If at all there is to be a heroine of the Indian #MeToo movement, that is currently naming and shaming sexual predators on social media, it is Rupan Deol Bajaj.
For those who are too young to remember, Bajaj, an IAS officer of the Punjab cadre, accused the much-admired KPS Gill — then Director General of Police, Punjab — of outraging her modesty. At a party in July 1988, at the Chandigarh residence of the then Punjab financial commissioner SL Kapoor, Gill patted her butt and propositioned her. One can imagine the gathering of highly placed government officials and Gill had the temerity to do such a thing, because he must have been sure that no woman would have the nerve to object, and certainly not to drag him to court. Her husband, BR Bajaj, also a senior IAS officer, stood by her, when the case became high-profile because of the people involved, and a majority of the people of our country felt that she was making a big fuss over a trivial issue.
Women, who go through much worse than this relatively mild instance of groping, were the first ones to turn against Bajaj for hurting the reputation of Gill. Crude jokes were made about what came to be known in the media as the “butt slapping” case, as if was just a minor misdemeanor by a teenager, rather than a terrible thing done by a man whose duties included protecting women from harassment.
This was before the issue of sexual harassment came out of the closet, so to say, and much before women could find support on social media platforms. There were journalists present at the party, but nobody reported the incident. Rupan Deol Bajaj was in a position of power herself, but it was a long and bitter battle for her dignity; she was targeting for ridicule, while Gill did not suffer any negative effects on his career or reputation. Bajaj was given two punishment postings after she filed the case, while Gill was only debarred from attending parties after 8.30 pm. Later, he was awarded a Padma Shri for his work in controlling militancy in the state.
It was as late as 2005 that the Supreme Court of India upheld the charges against Gill; though he did not have to go to jail, he had to pay a fine of Rs 200,000. Bajaj did not accept any monetary compensation, so the court directed that the money be given to a women’s organisation.
Which ordinary woman would have the courage or means to pursue a case for 17 years, and also the spine to suffer the consequences of her fight for dignity?
Think of another case, also involving a senior police officer, that ended in tragedy. In August 1990, Ruchika Girhotra was a 14-year-old student, was molested by Haryana’s Inspector General of Police, Shambhu Pratap Singh Rathore. The act was witnessed by her friend, Aradhana. The girls were too frightened to tell anybody what had happened, but when Rathore summoned them to his office again, they told their parents.
After Ruchika’s father made a complaint, Rathore pulled out all stops to intimidate her family. Ruchika was expelled from school, where, Rathore’s own daughter Priyanjali was her classmate. Disgustingly, Rathore’s wife Abha, a lawyer, defended him in court.
When Ruchika went out of the house, she was abused by Rathore’s men. False case of theft, murder and civil defamation were filed against Ruchika’s father Subhash, and her 10-year-old brother Ashu. Her brother was picked up by plain-clothed cops, tortured and illegally detained for two months. Cases were filed against Aradhana and her parents. Her father was suspended from his job, and later demoted. Aradhana had ten civil cases filed against her by Rathore and received abusive and threatening calls relentlessly. Pankaj Bhardwaj, the lawyer who took up Ruchika’s case, was bullied by Rathore, so were local journalists who reported on the case. Her father lost his job in a bank and they were forced to sell their home to one of Rathore’s men and leave town, while Rathore used his clout with politicians to get promotions and medals.
Unable to bear the trauma inflicted on her and her family, Ruchika committed suicide on 28 December 1993, after Ashu was paraded in handcuffs in his area. Rathore reportedly threw a party that night to celebrate. Even after her death, her family was forced to sign blank papers, so that her post mortem report could be fudged. It is impossible to imagine what a monster he was, as were the men who plotted the agony inflicted on the Girhotra family. What kind of men could beat and torture a child? What kind of wife and daughter could condone this behaviour? Did none of the people who colluded with Rathore have the courage to say: Stop?
After 19 years and over 400 hearings, Rathore was found guilty and sentenced to a ridiculous six months in prison and a fine of Rs 1000. The Central Bureau of Investigation sought an enhancement of the sentence. After more legal wrangling, during which he was even granted bail, the Supreme Court upheld Rathore’s conviction in the molestation case but restricted the punishment to six months in jail already served by him, considering his age. They cared about his discomfort, but no sympathy for the girl who died, her family and friends, who went through a horrific ordeal.
These are just two cases of many that go unreported, or the victims are forced to keep silent.
Today, if women are speaking out against sexual harassment and outing predators, it is the result of a cumulative rage suppressed for centuries, when justice was not done to women who suffered abuse. Even now, the women protesting are the ones who can afford to; what about the millions of women who have to option but to submit, because their livelihood — or life — depends on the will of their tormentors. Tanushree Dutta’s complaint of harassment by Nana Patekar triggered off the Indian #MeToo movement, but now we can see, it is only the tip of an immense iceberg.
Deepa Gahlot is a Mumbai based columnist, critic and author.
