There is something uniquely beautiful about Lucknow University in the early evening— the long shadows stretching across the Old Campus lawns, the bustle around the Commerce Department, the familiar hum near Gate No. 4, and the way students linger at chai stalls as the day begins to slow.
But for many girls, this hour carries something else too: a quiet sense of calculation.
A mental clock.
An unspoken question “Should I still be here?”
This question revealed itself clearly one ordinary day for a student who stayed back just a little longer than usual.
Her curriculum classes had run unexpectedly late, ending around 5:15 PM. She still had one task left: putting up posters across campus for her society, Litcore. She wasn’t alone, a friend accompanied her and the evening began on a surprisingly warm, energising note. Students stopped to ask about the posters, curious about Litcore’s upcoming event. Many even smiled, offered encouragement, and engaged in conversation. It felt purposeful, productive, almost joyful.
By 5:35 PM, they reached the Commerce Department.
The area was alive, groups chatting near the faculty steps, even police officers stationed nearby. Nothing about the space felt unsafe or empty, it was just another busy, familiar evening at the university.
And then, unexpectedly, the tone shifted.
Three boys walked by. One of them approached, asked politely about the posters just like everyone else had. They explained what Litcore was organising, and it seemed like a normal, harmless interaction.
But as the boys walked past, one of them muttered to his friends, loud enough to be heard:
“Yeh ladkiyan ko kuch kaam toh rehta nahi hai. Is time pe yeh sab faltu kaam kar rahi.”
(These girls have nothing better to do. They’re wasting time doing all this at this hour.)
A throwaway remark.
Casual.
Careless.
But its impact was sharp.
There was nothing wrong with staying till 5:40.
Nothing wrong with putting up posters.
Nothing wrong with working for a society you believe in.
Nothing wrong with being present in a university that belongs equally to every student.
Yet in that moment, the entire atmosphere shifted, as though a single sentence had the power to redraw the boundaries of the evening.
Suddenly, the short walk from the Commerce Department to Gate No. 4 felt heavier.
People passing by seemed to look a little longer, as if silently implying that girls shouldn’t be around the campus at that hour as if they were doing something unusual, inappropriate, or risky simply by existing in a space that still had plenty of light, plenty of noise, plenty of life.
The campus was still crowded.
Still familiar.
Still safe.
But internally, something tightened. That subtle instinct girls learn much too young.
Wrap up, walk faster, don’t linger.
This is how the “unspoken curfew” works.
It isn’t written anywhere.
It isn’t announced by the university.
It comes from remarks like that boy’s
offhand, unnecessary, but loaded with assumptions.
The irony, of course, is simple:
They weren’t roaming.
They weren’t killing time.
They were working, contributing to the cultural life of the university through Litcore, doing something meaningful, something productive.
Yet a single careless judgment was enough to make the evening feel unfamiliar.
This is not a story about physical danger.
It’s about perception.
How a girl’s presence after 5 PM still feels like an exception that needs justification.
How public spaces remain uneven, even inside universities that pride themselves on modernity and openness.
How girls unconsciously carry invisible boundaries the “acceptable hours” that no rulebook mentions but everyone recognises.
Lucknow University is a place of ideas, debate, culture, and individuality. Its arches, pathways, and lawns are shared by thousands. Yet the freedom of those spaces still shifts with the clock expanding for some, shrinking for others.
The real question is not whether girls should stay after 5 PM.
The real question is why staying after 5 PM still feels like crossing a line that shouldn’t exist at all.
That evening, the posters still went up.
The work still got done.
But the moment left a mark, a reminder that the campus will only truly belong to everyone when presence is not treated as a privilege, and the sunset is not treated as a warning.