A teenage girl in Delhi once said, “Online, I am always holding my breath.” She meant the way her finger hovered, tense, before posting a photo, a joke, an opinion—anything that could be twisted, stalked, copied, or used against her. In India, a country where izzat (honor) is still often spoken of as if it physically sits on a woman’s shoulders, the internet has become yet another arena where that honor can be attacked, traded, or destroyed. The smartphone promised freedom and voice; for many Indian women, it has also opened a window for harassment, surveillance, shaming, and violence that follows them everywhere.
Digital violence against women in India is not new—but it is becoming sharper, faster, and more organised. According to recent research by Equality Now, women across the country are facing rampant online abuse, from cyberstalking to non-consensual sharing of intimate images and impersonation profiles crafted to humiliate and endanger them. Survivors interviewed describe the same chilling pattern: abuse that begins invisibly and spreads like wildfire, leaving long psychological and social scars. The report Experiencing Technology-Facilitated Gender-Based Violence in India: Survivor Narratives and Legal Responses notes that doxing, image-based abuse, and trolling are among the most common violations, often accompanied by threats designed to frighten women into silence. Experiencing-technology-facilit…
What makes this violence distinct is its persistence. There is no door to lock and no street to avoid. The perpetrator could sit behind an unknown number, a fake profile, or a private chat group. Even after a woman blocks, reports, or deletes her account, the harm may continue: screenshots remain, images circulate on encrypted channels, voices are silenced in whispers. Survivors in the study describe withdrawing from online spaces altogether—not out of choice, but out of exhaustion and fear.
Social norms weigh heavily. In India, online abuse rarely stays “online.” Families worry about log kya kahenge (“what will people say”), and women often face blame rather than support. If a photo is leaked, the question is not “Who violated her privacy?” but “Why did she take that photo?” If a woman is stalked, the question becomes “Why did she share her number?” A young woman in Hyderabad who had intimate images morphed and circulated across social media said her parents immediately took away her phone—not to protect her, but to hide the “shame.”
Layer caste, class, and sexuality onto this, and the danger compounds. Women from Dalit or Adivasi communities, queer individuals, and women activists are particularly targeted. Harassment becomes a coordinated attack—sometimes politically motivated, sometimes rooted in misogynist vigilante culture. Online, groups move like mobs, amplifying abuse. The goal is clear: silence the woman, push her offline, erase her voice.
India’s legal response remains uneven. While the Information Technology Act and criminal laws can be used to address online harassment, gaps persist—especially after the repeal of Section 66A, which had previously criminalized “offensive” online messages. Survivors say police often minimise digital violence or lack training to investigate effectively. Lawyers interviewed in the study mention that success often depends not on law, but on persistence—and privilege. Women with social support and resources are more likely to seek redress; many simply give up.
Yet, resistance is growing. Feminist organisations, digital rights groups, and cybercrime helplines are increasingly active. Some survivors are reclaiming their voices by mass-reporting abusive content, documenting harassment, or publicly naming perpetrators. In classrooms and community centres, young people are beginning to question the gendered culture of shame itself.
To truly confront digital violence, India must stop treating it as an extension of “bad behavior online” and recognize it as part of the long continuum of violence against women—rooted in power, patriarchy, and control. Technology itself is not the enemy. But the way society teaches girls to fear visibility and teaches boys to feel entitled to women’s bodies—offline or online—is.
The internet could be a place where women breathe freely. A place where they speak boldly without calculating risk. A place where their faces, voices, and stories are their own. But for that to happen, India must first learn to hold the perpetrators—not the survivors—accountable.
Indian girls, do you remember when the Internet first arrived like a monsoon of possibility? You were told yeh azaadi hai — this is freedom. A place where women could speak without being watched by the neighbor’s auntie, without uncles tightening their faces, without parents worrying about “marriage prospects.” A digital room of your own. A voice unfiltered. A future.
But what did you (and all of us) actually get? A digital bazaar where women’s voices are auctioned for ridicule, their images traded as commodities, and their identities trolled, tracked, and torn apart. A place where mobs — yes, mobs — gather not with sticks and stones but with screenshots, emojis, and coordinated comment campaigns. And don’t tell me this is simply “bad behavior online.” No. This is naya zamana, patriarchy — modern, broadband-enabled, 5G misogyny.
Who are these mobs? Many are men, of course — the same men who grow up hearing ladkiyon ko tameez se rehna chahiye (“girls should know their place”), now armed with VPNs and Telegram groups. But what hurts me more — truly stings — is when women join in. The internalized patriarchy auntie brigade, whispering: “Why did she post that picture?” “Why does she need followers?” “She must have invited this.”
My dear ladies, if you think throwing another woman under the bus protects you, let me tell you: the bus is coming for you next.
Now, to the authorities and platforms — come here, sit down, and listen. Do your job. Do. Your. Job. Investigate complaints without rolling your eyes. Train officers who understand digital violence is violence. Build systems where survivors don’t have to beg for help while perpetrators laugh behind anonymous avatars.
And to the beautiful CEOs of our shiny platforms: Stop pretending you are mere neutral “technology providers.” You know exactly how hate circulates. You know where the dog whistles live. Clean your house. But — and let me be very clear — do not use “user protection” as an excuse to tighten censorship, moral policing, or cultural control. Do not build digital police states disguised as safety. Women do not need protection by surveillance — we need rights, accountability, and freedom to speak without being mobbed.
The promise of the Internet is not dead. But it is under siege.
We — the loud, unbending, unapologetic sisters — are not leaving the screen. We are staying. We are speaking. And we are not breathing in fear anymore.