The mobbing of actors Nidhhi Agerwal and Samantha Ruth Prabhu recently at public events in Hyderabad is not a matter of “hurt sentiments,” “provocation,” or “difference of opinion.” It is public molestation. It is an intrusion into a woman’s bodily autonomy and personal space. And it needs to be named clearly—without euphemism, without excuses.
A woman has the unquestionable right to dress the way she wants. This is not a modern concession or a Western import; it flows from the most basic principle of bodily autonomy. People, in turn, have the right to like what they see, not like it, feel indifferent, or even feel disgusted. Taste is subjective. Morality—if one insists on invoking it—is personal.
But there is one line that cannot be crossed. No one has the right to touch, crowd, leer at, or sexually intimidate a woman. Discomfort does not grant entitlement. Disapproval does not justify assault. A public place is not a free-for-all where women’s bodies become communal property.
From judgement to entitlement
What the incidents expose is not just individual misbehaviour but a deeply ingrained social mindset—one that converts moral judgement into sexual entitlement. The logic seems disturbingly simple: if a woman looks a certain way, she must be open to advances.
This mindset is not accidental. It is taught, reinforced, and normalised—often by the same society that claims to be outraged in the name of “tradition.”
This is where the hypocrisy becomes impossible to ignore.
If revealing clothes are “against our tradition,” why does the same society enthusiastically consume item songs where women are styled, choreographed, and filmed through a persistently sexualised male gaze? Why are these performances cheered, replayed, monetised, and defended as “just entertainment”?
You cannot claim cultural injury on the street and suspend it inside cinema halls. You cannot invoke tradition when it comes to women in public spaces and abandon it at the box-office.
This selective morality has little to do with culture. It has everything to do with control.
Performance is not permission
A particularly dangerous idea emerges from this mindset: if an actor performs an item song, does that mean she is available in her private life—to be ogled at, leered at, or molested?
This question must be confronted directly.
Acting is a profession. The actor performs a role. A dance performance on screen—scripted, choreographed, filmed under contract—does not dissolve a woman’s right to dignity offscreen. To conflate the two is to deny women the most basic separation between work and personhood.
By that logic, villains must be violent in real life and romantic heroes permanently accessible. The absurdity is obvious—yet when it comes to women’s bodies, reason is routinely abandoned.
Public space is still male space
What makes the Hyderabad incidents especially disturbing is that they occurred in public. Public spaces in India continue to be treated as male spaces, where women enter on conditional permission—permission that can be withdrawn if they do not dress, behave, or move “appropriately.”
Crowding a woman, touching her without consent, shouting suggestive comments, invading her physical boundaries—these are not expressions of attraction. They are assertions of power. They send a message: we can reach you anywhere.
That message is not meant only for celebrities. It is meant for every woman watching.
Stop shifting the blame
Predictably, after every such incident, the questions shift away from the perpetrators.
Why was she dressed like that?
Why did she come there?
Why didn’t she anticipate this reaction?
These are not innocent questions. They dilute accountability and turn sexual aggression into a reaction rather than a choice.
Molestation is not provoked by clothing. It is enabled by entitlement.
These incidents should not be reduced to celebrity news or fleeting outrage. It should force a reckoning with how we view women, consent, and public space.
We need to be unequivocal:
A woman’s body is not public property.
Discomfort does not equal permission.
Performance does not erase personhood.
Tradition cannot be selectively weaponised against women.
Until these truths are internalised—not merely stated—such incidents will continue, whether the woman is a film star or an anonymous commuter.
The issue is not what women wear. The issue is who feels entitled to cross the line—and why society keeps letting them.
Sharada AL is Trustee of Population First, a social impact organisation that works for women empowerment, gender equality, and community mobilisation.
Views expressed are the author’s own.