Ah, India. The land of contrasts, culture, and, of course, the great divide—between those who believe in the system and those who’ve actually met it.
On one side, we have The Shielded. The ones who have never had to step foot inside a police station unless it was for passport verification. They sleep soundly, convinced that law and order are sacred, that uniforms command respect, and that the judiciary is the last, unshakable pillar of democracy.
On the other side, there is The Scarred. The ones who know better. Not because they wanted to, but because life—or rather, the legal system—gave them no choice.
The Shielded: A Safe, Cozy Illusion
These are the people who watch crime thrillers and argue about “what the law says.” They sip on their lattes, nod along to panel discussions on justice, and say things like:
“But the police can’t do that, no?”
Oh, sweetheart. They can. And they do. Every single day.
The Scarred: A Night at a South-West Delhi Police Station
Let me tell you a story—one I wish I never had to tell.
It started with a WhatsApp call at 10:38 PM. Yes, you read that right. The police, calling a civilian on WhatsApp at night. Asking me to report to the station. Me, a law-abiding citizen. Me, with my mother by my side, because, well, let’s not pretend we live in a country where walking into a police station as a woman at night is a non-issue.
I reached at 12:45 PM the next day because, of course, I believed in “clearing up misunderstandings.” That’s what normal, rational people do, right? Walk in, figure out what’s going on, and get out?
Hah. Silly me.
What followed was eight hours of waiting. No explanation, no due process, just a grand performance of Let’s Show You Who’s in Charge.
Then, at 7 PM, my phone was taken away, and I was led into an inquiry room. Sounds official, doesn’t it? Like a place where facts are sorted and cases are handled.
Except, it wasn’t.
It was a resting room for male police officers. A single bed, mattress, a pillow and a quilt. And men. Only men.
Not a female officer in sight.
I sat there for an hour and a half. I wasn’t being questioned. I was just… waiting. A silent display of dominance, of who was in charge. A reminder that I was on their turf, under their watch, and my discomfort was entirely my problem.
And while I sat there, I imagined the Shielded saying, “But that’s illegal, right? There has to be a female officer!”
Must be. Should be.
But wasn’t.
The Aftermath: The Great Indian Runaround
Of course, I didn’t sit silently. I did what The Shielded always advise—“Take action! Speak up! Go to higher authorities!”
I went to senior police officers.
They sent me to Anti-Corruption Branch.
ACB directed me to Vigilance.
Vigilance said, “This is serious. Go to the court, file an FIR.”
The court, well, the court runs on its own clock.
And somewhere along the way, I just wanted to sleep. To hell with that hour and a half.
Not Jealous. Just Hopeful.
To those untouched by this madness, the ones who still sleep in peace, thinking this system is fair—you are lucky.
Not because we envy you. We don’t want you to know what it’s like to be reduced to a powerless pawn in this brutal, humiliating game.
We pray that you never have to sit in a dimly lit room, surrounded by uniformed men who know exactly how much they can get away with. That you never have to fight a system that doesn’t just fail you—it destroys you for daring to demand dignity.
But we also need you to understand something.
Ignorance is not protection.
Just because you haven’t seen it, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.
Just because it hasn’t touched you, doesn’t mean it never will.
Two Indias. One Bitter Truth.
This country isn’t just divided by wealth, class, education or caste. It’s divided by experience.
Those who believe in justice.
And those who have dared to seek it.