The horrifying truth about rape in New Delhi.

I lived for 24 years in New Delhi, a city where sexual harassment is as common as breakfast. Every day, somewhere in the city, there is a rape case.

As a teenager, I learned to protect myself. I was never alone, if possible, and I walked quickly, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing all eye contact or even a smile. I pushed my way through crowds by hunching my shoulders forward, and avoided leaving the house after dark unless in a private car. At an age when young women everywhere else are beginning to experiment with bolder styles of dress, I wore clothes two sizes too big. I still can't dress in a way that makes me look attractive without feeling like I'm putting myself in danger.

The situation didn't change when I reached adulthood. Pepper spray didn't exist yet, and my friends, all middle or upper-middle class like me, carried safety pins or other objects as weapons on their way to university and work. One of them carried a knife and insisted I should do the same.

I refused, but there were days when I would get so angry that I could use it—or, even worse, someone could use it against me.

The persistent concert of whistles, meows, hissed words, sexual allusions, or open threats continued. Groups of men wandered the streets loitering, and their form of communication was the songs from Indian films that they constantly sang, full of double entendres.

To make their intentions clear, they would move their pelvis forward when a woman passed by.

It wasn't just public spaces that were unsafe. Even in the newsroom of a major magazine where I worked, in a doctor's office, even at a private party—it was impossible to escape intimidation.

On December 16th, as the world now knows, a 23-year-old woman was returning home with her boyfriend after watching the film Life of Pi at a shopping center in Delhi. When they boarded what appeared to be a bus, the six men on board raped and tortured the woman so brutally that they destroyed her intestines. The bus was merely a decoy. They also brutally beat the young woman's boyfriend and threw them both off the bus, leaving her on the verge of death.

The young woman did not give up. She had begun that evening watching a film about a survivor, and probably felt determined to survive as well. Then she performed another miracle. In Delhi, a city where the degradation of women is commonplace, tens of thousands of people took to the streets and confronted police, tear gas, and water cannons to express their outrage. It was the largest protest ever held in India against sexual assault and rape up to that point, and it triggered demonstrations across the nation.

In order to protect the victim's identity, their name has not been released.

But although she remains nameless, she has not lost her face. To see it, women only had to look in the mirror. The full extent of their vulnerability was finally understood.

When I turned 26, I moved to Mumbai. The commercial and financial megalopolis has its share of specific problems, but culturally, it's more cosmopolitan and liberal than Delhi. Still reeling from my newfound freedom, I started doing stories about the red-light district and wandered through dangerous suburbs late at night – alone and using public transport. I think my experience in Delhi had a positive outcome: I was grateful for Mumbai's comparatively safe environment and decided to make the most of it.

But the young woman will never have this opportunity. On Saturday morning, 13 days after being brutally attacked, this physiotherapy student, who undoubtedly dreamed of improving the lives of others, lost her own. She died of multiple organ failure.

India has anti-rape legislation; reserved seats for women on buses, female police officers; special lines to call for police assistance. But these measures have not been effective in the face of a patriarchal and misogynistic culture. This is a culture that believes the worst aspect of rape is the corruption of the victim, who will never again be able to find a man to marry her – and that the solution is to marry the rapist.

These beliefs are not confined to living rooms, but are openly expressed. In the months leading up to the gang rape, some prominent politicians attributed the rise in rape statistics to women's increasing use of cell phones and their going out at night. "Just because India has gained freedom after midnight doesn't mean women can venture out after dark," said Botsa Satyanarayana, leader of the Congress Party in Andhra Pradesh state.

Complaints. Change is possible, but people must report rape and sexual assault cases promptly so that the police can conduct investigations, and cases brought to court can proceed quickly and not take years. Of the more than 600 rape cases reported in New Delhi in 2012, only one led to a conviction. If victims believe they will receive justice, they will be more willing to speak out. If alleged rapists fear the consequences of their actions, they will not attack women in the streets with impunity.

The scale of the public and media outcry made it clear that the attack was a watershed moment. The horrific truth is that the young woman attacked on the 16th was luckier than many rape victims. She was one of the rare women who received something resembling justice. She was hospitalized, her statement was recorded, and within days all six rape suspects were arrested and are now being prosecuted for murder. Such efficiency is uncommon in India.

It wasn't the brutality of the attacks against the young woman that made her tragedy unusual; it was the fact that this attack finally provoked a response.

Translation by Anna Capovilla