India’s safety net for half its population.

The numbers find painful validation in real life. In 2024, a viral video from Lucknow showed a young woman being slapped and harassed by a group of men, as onlookers chose to record the scene instead of intervening. In Delhi, a college student gave up her evening tuition classes because her parents feared for her safety while commuting on public transport. These incidents, though anecdotal, echo the survey’s findings: the threat is not imagined, the fear is not exaggerated — it is deeply rooted in women’s everyday reality.

And here lies the crux of the debate: Are these fears the product of poor laws and weak governance, or do they stem from a society where women’s right to public spaces is still contested?

Argument – The Systemic Failures

One strong perspective in this debate points to institutional and infrastructural shortcomings as the root of women’s insecurity. The laws exist, but the systems meant to uphold them falter.

According to the NCRB’s 2024 data, crimes against women remain persistently high despite repeated promises of reform. Conviction rates remain discouragingly low, and police responses are often marked by apathy or insensitivity. Survivors not only struggle to seek justice but also frequently face intimidation and humiliation in the very spaces meant to protect them.

Beyond legal enforcement, the built environment itself becomes hostile. Dark alleys, poorly lit streets, isolated bus stops, and a lack of gender-sensitive urban design turn cities into zones of risk. For many women, geography dictates freedom — a poorly lit lane can mean the difference between safety and fear.

As Justice Leila Seth once observed, “Women’s safety cannot be ensured by laws alone; it requires changing the way society perceives women.” Her words underline the paradox: while laws exist on paper, their effectiveness collapses without proper enforcement and supportive infrastructure.

Supporters of this view argue that if policing, surveillance, and urban design improve, women’s perception of safety will follow. In other words, cities must be built and governed with women at the centre — because unsafe environments amplify unsafe behaviours.

Counterpoint – The Cultural and Social Attitudes

Yet, there is an equally forceful counterpoint: even the best infrastructure cannot shield women from a regressive mindset. Laws and lighting can only go so far if society itself refuses to confront its own biases.

Patriarchal norms continue to dominate public discourse. When women are harassed, the first questions too often are “Why was she out late?” or “What was she wearing?” — reducing crimes against women to matters of morality rather than justice. This culture of victim-blaming not only silences survivors but also emboldens perpetrators.

The normalisation of harassment deepens the problem. Eve-teasing is still dismissed as harmless fun, and catcalling is excused as “boys being boys.” Cinema and pop culture frequently romanticise stalking or portray persistence after rejection as a sign of true love — feeding dangerous social myths that harassment is acceptable, even desirable.

There are lessons to be learned from contrasts. Scandinavian countries combine secure infrastructure with progressive gender attitudes, showing that safety is most effective when it rests on both pillars. Closer home, Kerala’s Kudumbashree networks have empowered women by involving them directly in local governance and safety monitoring — proof that cultural and community-level interventions can shift mindsets.

Supporters of this perspective argue that unless attitudes change at their core, no number of CCTV cameras or patrolling vans will truly make women safe. At best, surveillance will document harassment; it will not prevent it. In this view, real reform begins not in police stations, but in households, classrooms, and conversations.

The Debate Zone – Whose Responsibility Is It?

At the heart of this debate lies a pivotal question: Is women’s safety primarily the government’s duty, or is it society’s collective responsibility?

Those who argue for government accountability point to promising interventions. Hyderabad’s “She Teams” police units, for instance, have been hailed as a success story in curbing street harassment through swift action and visible policing. Similarly, transport safety audits and smart city designs — from better-lit bus stops to women-friendly metro compartments — offer tangible, structural solutions that can reshape public spaces.

On the other side, advocates emphasise the role of society itself. Laws may be passed in Parliament, but their spirit must be upheld in everyday life. Grassroots movements like Blank Noise have demonstrated this power: by reclaiming public spaces through art, protest, and community participation, they remind us that women’s safety is not just a legal concern but a cultural one. Equally, men and bystanders must step forward — not as passive witnesses, but as allies who intervene, challenge harassment, and refuse to normalise it.

In truth, the debate cannot be reduced to an “either-or.” Women’s safety in India demands a synergy of law, infrastructure, and cultural transformation. Governments must design safer cities; society must foster safer mindsets. One without the other is incomplete, but together, they can build the conditions where women’s freedom is not negotiated, but guaranteed.

Current Events & Reflections

The debate is not confined to surveys and reports — it is already unfolding on India’s streets and campuses. Across the country, women and youth are refusing to accept fear as the price of freedom.

During the 2025 Women’s Day marches, slogans like “Our Streets, Our Rights” reverberated through Delhi, Kolkata, and other cities, transforming sidewalks into spaces of resistance. The demand was clear: public spaces belong equally to women, and safety must be non-negotiable.

Institutions, too, are beginning to respond. The University Grants Commission (UGC) has mandated gender-sensitisation workshops in universities, recognising that cultural change must begin early, within classrooms and corridors of learning.

At the grassroots, campaigns such as #SafeStreets in Lucknow are led by young citizens who demand well-lit roads, safer buses, and accountable policing. These initiatives show that the younger generation is not waiting for change — they are actively shaping it.

Most importantly, the measure of progress is shifting. Safety is no longer defined solely by crime statistics; it is measured by whether women feel dignified, fearless, and free in their everyday choices. True safety, after all, is not just the absence of danger — it is the presence of freedom.

Conclusion: Rebuilding Trust, Brick by Brick

The NARI 2025 survey is not just a statistical assessment; it is a mirror reflecting India’s unfinished journey toward gender equality. Women’s safety cannot be reduced to one dimension — it is a web woven from laws, infrastructure, cultural attitudes, and personal responsibility. Break one strand, and the whole fabric weakens.

Metros may project an image of relative safety, but true equality demands more. It demands that every woman, in every city, at every hour, feels secure — not cautiously, not conditionally, but unconditionally.

As the saying goes, “When half of India feels unsafe, the other half cannot truly claim to be free.” The progress of a nation cannot be measured in GDP alone, but in whether its women can walk home without fear.

The debate must not conclude with reports, rallies, or fleeting outrage. It must ripple through households, classrooms, workplaces, and courtrooms, until safety is no longer a privilege enjoyed by some, but a birthright guaranteed to all. Only then can we begin to rebuild trust, brick by brick, into the foundations of a safer, freer India.

References

Disclaimer

This article is based on publicly reported surveys, news events, and case studies. Real-life incidents mentioned are representative, not exhaustive. The views expressed aim to encourage critical discussion on women’s safety and societal responsibility.

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