No, Her Lifestyle Isn’t Your License

By Parambrahma Tripathy

Does her going to a pub, smoking hookah, wearing jeans, or partying late at night give anyone the right to rape her? The question is rhetorical, yet in India, it’s asked far too often—by people, by media panels, by police officers, and even sometimes by judges. It emerges not out of curiosity but as an instrument of doubt, a veiled justification for the unforgivable. This culture of victim blaming and character assassination is not just cruel—it is dangerous. It does not merely reflect a lack of empathy; it enforces a mindset where the survivor becomes the accused, and the accused becomes the poor boy who was “misled.”

There is something deeply rotten in the way Indian society often reacts to gender-based violence. Instead of rage for the violation, there is curiosity about what the woman was wearing. Instead of compassion, there is scrutiny of her lifestyle. It is as if our collective morality hangs not on the crime but on whether the woman was "sanskari" enough. This instinct to question the woman’s character is not a recent development. It is woven deep into our social fabric, passed on through whispered warnings, kitchen conversations, and cautionary tales told to girls: Don’t go out late. Don’t wear this. Don’t talk back. Don’t be too friendly. Don’t drink. Don’t be visible. Be careful. Be invisible.

It is not justice that follows—it is humiliation

But this culture is not only unfair—it is a lie. Women have been raped in sarees and in skirts, in homes and in streets, in cities and in villages, during the day and at night, by strangers and by family. The truth is simple and brutal: women are not raped because of what they wear or where they go. They are raped because someone decided to exert power over them. And the more we blame the victim, the more we empower the rapist. When we ask what she was doing there, we are really asking: did she deserve it?

Character assassination after a sexual assault is a second form of violence. If rape takes the body by force, victim blaming takes the soul. A woman who has survived such a violation now finds herself on trial—in newsrooms, police stations, and even within her own home. Her WhatsApp chats become evidence. Her Instagram posts are dug up. Her boyfriends become accusations. Her smile in a party photo is interpreted as consent. It is not justice that follows—it is humiliation.

The irony is that most of this judgment masquerades as concern. We are told that the questions are being asked to "understand the case better," to "know the truth." But we never ask if the rapist drank. We never ask how many girls he spoke to that night. We never ask about his character. We never doubt that he was provoked. That he “lost control.” The woman must always carry the burden of proof—for her own virtue.

Violence, Victim & Justice

The Indian legal system has tried to address this. Section 53A of the Indian Evidence Act clearly says that the character of the woman or her sexual history is irrelevant in a rape case. The Supreme Court has repeatedly condemned the two-finger test and the practice of moral policing. Yet the courtroom is only one part of justice. The streets speak louder. And in the court of public opinion, the rules are still very different. There, a girl who smokes must be “loose.” A girl who parties must be “available.” The old dictionary of patriarchy still defines womanhood in terms of obedience and modesty. Step outside that, and you become a fair target.

Silence, always, sides with the oppressor

We must understand that victim blaming is not only unjust, it is ineffective. It does nothing to prevent rape. It only protects rapists. It silences survivors. It discourages reporting. It teaches young girls that no matter what happens, they will be blamed. And it teaches young boys that they can get away with it, as long as the girl doesn't fit society’s image of a “good woman.” This is not just a cultural flaw—it is a systemic failure.

When we say “she asked for it,” we are not just being cruel. We are being complicit. We are giving power to the next rapist. We are telling him that society will look the other way if he can raise enough doubts about her decency. That is why this must stop—not for the sake of political correctness, but for the sake of justice. For the sake of safety. For the sake of being human.

There is a line from Maya Angelou that cuts deep: “I come as one, but I stand as ten thousand.” Every woman who dares to speak up carries not just her pain, but the stories of countless others who were silenced. We owe it to them—to listen without judgment, to believe without conditions, and to stand without hesitation.

In India, the fight against gender violence cannot just be about stricter laws. It must be about culture. It must be about unlearning. About telling our boys that masculinity is not about control, and telling our girls that they don’t have to be small to be safe. We must move from protecting women to respecting them. Because the minute we ask what she was wearing, we are asking the wrong question. The only question we must ask is: why did he think he could do this?

Until we start holding men accountable for their actions, and not women for their choices, we will keep failing our daughters. Until we stop defining morality by what a woman wears and start defining crime by what a man does, there will be no justice. And until we stop whispering about rape and start shouting about consent, there will be no change.

It’s time we choose which side of history we want to stand on. Either we are with the survivors or with the silence. And silence, always, sides with the oppressor.

[Parambrahma Tripathy is an author and Communication for Development professional with over 18 years of experience. He has worked with organizations like BBC Media Action, Landesa, The Energy Policy Institute at the University of Chicago, IPE Global, and Coceptual Media. He has been recognized with several awards, including the prestigious Laadli Media and Gender Sensitivity Award in 2022 and 2023, Best Lyricist of the Year in 2022, Dr. Radhanath Rath Fellowship for Journalism, Kalinga Literary Youth Award, Timepass Bestseller Award, Srujan India Youth Award, Utkal Sahitya Samaj Felicitation and Odia Yuva Stambha Samman(2023)]

(DISCLAIMER: This is an opinion piece. The views expressed are the author’s own and have nothing to do with OTV’s charter or views. OTV does not assume any responsibility or liability for the same.)