It’s been a grotesque few weeks to be a woman in India. Not the kind that invites polite panel discussions or LinkedIn posts about “resilience”. The kind that makes you want to ask — what exactly is this country telling its women? That they are expendable? Negotiable? Optional?Let’s start where we pretend modern India lives — in glass offices with biometric access and HR policies that read like moral manifestos. Tata Consultancy Services. A name that stands for professionalism, prestige, global credibility. And yet, even here, stories surface that remind you how fragile a woman’s dignity is in the workplace. How quickly merit can be overshadowed by power games. How silence is still the safest currency. We love to believe that corporate India has evolved. But scratch the surface, and you’ll find the same old rot — just better dressed.Then we move to Parliament. The grand theatre of democracy. The Women’s Reservation Bill — hailed as historic, overdue, necessary. And what happens? Political parties tear it apart. Not because women don’t deserve representation, but because of delimitation, clauses, consensus, timing —technicalities dressed up as principle. The Opposition resists. And in the middle of this power chess match, women are once again reduced to bargaining chips.It’s almost poetic. We will argue endlessly about giving women seats in Parliament, but not about why they’ve been kept standing outside for decades.And while these men debate percentages and procedures, somewhere in this country, a father slits the throats of his twin daughters.Not his son. His daughters.Because he suspects his wife of infidelity. Because in his mind, these girls are not his. Because their lives are conditional upon his ego. Their blood becomes proof of his honour. Let that sink in. This is not medieval India. This is now.In another home, parents poison their twin daughters’ dosa. Feed it to them with their own hands. Imagine the intimacy of that violence. The trust of a child eating what her mother serves, unaware that love has been replaced with calculation. That her life has already been weighed and found unnecessary.And we still have the audacity to say this is a “bad week”. No. This is a system functioning exactly as it was designed. A system where a woman’s existence is constantly evaluated — at birth, at home, at work, in marriage, in law, in politics. A system that tolerates women but does not fully accept them. That celebrates them symbolically but controls them structurally.We don’t have a women’s issue. We have a value system that is fundamentally uncomfortable with women having autonomy. Because autonomy disrupts. A woman who earns disrupts power. A woman who speaks disrupts silence. A woman who questions disrupts hierarchy. A woman who simply exists — without apology — disrupts everything.So we manage her. In offices, we undermine her. In Parliament, we delay her. At home, we police her. And in the most horrifying cases, we eliminate her. And then we move on. We always move on.We scroll past the headlines. We shake our heads. We say “this is tragic” and return to our lives, because outrage is exhausting and denial is convenient. But here’s the truth — this is not a series of isolated incidents. This is a pattern. A pattern so deeply ingrained that it has become invisible.Until weeks like this force us to look. To confront the contradiction of a country that worships goddesses but cannot protect girls. That boasts of economic growth while women still negotiate basic safety. That debates representation while denying existence.And I am angry. Not the kind of anger that fades after a tweet. The kind that sits heavy in your chest because you realise this isn’t going to fix itself. Not with better PR. Not with token laws. Not with hashtags.It requires a complete dismantling of how we see women in this country. Not as honour. Not as burden. Not as responsibility. As human beings. Equal. Autonomous. Non-negotiable.Until then, we will keep having weeks like this. Weeks where corporations fail women. Weeks where Parliament fails women. Weeks where families fail women in the most intimate, brutal ways possible.And every time, we will ask — what the hell is going on? The answer is uncomfortable. Nothing new. Just the same old story, finally refusing to stay hidden.— The writer is an acclaimed author