I’m Just One of the Lucky Ones (For Now)

To survive as a woman in 2026 in India, you don’t need a master’s degree, a career plan, or a solid savings account. No, you just need a massive, exhausting amount of sheer, dumb luck. When you really look at it, modern womanhood is less about living and more about winning a daily, hourly lottery against terrible odds. And honestly? I consider myself one of the lucky jackpot winners.

I am incredibly lucky to have been born in this century, inheriting the crumbs of a brutal feminism battle fought by women before me just so I could have the “privilege” of working a 9-to-5.

I am lucky in geography. At least I wasn’t born in Afghanistan, where my entire existence would be erased behind a burkha in the name of religion, or where I’d be trapped with six kids and a husband who has a legal and cultural license to use me as a punching bag.

I am lucky in family lottery too. Don’t get me wrong, my family is comfortably patriarchal, but hey, they treat me like a human being! They even gave me enough education to realize how messed up society is, which is a hilarious design flaw on their part. But at least they have empathy—that rare, magical quality that actually allows people to look past outdated norms and realize women have brains.

I am also lucky that my childhood family gatherings didn’t double as a crime scene. None of my relatives molested me, saving me the trouble of lifelong trauma and self-doubt. Truly, I should send thank-you notes.

For almost 28 years, I have successfully stepped out of my house and returned without being raped or murdered. What an achievement! I genuinely hope my lucky streak continues into next year, though my subscription to “Basic Human Safety” feels like it expires every midnight.

My daily survival guide relies heavily on statistical miracles.
I am lucky that the guy who stalked me once was bad at his job.
I am lucky that God yanked me out of sketchy situations before things went south.
I am lucky I’ve never had a partner who forced me into anything.
I mean, think about the mathematics of an ordinary day, I have to be grateful that my late-night friends actually drop me off at my door, that my Uber or Ola driver from the airport is just a regular guy and not a criminal waiting for his chance, and that my holiday hotel room doesn’t feature a hidden camera livestreaming my shower to the dark web.

I have met creeps, shallow men, and textbook misogynists, of course. But I am just so lucky that I developed a built-in radar to detect them, question them, and throw them out of my life before they could break my bones or my spirit. It’s great that the burden of not getting hurt relies entirely on my personal psychic abilities.

When you break it down, a woman staying alive is just a bizarre coincidence of luck working perfectly every single minute.

But luck is a terrible long-term strategy.
Someday, my luck might run out, just like it does for roughly 5 lakh women in my country every single year. And isn’t it comforting to know that 40% of the time, the people stealing that luck are their own close relatives? One day, I might just become another statistic. To every woman reading this: enjoy your luck while it lasts, because if it runs out, society has already made it clear there is nothing we can do about it. We aren’t even safe on our deathbeds.

And to the men reading this: please, don’t wait until the women you actually care about run out of luck before you decide to act like a decent human being. Because let’s be honest, it seems men only truly understand the gravity of this issue when it finally hits someone close to them. You need to step up already. The next time your friend makes a hilarious sexist joke in the group chat, maybe don’t laugh. The next time your parents explain why daughters should do the chores while sons relax, question them. Challenge anyone who treats women like second-class citizens.

Call it out. Fight it. Because if you choose to stay silent today, just know that when your sister, your partner, or your daughter becomes one of those 5 lakh women, your silence will come back to eat you alive. Every ignored joke, every quiet nod, and every look-the-other-way moment will haunt you. And trust me, standing over a tragedy chanting your favorite little slogan, “not all men,” isn’t going to save anyone.