Power and joy contained within women-only spaces

Natasha Badhwar

In solidarity with the students of my alma mater, Indraprastha College for Women

Studying in Delhi University’s Indraprastha College for Women (IPCW), or what is popularly called IP College, is one of the most important stories of my life. It took decades for me to find the words to begin to describe the ways in which I have been shaped by the safe space that the college was for me.

My generation had grown up with the idea that gender segregation in schools and college is an archaic and conservative idea and mixed-gender schools is the progressive idea worth engaging with. I had spent my school years in one of Delhi’s largest, loudest and most prestigious schools. When I chose to go to IP College because I wanted to study Psychology Honours and IP was reputed to have the best department for the subject, friends and family warned me that I may be disappointed to land in what was famously called a ‘behenji’ college. Something drew me to the campus, even though it would mean commuting for nearly three hours every day in harsh and overcrowded DTC buses.

What many of us did not know growing up is the power and joy contained within women-only spaces. Young men who went to all-boys academic institutions and hostels boasted far more comfortably about their bonding with each other and their collective exploits than women did.

Yet, all of us who spent time in all-girls spaces experienced something special, even if many like me struggled to articulate it. I may be slow at processing complexities at times, but I am compulsive about things that move me. Over the years, I realised that my dissonance stemmed from the wide difference between what my lived experience as a young woman made me feel and what I was supposed to feel.

On the campus of IP College, I met the sassiest, most confident women I have ever known. My best friendships were born there and continue to nurture me. I experienced the complete liberation of spending hours without anyone interrupting my consciousness with the male gaze. Free from the expectations and judgement of others, we began to discover our voice. Our walk. Our interests. Our own gaze.

Being on the campus rejuvenated me every day. I dared to dream. I got permission to just be. To hang out. To belong. To be a vagabond. A lazy rebel in the classroom. A luminous person immersed in the riches of the books and journals in the library.

IPCW and the well-being of its students burst back into my consciousness when news broke on March 28 that a mob of unruly men had climbed the boundary wall and forced their way through the main gate to create havoc during the concert organised for Shruti, the annual college festival. My social media feed was full of photos and videos shared by students that were horrifying in the violence and lawlessness they depicted.

A press statement by students, alumni and teachers of the college states that several students were physically injured in the stampede and one required surgery for a broken femur. “The large-scale sexual violence that ensued is unlikely to be quite as easily repaired. Students were flung to the ground and groped and mauled, attempts were made to untie the clothes of a few; they were catcalled with vile words and stalked for hours on their own campus.” I followed the news with shock and rage. How could this be allowed to happen?

Students who began to agitate for a proper enquiry into the security lapses and bringing the culprits to book, found themselves being stonewalled.

This is when a parallel story of solidarity and support began to play out simultaneously, reminding me of the glory of what I had experienced on the campus in my years as an undergraduate student.

In another letter released to the press by former teachers and alumni the other day, they say, “We, the former students and teachers of IPCW, believe in the cornerstone principles laid down by its founding members, described in its brochure even to date… Founded as part of a nationwide campaign for women’s education and empowerment... its vision is to educate, enable, empower young women... to ensure justice and equity and belief in self as women… We, therefore, register our dismay over the specific incident, the handling of the matter and urge a larger discussion on the safety of gender minorities in educational institutes.”

The inter-generational solidarity of women reminds me of author Arshia Sattar’s words. “…feminism cannot be exhausted. Or exhausting, for those who continue to care about equality and justice. I’m not sure that you can actually separate the fight for the rights of others (even after you have secured your own) from feminism.”

The lessons of freedom, fun, friendship and responsibility that I imbibed in IPCW have stayed with me. They continue to inspire the work I do and choices I make. I knew I had to write about this today. I must reciprocate with protective care towards a space and institution that offered the same to me when I needed it the most. Solidarity is the most precious resource we have. The more we offer to others who are vulnerable, the stronger we become wherever we are.

—The writer is a filmmaker & author

Join Whatsapp Channel of The Tribune for latest updates.