The prejudice over clothes – The Hindu

It is astonishing how often every conversation about violence against women is reduced to a single, tired question — “What was she wearing?” Or “Why was she alone? Why did she step out at night? Why did her parents allow it?” The finger, inevitably, points toward the woman — as though her very existence must constantly justify itself. Rarely, if ever, do we hear the questions that truly matter: “Why was the man staring? Why did his gaze wander where it did not belong? Why is his presence in the night unquestioned, unexamined?”

For the longest time, I believed ignorance or lack of education fuelled such inquiries. But now, I realise the roots burrow deeper than literacy — they tangle with the prejudices we inherit, the mindsets we normalise, the fears we teach our daughters far more diligently than we educate our sons.

A friend recently bought a simple short-dress. She paired it with stockings; nothing immodest, nothing “revealing”, except the discomfort it triggered in her parents. Their protest was the usual: men will stare; men will comment. When she asked why men’s misbehaviour should govern a woman’s clothing, the response was equally familiar — “We cannot control their minds or their mouths. So, protect yourself.”

Both her parents are educated, successful, and — by many measures — modern. Yet the fear they carry is ancient. Their reaction is not an exception; it is a daily occurrence in thousands of households. And these remarks extend beyond dresses or hemlines — they chip away at women’s autonomy, constantly teaching them that they are one misstep away from being blamed. Because even in tragedy, the question is never “Why did he harm her?”, but “What did she do to invite harm?”

Meanwhile, men stroll freely in vests, shorts, sometimes bare-chested — skin unrestrained, freedom unchallenged. There is no fear that an exposed torso will invite assault. No warnings whispered, no shame imposed. Their clothing is invisible to judgment; women’s weaponised.

And when tragedy strikes — when a girl is assaulted — microphones appear, opinions flock. Some voices now support survivors vociferously, yet one wonders: are these beliefs genuine, or merely socially acceptable performances? Even grieving parents may find, in some quiet, anguished corner of their mind, a tormenting doubt — “Was it her clothes? Was it our permission?”

So, why do these questions persist?

Education alone does not shatter prejudice. What we desperately need is upbringing — not the kind that teaches fear, but the kind that nurtures equality. Our society is still shadowed by the belief that men are inherently superior — a notion echoed in the chilling Bengali proverb “Sonar angti abar beka”, which translates to “Even if a gold ring is bent, it is still gold.” A flawed man is still valued; a woman must be flawless merely to be tolerated. Minds crowded with such beliefs leave no room to welcome change — worse, these are passed down like heirlooms.

Yet hope persists. We are questioning what was once unquestionable. We are unlearning the shame that was never ours to carry.

And our laws — they bear scars of struggle and symbols of progress. From Vishaka v State of Rajasthan (1997), which first recognised the workplace as a space where dignity must be defended, to the Nirbhaya case (2013), which shook the conscience of the entire nation, every landmark judgment reminds us that justice can be demanded, and change can be written into statutes.

Yet, if legal reform alone could keep women safe, our headlines would look very different.

Because for every judgment delivered, there are centuries of silence still echoing beneath it. For every new law, there are old beliefs still being whispered: “Better to be safe… than sorry.” “Be careful what you wear.” “Don’t tempt fate.”

We teach girls caution like it’s a compulsory subject — and teach boys entitlement without ever calling it a lesson. To truly transform society, we must shift the focus of education itself.

Campaigns like Beti Bachao, Beti Padhao opened classrooms to girls — a necessary beginning. But a future that empowers only daughters, while excusing the sons, will always be incomplete. So perhaps it is time for a new mandate: educate the boys. Not just in academics but in empathy. Not just in literacy but in consent. Not just in success but in responsibility.

Because the future will not change merely by giving girls opportunities — The future will change when boys learn that a woman’s freedom is never theirs to take away. And once we begin asking the right questions — not “What was she wearing?” but “Why did he feel entitled?” — that is when we will finally see a world move closer to justice not just in the books of law, but in the lives of women.

mitranayanika7@gmail.com

Published – January 25, 2026 04:15 am IST