It was about five years ago, almost a year after Pooja had first arrived in Auckland. The apartment she was renting in CBD was managed by a reputed letting agency and their service was quite commendable.

Midway through her tenancy contract, the property was sold off and the new owner did not hire the services of the agency. As is the norm, thereafter she had to report directly to the apartment owner in case something needed to be repaired.

So one day, a window lock snapped into two and she got in touch with the owner, who duly asked her to show him the window the following afternoon. They agreed on a time and Pooja waited at home to let him in.

After attending to the lock, he started a polite conversation and eventually it veered towards personal information. Pooja did not feel very comfortable and so she told him that she had an appointment.

As she walked towards the main door to let him out, he grabbed the neckline of her T-shirt indecently. This took her by complete surprise and she slapped his hand away, pushing him out of the door.

At the same time, it also scared the wits out of her. The apartment belongs to him and he had complete right to ask her to leave overnight, or so she thought. In those days, she was not very conversant with the New Zealand tenancy laws.

Her first instinct was to call the building manager, who happened to be one of the first friends she made in this city. He was very helpful and Pooja could talk to him about what had just happened.

In due time, she found out about the tenancy laws of the land, mostly via Citizen’s Advice Bureau, and decided to report the incident to the police. She wanted it to be documented, so that in case something further happened there will be a record of it.

That took Pooja to the Auckland Police and an elderly officer sat her down in a room to write down the report. She was asked to narrate the incident and so she did. From time to time, she was paused and asked for certain details.

But there was one particular detail that took the wind out of her sail. She was asked: “Please excuse my question but what were you wearing that day?”

She asked: “What do you mean by that?”

The officer said: “I mean to ask were you wearing anything provocative, like a deep neckline?”

Being a newly-arrived immigrant and not being familiar with the laws of the land, Pooja didn’t know how to react. All she could muster to say was: “No. Just a casual T-shirt and a cardie over it.”

My question is: Should the law enforcer ask such a question? More importantly, would a female police officer have asked the same question? Why is it that even in a liberal western culture, women are held responsible for the injustice meted out to them? As if, she was asking for it!