All the original everyday people who sparked the first wave of anti-rape protests are gone. Only a handful of feminist activists are continuing the fight

It was one day before the end of the year. The only thing that stood between me and home as I entered the Capital from New Delhi railway station was the blinding fog that engulfed everything around it. From the auto, I could see India Gate shrouded in misty embers that glowed in the moonlight, looking almost desolate. People went about their business calmly. There was a lone hawker selling candyfloss, waiting for his next customer, a group of young boys sitting in their cars listening to music, the gentle drone of traffic occasionally broken by a loud horn.

Where was all the frenzy? Justrapists. “Even I have daughters; I know how it feels…” was the common sentiment, “protect and respect” the underlying theme of the frenzied mob. These were the gut emotions of a society that feared for the safety of its girls. The day the victim died, a friend called me, crying as she shared the news. The social media was ablaze with messages of ‘RIP Damini’. A young copywriter wrote: ‘India dies in a way today.’

Masses of people had embraced the struggle of the victim as their own and her death was a collective loss. At such a time, when the cries for justice should have been growing stronger, a new voice began to echo in the cold, half-empty streets of Delhi. Suddenly the main demand was not justice,