That was, of course, more than a decade ago. Today, neither of my friends, they say, would argue with bus drivers or cops: discretion is the better part of valour.
So how does one survive on the streets of Delhi, especially if one has a job that entails late hours? Over the years, all of us draw up a mental list. Don't argue with a vehicle larger than yours. Try and avoid empty stretches even if it means taking the longer route. Always look out for someone tailing you—you can always figure that out by taking a sudden turn. But if it is an empty road, don't speed—that's fatal, as it acts as a challenge. Never make eye contact at traffic signals with the driver of the car next to you. Always drive with the windows rolled up and doors locked. If your car is in a lonely parking lot, look around before entering the car if you can't get someone to escort you to it—and once you have entered, lock all the doors first. In these days of the mobile phone, keep telephone numbers of friends/acquaintances along your car route, of friends in the police (we all also have friends in the police), of breakdown services (if your car breaks down on the DND flyway, as has happened to me, there is a number you can call and help arrives usually within 10 minutes). Of course, nothing is foolproof.
This, of course, begs the question: why do women drive alone late at night? For a journalist, mobility and independence are essential to the profession. Having struggled so hard to get some sort of parity with our male colleagues, are we to be beaten back, merely because it is unsafe? While we all need to work out our own sets of dos and don'ts, and employers need to take some responsibility, doesn't the State owe something to its citizens?
If nothing worse than having my car dragged several metres has happened to me as yet, it is only because I have been luckier than Soumya Vishwanathan, not less adventurous.
