I think back of the time in Delhi when Moaness and I went sightseeing to Qutub Minar and we ended up in a small village in the middle of nowhere. I was wearing a modest skirt and accompanied by a male.

I think back of that time I went out with two Nigerians looking for sarees. The Indian guy at the shop kept asking me out to go clubbing (yeah right as if I'd take him on that offer). I was accompanied by two males.

I think again of the night in Mumbai when Moaness and I took the 45 minutes ride to Gate of India, saw the Taj Mahal and went to an amazing Indian restaurant. We walked back to the train station, passing by many homeless people with makeshift tents and bricks as pillows. It was 10.30 in the evening, the paths were mostly dark and again I was accompanied by a male.

I reminisced about these few times when locals mistook me for a northern Indian.

I have traveled to many places and yet I am still that same person - wide-eyed, bewildered, excited traveler who thinks nothing but the best of people and admires the beautiful scenery and culture of each country, and perpetually in awe of their people, their culture and most importantly their food.

I've been reading a lot about the gang rape incident that happened last December 2012. Some of the reactions from the people are, to put it shortly - shocking.

"She deserves it because she was out with a man who is not married to her."
"If a woman is good and pure she would not have worn a skirt. Anything but kurtas and lengas are too revealing."
"She is asking for it. If she is out with a man alone she is not a good woman. She is probably already tainted by that man."

I know I'm being melodramatic but anyone could've been that woman. I could've been that woman who was gang-raped.

I shudder at the possibility. And our state of humanity.