Better in their words…

It will be a long road…
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By AMOL SHARMA, BIMAN MUKHERJI and RUPA SUBRAMANYA
BARASAT, India—Juhi Nondi, a 20-year-old college student, takes the train every day to and from school here, toting a satchel of textbooks and looking stylish in her skinny jeans and T-shirts—and long, sharp fingernails.

“They’re not just for fashion,” she says of her pink nails, “but also for self-defense.”

Aggressive sexual harassment is a daily part of her commute in this bustling suburb of Kolkata. A man grabbed her breast one morning, she says. Another day, someone grabbed her hip. Friends carry chili powder, she says, to throw in the eyes of an assailant, a sort of homemade pepper spray.

“If I’m even a half-hour late coming home, my parents panic,” Ms. Nondi says.

Barasat, which boasts a shopping mall, a KFC restaurant and a growing number of women in the workplace, is a typical, if modest Indian economic success story. But it is typical of urban India in another way, too: Here and nationwide, women say harassment of women is a fixture of daily life.

In December, India’s climate of sexual violence burst onto the world’s consciousness after a young woman on a bus in New Delhi was so brutally gang-raped and assaulted that she died of her injuries. That attack provoked nationwide protests and prompted national introspection about the broader spectrum of harassment—from stalking to groping—that often goes unpunished and can lead to more aggravated assault, experts say.

Here in Barasat, interviews with two dozen women yielded consistent stories of recent and repeated harassment. Men trail women on foot or on scooters, making crude remarks and grabbing at the scarf worn to cover the chest. It happens at the train station, they said, in the fish-market lane, on the road to the university and outside the police station.

Many women interviewed complained that police do little to stop it. One local officer, when asked about that by a reporter, responded: “If these incidents don’t happen, what will happen to our jobs?”

A senior Barasat police official said the police take all complaints seriously. The police said the department couldn’t provide hard numbers on harassment complaints, arrests or convictions.

Women say they travel in groups, some carrying sharp objects—safety pins, pocket knives—to discourage harassers. Still, occasionally there are more serious assaults. In early 2011, a 16-year-old boy was stabbed to death trying to protect his 22-year-old sister, Rinku Das, as she returned home one evening from her call-center job.

As usual, her brother picked her up on his bicycle from the station, Ms. Das says. Three men blocked the bike, she says, poured alcohol on her, and attacked her brother as he sprang to her defense.

As her brother was being beaten with bamboo canes, Ms. Das says, she pounded on a nearby senior police officer’s bungalow. The guards outside told her they couldn’t help. “I screamed and shouted for help in the middle of the street,” she says.

Kalyan Banerjee, the main police officer dealing with Ms. Das’s case, said the bungalow guards aren’t allowed to leave their posts. The three alleged attackers face murder charges and have pleaded not guilty. They are in judicial custody.

After the killing, police say, they intensified patrols, put more plainclothes officers on the street and opened a new women’s police station across from the Barasat Government College. From there, 18 female officers patrol high-frequency harassment areas.

But the roots of the problem run deep, starting in childhood. Across India, daughters are often less valued than sons—a reality that shows up in India’s skewed gender ratios.

India has 37 million more men than women, partly because the preference for sons prompts sex-selective abortions and infanticide. Women also have a higher overall mortality rate than men, partly because of bias and neglect over a lifetime, according to recent research, as well as mortality during childbirth.

Some argue that the harassment is a byproduct of economic growth in places like Barasat. A few decades ago, Barasat was a dirt-road town of a few thousand people. Today it is a growing suburb of sprawling Kolkata, with apartment buildings and gated communities with names like Fortune Township. The population tops a quarter-million.

Men and women alike have benefited greatly, but society remains deeply conservative. “For generations, men haven’t seen women so empowered,” says Mayank Saksena, an executive at consulting firm Jones Lang LaSalle JLL +1.09%who has developed real estate in Barasat and has studied the town closely. “It builds jealousy and envy.”

In particular, men lacking enough formal education to climb the economic ladder may find casual work as food vendors, rickshaw pullers, drivers or laborers, which might pay about $100 per month. Around them, in Barasat, they see growing numbers of young, modern women making their way to colleges and call centers.

A report commissioned by the Indian government after the Delhi rape and murder described the danger nationwide of “young, prospect-less men” whose frustrations are “lending intensity to a pre-existing culture of sexual violence.”

In response to that report, the government this month enacted a temporary ordinance that cracks down on various types of sexual harassment and assault. For example, “unwelcome and explicit sexual overtures” are punishable with up to five years in prison, while “making sexually coloured remarks” can yield a one-year jail term. Parliament must ratify the ordinance to make it permanent, otherwise it will expire in several weeks.

