The nation’s capital, Delhi, is often touted as a symbol of power, security, and modernity. Soaring buildings, claims of a smart city, 24-hour surveillance cameras, and one of the world’s largest police systems—all of this gives rise to the belief that Delhi is safe. But statistics from the first fifteen days of 2026 cast deep doubt on this confidence. According to official Delhi Police data, 807 people went missing between January 1 and 15 alone. On average, 54 people disappeared every day, or more than two people every hour, in the city. This is not a simple crime statistic that can be ignored as part of routine reporting.
The most alarming aspect of this entire picture is that 509 of the missing people are women and girls. This means that nearly two-thirds of the cases are directly related to women’s safety. In a capital that makes the most claims about women’s safety, the disappearance of women and girls on such a large scale raises serious questions about the system. This is not just a sign of crime, but of the normalization of insecurity, where even the disappearance of women becomes a statistic.
Of these 807 missing cases, 191 involve minors. Of these, 146 are girls. This means that in just fifteen days, an average of 13 children went missing every day, and the majority were girls. This fact should be a wake-up call for any sensitive society. But our societal response is often not as swift as it should be. Statistics are read, debates are held, and then the next news comes.
According to the Delhi Police, 235 people have been found, but 572 remain missing. This number isn’t just an administrative progress report. It symbolizes the uncertainty, anguish, and endless wait of 572 families. Each passing day dims the hope of those whose loved ones suddenly disappeared. The question isn’t whether some people have been found, but why so many remain untraced.
An uncomfortable but important question is whether every missing person case is taken with equal seriousness. The practical reality is that the disappearances of the poor, migrant workers, domestic workers, or slum dwellers are often taken lightly. In many cases, the initial reaction is filled with suspicion— “He might have run away from home,” “He might have gone to a relative’s place.” This mindset proves even more dangerous, especially in cases involving girls, as initial negligence can lead to irreparable harm later on.
The disappearances of women and children are not solely driven by personal reasons. They involve many sinister aspects, including human trafficking, organized crime, illegal labour, sexual exploitation, domestic violence, and forced marriage. Metropolises like Delhi are not only destinations for these networks, but also transit points. Therefore, it becomes crucial that every missing person case is not simply recorded as a “missing person” but is instead investigated seriously, taking into account potential criminality.
This becomes even more worrying when we consider that all this is happening in the age of technology. Despite technologies like mobile phones, location data, CCTV cameras, digital payments, and social media, if people are still going missing on such a large scale, it reflects either a lack of proper use of resources or a lack of will. When an entire city can be brought to a standstill in a matter of minutes for a VIP movement, why isn’t the same urgency shown when an ordinary citizen goes missing?
This problem isn’t limited to the police or the government. Society’s role and our collective silence are equally responsible. We read the news, feel briefly concerned, and then return to our daily lives. Unless a missing person is found within our family, neighbourhood, or circle of acquaintances, they remain distant news. This indifference further exacerbates the problem.
Every government declares women’s safety a priority. Helpline numbers, mobile apps, awareness campaigns, and fast-track courts are announced. But the reality on the ground repeatedly belies these claims. If policies were truly effective, 509 women and girls would not have gone missing in the country’s capital within a span of fifteen days. This discrepancy exposes the gap between policy and practice.
It’s time for introspection. It’s time to ask whether our policies are limited to paper. Is every missing case reviewed in a timely manner? Is accountability fixed for negligence? Often, the answers to these questions are lost in silence, and this silence only exacerbates the problem.
This crisis cannot be solved by a single department or a single order. It requires a coordinated effort—police sensitivity, administrative activism, social awareness, and political will all come together. Missing women and children’s cases must be treated as emergencies, not as routine procedures.
Ultimately, the question isn’t just how modern or smart Delhi is. The real question is whether the city is able to protect its most vulnerable citizens. If the answer is negative, it’s a failure not just of the administration, but of our collective failure. Missing people aren’t just names in statistics. They’re a test of our social consciousness—and right now, we seem to be failing this test.
