For working women in India, staying safe can feel like a full-time job

When Ajita Topo, a cook in an affluent neighborhood in Delhi, leaves work in the evening, she holds her bag like a shield against her chest, keeps her fists clenched and carries a black umbrella with a very sharp end to ward off a possible attack.

She makes sure to wear lots of layers—no matter how hot it is—to deter someone from trying to grope her chest, and secures her bun with a sharp metal stick as an additional weapon.

Topo isn’t being paranoid. Last year, she was followed by two men when she left work after 10 p.m. She managed to scare them away by shouting as she passed homes with guards outside.

“Workplace, public transport, public places, we feel safe nowhere,” said Topo, the sole breadwinner for her two children. “The only solution is to stay alert at all times.”

For many women in India, taking steps to ward off a violent attack—and reassuring their families they are safe while at work and on their commutes—is an invisible form of labor that is a central element of their work life.

The killing and rape of a trainee doctor in the city of Kolkata in August was a fresh reminder for Indian women who work of the dangers lurking in public spaces where women are far less visible than men, from the deserted corners of a hospital or corporate park, in public transport or on city streets.

The 31-year-old was found dead in a seminar hall of the state-run hospital after she went on break during a night shift. A volunteer at the hospital has been arrested as a suspect. The killing prompted protests by women across the country.

Only 30% of women in India aged 15 to 64 were in the labor force in 2022, according to the International Labor Organization, as conservative values lead many families to discourage women working outside the home. In the U.S., the corresponding rate is 68%.

A decade ago, Indian laws dealing with crimes against women were overhauled in the wake of the gang-rape of a 23-year-old woman on a moving bus. But women’s rights advocates say that entrenched patriarchal attitudes haven’t budged significantly, and are at the root of frequent violence against women, both in the home and outside of it.

In other widely publicized incidents, female call center workers have been assaulted and killed as they commuted to or from night shifts. Last year, a receptionist disappeared from the hotel where she worked and was found dead days later. Each time such a crime takes place, women experience another jolt of fear for their own safety.

Piyali Maiti, clinical director for counseling operations at 1to1help, which manages corporate assistance programs for employees, said worries sparked by the Kolkata attack have cropped up in conversations with employees and their family members in recent weeks.

Sometimes “young professionals are working out in a different city. So family members are also part of our concern group,” she said. “When we have sessions with them, they raise concerns for their child’s safety. ‘What can I do as a parent to make sure my child is safe?’”

For women working in healthcare, where they are a larger share of the workforce compared with many other occupations, but late night shifts and long hours are also common, the Kolkata attack has resonated especially deeply.

Amrita Bhattacharya, a 29-year-old medical resident at another hospital in the city, said she previously felt comfortable walking the distance—less than a mile—from her work to the hospital-provided women’s residence on her own at night. Now she asks a male colleague or friend to accompany her.

Earlier she used to chafe against rules at the residence, which include locking the facility’s doors after a certain hour.

“But now after the horrific incident, I feel being put under lock and key is a must in a society like ours,” she said. “It’s a strain to deal with such fear every day.”

Sexual-assault statistics indicate that women in India are more likely to be raped by a family member, romantic partner or friend, than an acquaintance, employer or stranger. Still, the highly publicized attacks on working women dovetail with existing beliefs held by many that a woman’s place is in the home, shaping decisions made by women and their families.

A Pew Research Center survey in 2019 found 40% of Indians think it is better for a marriage for men to provide while women take care of the home and children, significantly higher than the global median of 23%.

Some women choose to withdraw from work as soon as economic circumstances permit, while others prefer lower-paid work options close to home over traveling to more distant locations.

That perception that working in public is unsafe and homes are safe shows up in India’s newest employers—gig-work platforms. Companies that focus on deliveries have struggled to hire significant numbers of women; the lone exception is Urban Company, a platform that offers personal-care and repair services at home.

The pervasive sense that public spaces are unsafe also shapes company policy. Delivery platform Swiggy at one point limited delivery hours to before 6 p.m. for female workers. The company said in a 2021 blog post on its efforts to hire more women that it reversed the policy after realizing it was barring women from earning during peak dinner hours.

Economists and researchers say the low share of Indian women in the workforce is costing India economic growth.

Economic privilege can offer an additional layer of security—such as a personal vehicle for commuting to work, or access to ride-share services that come with some inbuilt safety measures. But, nevertheless, the sense of insecurity persists.

Vidhi Pandey, a digital-marketing professional, has an almost 90-minute commute between her home in Gurgaon and her office in the Indian capital, and frequently attends evening events. If an international client is involved, her day can end at 2 a.m.

“Although my husband and mother have grown accustomed to my unconventional working hours, announcing a late night at the office still makes them lose their sleep,” said the 43-year-old.

Her mother frequently lobbies her to look for something closer to home even if it means earning less. But she has resisted the pressure. Instead, she reminds her mom of her extensive safety checklist.

When she books a cab, she makes sure to look at the driver’s performance rating and reads riders’ feedback regarding his behavior. If she is wearing a skirt, she changes into something more covered up before getting into a taxi for her ride home.

On her phone, she keeps the Delhi Police panic button app open throughout the ride. The app, developed after the 2012 bus attack and called “Himmat” or “courage,” allows the user to quickly send an alert to the Delhi Police, with a link to the user’s location on Google Maps, as well as notifications to family and friends.

She makes sure to share her live location and trip status with her husband and at least one friend. Sometimes she keeps a phone call going with her mother or a friend throughout the car ride.

“I keep thinking about how to escape if something goes wrong,” said Pandey. “I dream of a day when our society is safe enough for me to travel alone anytime, anywhere without any fear or worry.”