Analyzing the Times of India story of
the rape  of a young girl on a suburban
train, witnessed by its reporter.
 
 
                            
First person reporting on rape
 
 
This report attempts to analyze
the controversial press coverage of the rape
of a young woman in a Mumbai suburban train on August 14, 2002, with a view to
deepen the learning experience of journalists.
It summarises the views of Mumbai-based journalists associated with the Network
of Women in the Media, Mumbai (NWMM), and also includes contributions from some
journalists elsewhere - both male and female - expressed through email and
personal discussions. We hope this case study stimulates further debate on the
coverage of this incident and also brings out the wider implications for
journalists and media organisations when we are called upon to write on
sensitive social issues.
 
**********************************************************************
 
The original story.
 
The Times of India: 15th August, 2002 
`Paralysed with fear, we couldn¿t stop him¿
By Ambarish Mishra 
 
Times News Network
Mumbai:  We were worse than the Mahatma¿s three monkeys. We,  the
five passengers on the last Borivli-bound train on Tuesday  night
witnessed   a  youth  sexually  assaulting 
a  minor,   mentally-challenged  girl in the second-class
compartment.  But  paralysed with fear, we could neither effectively
confront the man or  stop him. Seated  by the window, I was engrossed
in a book. When the  train chugged  out  of Malad station, I
thought to take in  some  fresh air. As I stood in the gangway, I saw
Salim Samsher Khan sexually assaulting the girl, all of 12 or 13. He had forced
himself  upon her  on the long seat overlooking the gangway. He
was  struggling
to pull down her skirt. The girl was screaming. "Yeh  kyaa kar rahe
ho. Stop it,¿¿ I told Salim. An  angry  Salim reminded me of the
Sanskrit proverb that a person mad with sexual desire has neither fear nor
shame. "Go away. Why are you here?  I shall  throw you out of
the running train,¿¿ he snapped.  He  was drunk. His blood-shot eyes
barely concealed a streak of  madness.
The girl struggled to shake free. The  girl¿s  screams 
had  caught  the  attention  of  the  other
passengers.  They  craned their necks to gather every 
detail  of what  they  thought  was one of the 
routine  `tamashas¿  on  the suburban train - a quarrel, a
practical joke, or some such.  What
we  saw left us numb. Salim had pulled the girl to the floor  and was
raping her. Burdened with our middle-class sensibilities,  we remained
silent. As  the  train  slowed down at Borivli 
station,  Salim  smoothly alighted, but only after telling the girl
to keep her mouth shut. She  staggered  to the nearest seat. I saw
Salim  striking  up  a conversation  with someone, as if
nothing had happened. I  and  a fellow-passenger,  Vasant 
Kulai,  then handed him  over  to  the railway
police.Railway  police inspector Jaysingh Chavan said no case 
could  be registered until the girl was "produced¿¿. Then began a
long trek to the car-shed between Kandivli and Borivli where the rakes halt for
the night. With two constables in tow, Mr Kulai and I scanned every compartment
of the six rakes, but the girl wasn¿t  anywhere in sight. Futility 
seemed  to stare us in the face, but Mr Kulai  and  the
police  party  finally  spotted the  girl  on 
Borivli  platform. Meanwhile,  another  passenger, 
Ravi  Ingole,  came  forward  to confirm the case at the
police station. Senior railway