Free Riders or Silent Strugglers?
These days, it’s become so easy to mock women who travel in red buses for free. Social media is filled with jokes. People call them freeloaders. Lazy. Spoiled. Some say they block the seats, create a mess, or travel just for fun without any real reason. And sure, maybe a few do. But is that enough to judge all of them?
The truth is, most people have no idea what these women go through; what it actually means to wait for that bus.
For some women, stepping onto that red bus is the first time they’ve gone anywhere alone. Some of them don’t earn. Some aren’t allowed to earn. Some live in households where they aren’t even given money no say, no control. A trip to the city, to the doctor, to college, to visit a family member that’s a big deal. That red bus? It’s not just a ride. It’s freedom. It’s a moment to breathe.
People make fun of women waiting hours for the free bus. But they wait because they don’t have another choice. They don’t have the cash for an auto or a private bus. They’re saving those 10 or 20 rupees for groceries, a child’s medicine, or a mobile recharge to call someone. It’s not always about laziness it is about survival.
Yes, there are exceptions. There are always people who misuse any system. But it’s not fair to use the worst examples to judge everyone. It’s like saying every student cheats just because a few did. It’s lazy thinking.
The bigger picture here is mobility. For women in many parts of Kashmir, just getting out of the house can feel like breaking a rule. Going somewhere alone means facing questions, judgement, even restrictions. And then, when they finally get a chance to go out maybe for a job, maybe just to get some air they are mocked again. This time for using a facility that was meant to support them.
Why are we so quick to shame women for simply using a public service that helps them move through the world a little more freely?
A lot of these women don’t get to “just go out” whenever they feel like it. They don’t have the safety net many of us take for granted. Some of them are caged in homes where their only connection to the outside world is that bus ride. And no one sees that. They just see a phone, maybe a loud laugh, maybe a group of friends—and suddenly it becomes: “Look at them, wasting public money.”
No. Look closer.
She might be a student whose parents barely let her out but agreed because it’s a government bus. She might be a mother visiting her child’s school for the first time. She might just want to go see the market or a holy place. Or nothing in particular—because it’s finally allowed.
Every seat in that red bus carries a different story. Some of strength. Some of quiet rebellion. Some of pure survival. Not all of them are perfect. Not all of them are noble. But most of them are just people trying to live with a little more freedom.
We need to stop turning empathy into mockery. We need to stop assuming the worst in women who finally get to move around a little more freely in a country that has restricted them for so long.
They aren’t freeloaders.
They’re just riders of hope—holding onto the little they’ve been given and trying to stretch it as far as it’ll take them.
