All this talk about a British documentary on one of Nirbhaya’s rapists has brought back some ugly memories. It has resurrected in my mind the image of a very dark and bleak December. And the hopelessness that came with it.

At that time, I was working as News Editor with CNN-IBN. Raw footage, health updates, heartbreaking scenes of her family, shattered hopes. And then came the Delhi protests. and the subsequent, short revolution on the streets.

I had written this for IBNLive then.

Her hair bounced in the air as she took two sprightly steps at a time, climbing down the stairs of a dilapidated, dank building. Confidence tried to make a conversation from each and every pore within. The task of having a family to fend for felt anything but a chore.

Instead, there was joy. There was glee. And there was satisfaction to see familiar faces light up as she handed over the tributes to the family, every month, unfailingly.

Now the world was at her feet. Literally. Ok, it was at her door.

The car outside was her ticket to a better life. A higher life – a life that soared higher than her ghetto-ised existence, gave her moments to cherish, to be her own self and surge ahead. A life that almost fulfilled her own dreams, her parents’ unfulfilled and unspoken ones and gave her the temerity to nurture new fantasies.

Complete post here on IBNLIVE

Two years on, think this is still #NoCountryForWomen.