Anima Sarkar, a political-science student, described an encounter with three Barasat men late last year. The 23-year-old and three of her male friends were walking the few hundred yards from the college to the train station, when the men started verbally harassing her, she says. “Women are like a commodity, a product,” she recalled one of them saying. “You are a good product.” She scolded one of them, she says, by asking: “Don’t you have a sister or mother at home?” A skirmish ensued between the men and Ms. Sarkar’s friends. One man grabbed her scarf and hand, she says, and she slapped him.

Bystanders intervened and dragged one of the alleged attackers, Tapan Sen, down the street to the police station. Police later tracked down two other suspects, Mintu Sarkar (no relation to Anima), and Raju Biswas.

The men, who spent a night in jail, are out on bail as police investigate harassment-related charges. None has been charged with any wrongdoing. In interviews, they say they were out shopping that night and encountered Ms. Sarkar but deny harassing or assaulting her. They allege that a fourth man, whom they know by the nickname “The Master,” insulted and groped her.

Mr. Sen, 23, is a part-time driver who dropped out of school after ninth grade to work at a car-repair shop. He earns about $75 a month.

Mr. Sarkar, 34 years old, owns a shop that makes door and window frames. “I really began this business from scratch,” he said. He is unmarried and lives with his parents, two elder brothers and their wives. He has a high-school diploma.

Mr. Biswas is a 23-year-old orphan with a wife, a 3-year-old daughter and no formal education. He says he makes about $150 a month as a contract laborer in Mr. Sarkar’s shop, getting paid according to the number of pieces he makes.

The men described the fourth man, The Master, as a middle-aged, part-time teacher who hung around their window-and-door-making shop. “He would stare lewdly at women passing by in the market,” Mr. Biswas said.

According to Mr. Biswas’s account, The Master was with them the night of the attack. He spoke to Ms. Sarkar and lunged at her, but then disappeared into the crowd, Mr. Biswas alleges, leaving the others to take the blame.

The Master couldn’t be reached for comment. Police said they were unaware of him and his alleged role in the attack.

After the incident, Ms. Sarkar says, her neighbors told her parents that she must have done something wrong—that somehow the attack was her fault. Her parents grounded her for weeks, so she lost her job tutoring kids in math and science.

Ms. Sarkar, the daughter of a fruit vendor whose family of four lives on about $100 a month, plans to go to law school, but not in Barasat. “My friends and I say it’s better if we run away from here when we graduate,” she says.

Police say they are investigating charges of harassing a woman with intent to “outrage her modesty.” Before the new ordinance, it was the only crime in India’s criminal code dealing with harassment of women.

The law allows for a maximum of two years’ imprisonment. In practice, such punishments are rare. Maheshwar Banerjee, public prosecutor in Barasat, said that he can’t recall any harassment case since he took charge of the office in October 2011 that resulted in punishment.

Often, the complainants don’t appear in court because they are afraid of tarnishing their family’s image or hurting their marriage prospects, he said. “The women’s families don’t like to pursue the cases,” he said.

The areas where women complain harassment is most commonplace are the busy markets and intersections near the train station and the heart of town. One lane from the station passes the local courthouse. The other lane begins at a police station, passes a fish market and vegetable vendors and reaches the office of the District Magistrate, the most senior official.

The streets are packed with bicycle rickshaws and shoppers visiting jewelry stores, Internet cafes and snack vendors. Men gather at the tea stall on the road to the college.

Behind the college is an alley known for illegal liquor shops, where men drink and gamble. Barasat has one police officer for every 1,030 people—just about India’s average—compared with one policeman per 390 people in the U.S. and one per 236 people in New York City.

Some policemen appear more concerned about being punished for not stopping harassment than protecting women from such incidents, according to several women interviewed who commute regularly by train.

Shumi Kundu, 22, says that last month she had an encounter with two police officers that left the impression they were more concerned about their own well-being than hers. At the time, she was sitting on a bench at a train platform. The cops approached her and asked her to leave. “They said if I didn’t leave and something bad happened to me, they’d be blamed for it,” Ms. Kundu said.

A.K. Sarkar, an official in the Barasat Railway Police, which is in charge of security on train platforms, said officers take their duties seriously. “If anything at all happens, then we go and intervene,” he said.

—Uzma Jahangir contributed to this article.

A version of this article appeared February 28, 2013, on page A1 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: On India’s Streets, Women Run a Gantlet of Harassment.

On Indias Streets, Women Run a Gantlet of Harassment – WSJ.com.