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One day， when I went to put the trash out late at night and a car with two beckoning men stopped next to me in the deserted street， my first impulse was to run. Though this happened in Dubai， where the crime rate is among the lowest in the world （and the car turned out to be a police patrol）， still， old instincts die hard.
I was born and brought up in a country a survey found to be the fourth most dangerous for women. Approaching strangers in empty streets automatically send up a red flag for us.
But not so in Beijing. Relocating to this city with no knowledge of the Chinese language， zero road sense and a very dim idea of how to use the subway， I have nevertheless never felt scared.
Others too feel this way. In its China 2013 Crime and Safety Report， the U.S. Overseas Security Advisory Council said， “Beijing， with a population of almost 20 million people， is generally safe when compared with other major， urban areas.”
An Asia-smitten American blogger， calling himself Mike， echoes the sentiment. “Unlike the United States where you might get mugged at gunpoint， or parts of Europe where pickpocketing tourists has been elevated to an art form， China on the whole is extremely safe，” his blog assures. “In fact， many women travelers have told me that they feel much safer walking the city streets of China alone at night compared to their own hometowns.”
The first week I went out for a walk at night， I was hopelessly lost. I had some money in my pocket but no phone， no map and no memory of my apartment address.
But the thought of panicking never crossed my mind. I simply walked to a subway station， accosted a group of emerging pas- sengers and mimed that I was lost. I asked them to search the name of the organization I worked for on their smartphones， find the address and jot it down in Chinese on a piece of paper so that I could show it to a cabbie. I could then walk back home from there.
I wouldn’t have had the nerve to do this in the UK or the United States where English is the lingua franca. But in China it didn’t seem like an imposition. Nor did the group of students I had stopped seem to think so and in no time at all， the job was done and I was speeding toward home in the familiar yellow-green Beijing Taxi.
Last year， The Economist reported that China’s official crime statistics indicated robberies had decreased more than 40 percent since 2002， rapes by nearly 18 percent since 2001， and gun-related crimes from around 5，000 cases in 2000 to 500 in 2011. On the other hand， the National Crime Records Bureau of India， my home country， reported crimes against women had increased in 2013 by 26.7 percent compared to 2012. Incidents of reported rape went up by 35.2 percent， with capital city New Delhi reporting the highest incidence. Several cases in India have hit the headlines worldwide. One was the gang rape of a young woman on a bus in 2012 resulting in her death. Another was the controversial arrest and trial of a highprofile editor and writer charged with molesting a junior colleague in a hotel elevator in 2013. In December， the capital banned the United States， online cab service Uber after one of its drivers was arrested for allegedly raping a passenger.
Those happenings were not exactly surprising. In 2011， a survey by TrustLaw， Thomson Reuters Foundation’s legal news service， named five countries perceived as the most dangerous places for women. Headed by Afghanistan， the list included the Democratic Republic of the Congo， Pakistan， India and Somalia. Haiti and （then undivided） Sudan also made the list of countries where women faced most sexual violence. In some of these countries， state officials， including military and policemen， were among the perpetrators.
I will round off my Beijing diary with another tale of policemen. Recently， there was a knock on my apartment door and though it was late， I opened it unhesitatingly. Two Chinese policemen stood outside. The older one， who was obviously the leader， explained they had come to check my passport since according to their data， my visa seemed to have expired.
On being shown the documents they asked for and having photographed them diligently， the pair thanked me and stepped out without ado. “Zai jian，” I called out after them， meaning “goodbye” in Chinese.
At that the older man turned back， bowed and then said with a beaming smile， “Namaste.” It was the greeting used in my own country.
I was born and brought up in a country a survey found to be the fourth most dangerous for women. Approaching strangers in empty streets automatically send up a red flag for us.
But not so in Beijing. Relocating to this city with no knowledge of the Chinese language， zero road sense and a very dim idea of how to use the subway， I have nevertheless never felt scared.
Others too feel this way. In its China 2013 Crime and Safety Report， the U.S. Overseas Security Advisory Council said， “Beijing， with a population of almost 20 million people， is generally safe when compared with other major， urban areas.”
An Asia-smitten American blogger， calling himself Mike， echoes the sentiment. “Unlike the United States where you might get mugged at gunpoint， or parts of Europe where pickpocketing tourists has been elevated to an art form， China on the whole is extremely safe，” his blog assures. “In fact， many women travelers have told me that they feel much safer walking the city streets of China alone at night compared to their own hometowns.”
The first week I went out for a walk at night， I was hopelessly lost. I had some money in my pocket but no phone， no map and no memory of my apartment address.
But the thought of panicking never crossed my mind. I simply walked to a subway station， accosted a group of emerging pas- sengers and mimed that I was lost. I asked them to search the name of the organization I worked for on their smartphones， find the address and jot it down in Chinese on a piece of paper so that I could show it to a cabbie. I could then walk back home from there.
I wouldn’t have had the nerve to do this in the UK or the United States where English is the lingua franca. But in China it didn’t seem like an imposition. Nor did the group of students I had stopped seem to think so and in no time at all， the job was done and I was speeding toward home in the familiar yellow-green Beijing Taxi.
Last year， The Economist reported that China’s official crime statistics indicated robberies had decreased more than 40 percent since 2002， rapes by nearly 18 percent since 2001， and gun-related crimes from around 5，000 cases in 2000 to 500 in 2011. On the other hand， the National Crime Records Bureau of India， my home country， reported crimes against women had increased in 2013 by 26.7 percent compared to 2012. Incidents of reported rape went up by 35.2 percent， with capital city New Delhi reporting the highest incidence. Several cases in India have hit the headlines worldwide. One was the gang rape of a young woman on a bus in 2012 resulting in her death. Another was the controversial arrest and trial of a highprofile editor and writer charged with molesting a junior colleague in a hotel elevator in 2013. In December， the capital banned the United States， online cab service Uber after one of its drivers was arrested for allegedly raping a passenger.
Those happenings were not exactly surprising. In 2011， a survey by TrustLaw， Thomson Reuters Foundation’s legal news service， named five countries perceived as the most dangerous places for women. Headed by Afghanistan， the list included the Democratic Republic of the Congo， Pakistan， India and Somalia. Haiti and （then undivided） Sudan also made the list of countries where women faced most sexual violence. In some of these countries， state officials， including military and policemen， were among the perpetrators.
I will round off my Beijing diary with another tale of policemen. Recently， there was a knock on my apartment door and though it was late， I opened it unhesitatingly. Two Chinese policemen stood outside. The older one， who was obviously the leader， explained they had come to check my passport since according to their data， my visa seemed to have expired.
On being shown the documents they asked for and having photographed them diligently， the pair thanked me and stepped out without ado. “Zai jian，” I called out after them， meaning “goodbye” in Chinese.
At that the older man turned back， bowed and then said with a beaming smile， “Namaste.” It was the greeting used in my own country.