Over the past few days, my Facebook home page is rife with messages of gratitude posted by friends who live in Singapore, thanking their stars that they live in a country where they can go out any time of day or night, without fear of any sort.

One of them talked about how she went for a late-night snack with a friend at 2 a.m., and then walked home. “Wonder how many nations, even developed nations at that, can offer this haven?” she wrote. Another friend posted: “As I returned home early this morning from a Christmas party, in party gear, I reflected that at no moment did I feel unsafe.”

As I read the messages, I feel envious of their freedom.

I lived in Singapore for more than half my life. I studied, and then worked there. When I was in university, I stayed back to study late into the evenings. Later, one of the jobs I held involved working with a TV news channel, which meant I had to do night shifts that ended at 12.30 a.m.. Other times, I have gone out for dinners or visited friends and returned home on the last bus or train – all alone. Never once did it cross my mind that I could be exposed to trouble of any sort. I even remember going to an ATM near my house once to draw some last-minute cash for an early morning trip, and then stopped at the 7-Eleven to buy some bread as I was hungry. It was 2 a.m, and I was dressed in a tee-shirt and a pair of bermudas.

Two years back, I moved to Chennai, and now live with my parents. I work in a national newspaper. Every day, when I get off work – even if it is just 7 p.m. – I call my mother to tell her I am heading home. And she waits anxiously for the 40 minutes it takes for the commute home. If I am going out in the evening, I have to ensure someone will drop me home if it gets late. I drape a scarf around me when I step out.

While I appreciate the efforts of those who marched in protest in Delhi pressing the government to pass tighter laws and impose stricter punishments for those convicted of rape, I don't believe that legislation is a solution by itself. A debate in Parliament wouldn't make me feel any safer. Neither would some random TV host shouting at the top of his voice, seemingly asking all the right questions.

What would make me safer would be conscientious policemen and women, and all those in power, who would wield their authority in the right way.

In Singapore, there was always the confidence that if anyone misbehaved with me, at any time, all I had to do was to hail a policeman nearby or rush to the nearest police station. Something would be done – I knew that much. And it wouldn't matter whether I was dressed in jeans or shorts. If a complaint was made, action would be taken. And it wasn't just the police – bus drivers would stop the bus if someone raised an alarm. I could hop off at train stations and report to the person at the control station. But there was never such a need – not in the 16-plus years I lived there

In Chennai, I avoid policemen. If a man comes too close on the bus or elsewhere, I move away rather than turn around and shout. The one time I did shout at a man for pushing against me on a bus, no one came forward to support. The conductor and driver pretended to be deaf, and the rest of the passengers looked highly uncomfortable. When I told my family about the incident, I was told to pipe down – there were enough stories of women who have been slapped with false charges after they filed a complaint. Worse, those women were at risk of being abused by the police themselves.

Making punishments any harsher or legislation any stronger is not a solution in itself. That will work only when the people who wield power use them justly. And that will happen when laws are actually imposed, not shelved due to corruption or any other excuses.

Electing a woman to power is of no comfort to the millions of women who find their daily existence a struggle.

(Yamini studied at the National University of Singapore.)

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