I am a woman, and I belong to Siliguri. People often assume their hometown is “safe,” but my memories tell a different story—strangers following me home, catcalling, eve-teasing. Once, a bus conductor groped me just as I was stepping out. By the time I processed what had happened, the bus was gone.
These are only fragments of a much bigger reality. In 22 years of living in West Bengal, nearly four in Bengaluru, and the last year and a half in Delhi—while also travelling solo across India for work, I’ve realised one painful truth: wherever I go, I carry an invisible layer of caution with me.
Yes, some cities feel less threatening—Bengaluru, for instance—but even there, I’ve had moments where safety wasn’t mine to take for granted. Delhi is in a league of its own. I remember one night on the Metro, dressed in a saree (because context always matters when people rush to blame women), when a man approached me. The train was nearly empty, it was 9 pm, and he stood close, insisting I share my number. I tried to deflect, but the choice felt cornered: give in, or risk an escalation in a deserted coach. I got off five stops early, booked a cab, and went home. I was shaken. That wasn’t the end. He found ways to call me, from different numbers, for nearly eight months.
And it isn’t just Delhi. Evening strolls in Goa’s Miramar beach, or Pondicherry’s quiet lanes, have ended with men trailing me back to my hotel. I was alone each time. The question nags me still: if women can’t feel safe in their own hometowns, in metros, or even in India’s most popular tourist hubs, then where are we actually safe?
It’s this question that the newly released National Annual Report and Index on Women’s Safety (NARI) 2025, launched by the National Commission for Women, attempts to answer—though in hard numbers rather than personal anecdotes. Despite years of interventions, four in ten women continue to feel unsafe in their own cities.
Based on a survey of 12,770 women across 31 cities, the report goes beyond official crime statistics to capture lived realities: harassment in public spaces, underreporting of incidents, and the gap between perception and infrastructure. The national safety score stands at 65 per cent, with cities placed “above” or “below” this benchmark.
On the safer end of the spectrum are Kohima, Visakhapatnam, Bhubaneswar, Aizawl, Gangtok, Itanagar, and the safest being Mumbai, where civic participation, policing, and gender-inclusive planning have made a difference. At the other end is Delhi being the most unsafe followed by Jaipur, Patna, Faridabad, Kolkata, Srinagar and Ranchi, where patriarchal norms, weak institutional responsiveness, and gaps in infrastructure continue to erode women’s confidence.
When women walk through Indian cities, they aren’t just moving from point A to B—they’re navigating stares, dimly lit streets, empty metro stations, and the constant calculus of risk. For travellers, this invisible burden often determines whether a city feels welcoming or hostile.
For Lavanya Bhakuni, a lawyer who lived in Mumbai and now resides in Delhi, the contrast is sharp. “Without a doubt, Bombay feels a lot more accommodating of women because everybody really keeps to themselves,” she says. “In Delhi, people make you uncomfortable in the way they look at you depending on what you wear or where you’re going.”
The difference, she notes, is visible in how women occupy public space. “In Mumbai, whether it’s a woman driving an auto, selling vegetables, or simply walking on the street, you see women everywhere. That visibility makes a place feel safer. In Delhi, unless it’s a specific pocket, you rarely see women just wandering. It creates a cycle—because it feels unsafe, women don’t go out, and because women aren’t out, it feels even more unsafe.”
Even the experience of transport—the arteries of a city—shapes how free women feel. “Mumbai locals had women’s compartments, and people respected that. In Delhi, even if men enter, you’re scared to tell them off because you don’t know how they’ll react. At night in Mumbai, police officers stood guard outside women’s compartments. In Delhi, stations can feel deserted.”
For Bhakuni, the bottom line is simple: “In Mumbai, I could return home at 2 am after a play or concert without thinking twice. That’s unimaginable in Delhi.”
Lipika Jhawar, 29, Area Manager at Tata Steel Ltd., felt the jolt even more starkly when she moved from Bhubaneswar—ranked one of India’s safest cities—to Delhi.
“In Bhubaneswar, I was stared at and teased far less. I’m an extrovert, and I love making friends, but in Delhi that became difficult. There was a cultural shock—every one out of five youngsters I met seemed to be doing drugs. That environment felt unsafe to me.”
The move altered not just her comfort, but her choices. “In Bhubaneswar, I wouldn’t think twice about taking a bus. In Delhi, I avoid it altogether. If I’m wearing something bold, I’d rather book a cab than walk or take public transport.”
The freedom to explore feels clipped. “Bhubaneswar let me enjoy the city like a wanderer. In Delhi, I’m always calculating—should I go there, is this street safe, what time will I return? It kills spontaneity.”
She compares it with her travels abroad. “I spent a month in Europe, and it was the most liberating experience. I could walk late at night, wear what I wanted, and nobody cared. Even if someone approached me, the moment I showed disinterest, they stepped back. That’s something I can’t imagine in Delhi—or anywhere in India.”
The experiences of Bhakuni and Jhawar mirror the stark realities revealed in the NARI 2025 report. Nearly four in ten women in India’s cities say they feel unsafe, with the risk highest among those under 24. While official crime statistics suggest otherwise, the survey shows that seven per cent of urban women faced harassment in 2024—a figure that far outstrips recorded cases. The most common form was verbal harassment (58 per cent), followed by physical and digital abuse. Public spaces remain the most vulnerable points, where 38 per cent pointed to their own neighbourhoods, and 29 per cent to public transport as hotspots. Reporting remains dismally low—only one in three women lodge complaints, and just one in four trust the authorities to act. Perhaps most telling is the steep drop in confidence after dark. Whether on buses, metros, or in recreational areas, women’s mobility contracts sharply once the sun sets.
Safety isn’t just about law and order—it’s about whether women can explore their own cities freely. Can they linger at a market after dark? Can they hop on a bus spontaneously? Can they discover a city’s nightlife without fear?
For Bhakuni, the answer lies in accountability: “If you post security personnel, ensure they’re there. If you set up helplines, make sure they actually respond. And hold people responsible when systems fail.” Jhawar adds a cultural dimension, “We need a mindset shift where women in public spaces are seen as normal. Until then, no amount of infrastructure will make us feel truly safe.”
The NARI 2025 report concludes with a call for integrating perception-based surveys like this one with official NCRB data, ensuring policymaking is grounded in women’s lived experiences. And until we as women can step out without bracing ourselves, no city will ever feel like home.
1. What does the NARI 2025 report reveal?
Four in ten women feel unsafe in their own cities, with risks highest for those under 24.
2. Which cities rank safest and least safe?
Safest: Kohima, Visakhapatnam, Bhubaneswar, Aizawl, Gangtok, Itanagar, Mumbai.
Least safe: Patna, Jaipur, Faridabad, Delhi, Kolkata, Srinagar, Ranchi.
3. Where do most incidents occur?
Neighbourhoods (38 per cent) and public transport (29 per cent) are the biggest hotspots.
4. What forms of harassment are most common?
Verbal harassment dominates (58 per cent), followed by physical and digital abuse.
5. What do women say needs to change?
Stronger accountability, visible policing, and a cultural shift that normalises women in public spaces.