Instead of reprimanding him, I expressed delight in his independence, while also sharing with him how afraid I was that I may have lost him. As I processed this incident, I started to think about how the word ‘confidence’ is inextricably tied to the notion of independence. To be independent or to live independently involves finding a certain confidence, a certain sureness of self. Fear, on the other hand, comes from the absence of confidence, the inability to conceive of performing a certain task. At the age of two itself, one sees the desire for autonomy manifest. Toddlers want to do everything themselves. They want to wash their hands themselves, want to clean up after themselves, want to climb on to and out of bed on their own, want to eat on their own. Even when they may not quite be able to follow through the activity entirely without help, like putting on and taking off their clothes or their shoes, they still want to have as much agency as possible. It is delightful for parents to witness this, especially after having had to do everything for them from the time they were born. I’ve begun to realise that my job as a parent is to make myself empower our child to do things himself, to make informed choices, to care for himself while negotiating his relationship with the rest of the world.

When I consider this self-given brief, especially against the realisation of toddlers’ inherent desire for autonomy, I feel nothing but disdain for all the million Indian men who cannot even make themselves a cup of tea, and for those who are unable to function without the assistance of either their mothers, wives or sisters. You know what I mean! Because growing up male in India is deeply connected with privilege, so many men grow up entitled, like lords, while the world around them bends over backwards to appease them. Their misdemeanours are not only excused but explained away under the logic of ‘boys will be boys’ while girls are adultified from the get-go and are often tasked with major domestic and caretaking responsibilities. In every educational environment I have ever participated in, I have seen women excel and push themselves while the men are content with mediocrity. Sometimes I understand exactly why, under Brahmanical patriarchy, education is not recommended for those the ruling caste would prefer to have servile, because with exposure to education, one gains confidence, one tastes autonomy after which there is no going back.

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I realised that ‘safety’ is a pre-condition for gaining confidence with any task. My toddler feels safe enough to explore the world around him. He trusts his immediate environment. Most Indian women simply do not have that luxury. Our lives are continually lived under the threat of something untoward happening. We are always ‘on guard’, aware that our bodies are constantly under surveillance. It is so normal; we don’t even consider how oppressive it is. We risk our safety every day to fulfil our dreams. 

The inherent flaw in all discourse in India around preventing rape is that it is geared towards ‘protecting’ women without ensuring our safety. The nuances between these two approaches are lost in the cacophony around the death sentence for rapists. What women want most is an atmosphere of safety, the ability to go about their daily business without feeling like everything can slip away with one wrong turn. We want the right to live with dignity and even to experiment with our identities and our professional aptitudes without the fear of being assaulted or becoming prey. 

Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.