Opinion Anjali Singh: An ill-lit road that speaks of a larger darkness

The death of Anjali Singh in an accident in Delhi in the early hours of January 1 is a tragedy with many grim echoes. If the details of the hit-and-run — her body was dragged over a considerable distance after it became entangled with the axle of the accused’s car — have shocked the public, then the circumstances surrounding the case must raise questions that deserve urgent attention: On one of the most intensely patrolled nights of the year, with around 18,000 police and security personnel on the streets, how was this young woman dragged for 10 km without drawing the attention of law enforcement? Why did it take two hours between the first call to the PCR and finding the body? How safe are the streets of the national capital for anyone, whether they’re on a two-wheeler, as Singh was, or walking, or in a car?

If this case hits home for so many it is also because it draws attention to the greater vulnerability of women on India’s streets, especially at night and more if they’re alone. The road between Sultanpuri, where the accident occurred, and Kanjhawala, where Singh’s body was recovered, couldn’t be described as safe for anyone. Several stretches are plunged into darkness once the otherwise busy road slips into inactivity after 11 pm — a rickshaw driver told The Indian Express that the streetlights in one area have not worked in three years. For a woman, using such a road is an additional risk and often a cramping consideration in the decisions she makes before stepping out of home: What is the best route to avoid being alone and/or out too late? Would she be safer in her own vehicle, asking for a lift from a known person, or should she seek the security of a crowded bus or metro? These are fraught decisions in a society where there is still reluctance and/or wariness about women stepping out into public spaces, for work or leisure, and where women still have to push back against the weight of conservative attitudes and restrictions, to be themselves and move freely.

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Zipping down the road on her purple TVS Jupiter — which she had purchased on EMI as a gift for herself — one can imagine Singh feeling like any other modern, urban woman in India: Part of a vibrant economy and society, independent and “liberated”, as her sister described her. That her story met such a gruesome end on an ill-lit road speaks of a larger darkness and bigger failures.