On the night of April 14, 2016, a Presidency University undergraduate student was abused and assaulted by a group of men because she was wearing shorts and smoking while walking a friend to the bus stop. Atrayee Mukherjee, now pursuing master’s at Jadavpur University, writes what she feels after what a former student of Presidency had to face

As the city of rasogollas frothy with tradition soars towards highrises, its narrow mind evolves and breeds pockets of poison building up to societal gangrene.

I feel tremendously ashamed of those who live in my city, the city that remembers and sings about Rani Rashmoni, Matangini Hazra, Kadambini Ganguly, worships a female goddess every year with pomp and ceremony, celebrates a woman chief minister; yet continues to breed more and more incidents of violent reactions to the female form, tabooing show of skin, vilifying the notion of a woman who is confident about her body.

How long will it take to not sexualise this body so that a woman can breathe in it?

How long will it take for a woman to feel her skin in the sun shorn of men lustily gazing at her like they are entitled to?

This girl, from my university, was in an emergency. She had not even thought about her clothing like most of us when we are prioritising something else.

Some men found precious, scarce water (pockets of India do not have potable water) being wasted till the next day less important than what the girl was wearing at the moment.

They found the time to scrutinise, judge which part of the street she appeared to come from but not attend to her emergency.

That like Saudi Arabia, her clothing had to satisfy the standards of the men around her, that they would have to decide for her whether she was inspiring lust before she could go ahead and live every time.

What is it about two non-celebrity legs in small pants that causes the earth to tremor in this land?

Why are ordinary women in their routine lives not allowed to show skin? Is it so difficult to look at the face of the person who is speaking to us?

Will this gaze never change? It has been three years since I dragged a few men to the police for stopping me and a boy that I was walking with, in the streets, beating him, taking our picture for wearing small pants and smoking.

The police did their job, the bail cost a little, the city saw it on television and went back to its terrifying sleep.

Today again its toxic appendages show through the incident of this girl.

There is no repentance, rather proud espousers nod in firm resolution to continue such brave acts of discrimination and misogyny.

The mental harassment that the victim has to go through is not taken into account. This city remains in its sleep.