Shraddha Walkar case: Ask the right questions
MORE THAN PUBLIC SPACES, IT’S THE PRIVATE SPACE BETWEEN A MAN AND A WOMAN, SOMETIMES THE BEDROOM, THAT CAN BE THE REAL DANGER ZONE. AND, THE SCARIEST ADVERSARIES ARE THOSE WHO RESIDE IN THE CIRCLE OF TRUST. MORE THAN 90% OF WOMEN IN INDIA KNOW THE MEN WHO HAVE ABUSED THEM
If Aaftab were Amit, would Shraddha’s fate be any different? This hypothetical but critical question must be asked in the context of the discourse that has followed what has come to be known as the Delhi Fridge Murder. Shraddha Walkar, whose piercing eyes and face have haunted a nation this past week, was allegedly slaughtered by her partner, Aaftab Poonawala, who then allegedly chopped her body, hid the parts in the apartment’s refrigerator before dumping them in various parts of the Capital.
Walkar virtually forecast her own murder, writing as far back as 2020 to the police in Vasai, Maharashtra, that Poonawala had threatened to kill her and chop her into pieces. These horrific details paint the picture of a sociopath — a man who police say took a swig of a cold beer after hacking his girlfriend’s body with five large knives; the remorseless and unfeeling alleged murderer who police say brought other women home while his former partner’s body parts were still in the fridge; and the abusive, amoral man who has the audacity to tell the court, when asked if he knew what he had done, that “everything happened in the heat of the moment”.
But instead of zeroing in on what this tells us about the violence that women experience in relationships and why they find it so difficult to walk out instantly, the media and political debates have been swamped by the rhetoric of “love jihad”. Assam chief minister Himanta Biswa Sarma warned of “... more Aaftabs” unless a law to regulate Hindu-Muslim marriages was not made the norm. Social media is crawling with tweets and comments on the religion of the perpetrator. And, of course, Walkar’s distraught father, Vikas Walkar, who was reportedly unhappy with her choice to be with Poonawala, referenced the phrase in his statements.
Given what is known so far — the two met on a dating app — disagreements over a possible religious conversion have not emerged as a possible motive for the crime. In any case, the best response to the debate over love and conversions is to make it easier for people of different faiths to get marriages registered under the 1954 Special Marriage Act.
But, in this case, to have the entire national debate hijacked by Hindu-Muslim issues is to undermine the harsh reality of millions of Indian women. The statistics, as reported by the National Family Health Survey, are self-explanatory — one in every three women is likely to have experienced some form of abuse in a relationship, but only one in every 10 formally reports the offence; 30% of Indian women have experienced domestic violence at least once in their lives after turning 15, and 4% of women say they have been abused by their spouses while being pregnant.
We focus a lot on the absence of safety for women in public spaces — in buses, on local trains, and on the walk home from work. These are important conversations. I personally recall pretending that strangers’ homes were mine, making a faux entrance towards a gated residence just to avoid the whistles and gropes of boorish men who would ride their motorcycles at break-neck speed through the colony.
The truth, however, is that more than public spaces, it’s the private space between a man and a woman, sometimes the bedroom, that can be the real danger zone. And the scariest adversaries are those who reside within the circle of trust, be it your partner, your spouse, your uncle, your father’s friend, your cousin, the guard, or the household help. The list is endless. The government’s own data shows that more than 90% of women in India know the men who have abused them. Strangers are infinitely less scary sometimes.
The pressure to remain silent is also much more when it involves an intimate partner. In Walkar’s case, the police must explain what measures it took, or did not, in the aftermath of her specific complaint about a threat to her life in 2020; a few weeks later, she withdrew her complaint, as so often happens in cases of domestic abuse.
It could be the fear of repercussions, the absence of a support system or her convincing herself to give Poonawala “one last chance” because she had fought her own family to be with him. The fact is women are judged irrespective of their choices. We are judged if we remain single, we are judged for who we choose to be with and we are judged when we leave, having chosen poorly. Sometimes we can’t leave because we are terrified of being alone or are economically dependent. Sometimes we have been gaslit into believing that it’s our fault. This is classic brutalisation.
But where are these conversations in our media? Where are the politicians willing to refocus attention on the fact that marital rape is still not criminalised?
Shraddha Walkar’s murder has been reduced to a salacious soap opera. And all that is being offered to India’s women is lip service and token, faux outrage.