Delhi 6: A Glimpse into the Heart of Old Delhi

 Delhi 6: A Glimpse into the Heart of Old Delhi

Born and raised in the narrow, bustling lanes of Old Delhi, my childhood was marked by the chaotic yet beautiful essence of this historic city. The streets were always alive with the sounds of vendors, the aroma of sizzling street food, and the energy of people from all walks of life. Even today, the memories of the culinary delights of my youth are etched into my senses.

The food in Old Delhi was like nothing else. From the sweet and tangy fruit chaat, dahi papri, to the spicy, lip-smacking golgappa, every dish was a symphony of flavors. There was something magical about the food here—eaten right from the makeshift stalls along the dusty roads, surrounded by the sounds of honking rickshaws and the chatter of passersby. Hygiene was hardly a concern for the vendors, but the spices they used, passed down through generations, made every bite unforgettable. The fact that it was so imperfect—served in the heat of the moment, with the street air mixing in—only added to the charm.

And then, there were the sweets—oh, the sweets! From the rich, golden jalebis to the delicate khoya, every corner of Old Delhi had something to satisfy your sweet tooth. The variety was endless, and each vendor had their own unique twist. I could always tell when I was nearing the famous lane where the sweet shop was because the smell alone was enough to make my mouth water.

Living just a few minutes away from the grand Jama Masjid, I’d often find myself walking through the narrow alleyways that led me there. The majestic mosque stood as a silent witness to the city's daily hustle, offering a moment of peace amidst the chaos. The journey from my house to the majestic red sandstone mosque, winding through the crowded lanes, was nothing short of an adventure.

Old Delhi’s diversity was also reflected in the rich cultural fabric of its lanes. As I strolled towards Chandni Chowk, I would pass a gurudwara, a temple, a mosque, and a church—all standing in close proximity, sharing the same space and time. This coexistence of religions always fascinated me, offering a glimpse into the unity that could be found amid the cacophony of city life. Along the way, we would sometimes stop by Fatehpuri Masjid before heading to my maternal grandparents' house, which was another world altogether—quiet, serene, and nestled in the heart of the city’s most vibrant area.

In those days, getting around the city was an adventure in itself. We didn’t have the convenience of modern-day cars or taxis. Instead, we relied on cycle rickshaws or tongas—horse-drawn carts that added to the charm of Old Delhi. If you didn’t catch a ride, the alternative was to walk, and walking through those lively lanes was an experience like no other. The sheer density of people, the colors, the sounds, and the smells were overwhelming yet strangely comforting.

On weekends, my parents would take me to eat at one of the local restaurants near Lal Quila (Red Fort). It was a different experience, more formal, with tables and chairs, but it still carried the essence of Old Delhi’s vibrancy. The food was richer, the ambiance grander, but the soul of the place—the flavors, the energy—remained the same.

Old Delhi, with its contrast of the old and new, its chaos and its tranquility, has left an indelible mark on my soul. It’s not just a place; it’s a memory, a feeling that’s still alive in the streets, in the smells of street food, in the buzz of the crowd, and in the quiet sanctity of its ancient monuments. For me, Delhi 6 is more than just a location; it’s a chapter of my life that I’ll forever carry with me, no matter where I go.

Reading Expands Imagination

 

Reading Expands Imagination

I come from a traditional family where reading was never seen as a habit worth cultivating. Books were considered either academic necessities or indulgences with little value. Growing up, we had barely any access to books at home, and even in school, whether middle or high school, the library was limited. The few books available were closely guarded, and strict rules made it difficult to borrow them freely. Reading for pleasure wasn’t encouraged; it was something to be controlled.

Living in a joint family, however, offered its own secret windows to the world. Some of my older cousins would sneak in forbidden literature—detective novels, cheap romance books, thriller magazines—the kind of content adults whispered about disapprovingly. As a child, I was strictly forbidden from even glancing at them. But curiosity has its own stubborn nature. I would quietly peek into these pages when no one was watching, my eyes wide with excitement at the unfamiliar stories and wild characters.

Those secret moments felt like rebellion, but more than that, they sparked something in me. They stretched my imagination beyond the four walls of my house and beyond the expectations of what I was "supposed" to read or think.

I was fortunate, though, to have one steady influence, my mother. She was a schoolteacher, and she understood the quiet power of books. I still remember, vividly, the day she gave me a set of comic books and illustrated storybooks for my sixth or seventh birthday. That gift changed something in me. I read those books again and again, until I had nearly memorized every word. They weren’t just stories; they were portals. To other worlds, other voices, other possibilities.

Looking back, I believe it was these early, scattered, sometimes forbidden experiences with reading that expanded my imagination and planted the seeds of a lifelong love for books. I didn’t have the luxury of a rich library or literary mentors, but I read whatever I could get my hands on—textbooks, pamphlets, old magazines, school books, even the back of cereal boxes.

That hunger has never left me.

Years later, when my daughter was born, one of the first things I did was fill her world with books. Picture books, storybooks, and poems, we read together, laughed together, and imagined together. Through her eyes, I rediscovered the joy of reading. It became a shared ritual of learning, relearning, and unlearning—a constant process that continues to shape both of us.

Reading didn’t just entertain me; it transformed me. It taught me to think beyond what I was told, to question the world around me, and to dream of what could be. It taught me that imagination is not a luxury—it’s a necessity.

Today, my curiosity has only grown. I find myself drawn not just to fiction, but to philosophy, history, political theory, science, and gender studies, across disciplines, across perspectives. I feel an insatiable desire to read not just books, but entire libraries. Because I know that every book holds a new lens through which to see the world—and every lens expands who I am.

Bulldozing Humanity: The Rise of Extrajudicial Power

 

Despite a Constitution that promises equality and social justice, a culture of discrimination, marginalization, and state-sanctioned violence continues to flourish in India. For over seven decades, institutional bias and bureaucratic apathy have persisted. Today, this toxic collaboration between a bureaucratic elite ("Babudom" or Kafkaseque bureaucracy) and political power structures ("Babadom" used by Partha Chatterjee in 2004 in the Politics of the Governed to depict the cult of leaders where thousands of people blindly follow one person), now armed with bulldozers, is systematically bulldozing not just homes, but humanity itself. The Constitution, the rule of law, justice, rationality, and dignity are being razed in the name of order.

Bulldozer Politics Is Not New

Article 21 of the Indian Constitution guarantees the right to life with dignity. The Supreme Court, through landmark cases like Olga Tellis v. Bombay Municipal Corporation (1985) 3 SCC 545, affirmed that this right includes the right to livelihood. In that case, the Court recognized the socioeconomic realities of pavement dwellers and ruled that evicting them without proper rehabilitation amounted to violating their right to life.

The Court declared, “There can be no estoppel against the Constitution,” emphasizing that constitutional provisions serve public interest and human dignity. Despite this jurisprudence, courts have not always upheld such humane interpretations. (See Municipal Corporation of Delhi v. Gurnam Kaur, (1989) 1 SCC 101. Also, Sodan Singh v. NDMC (1989) 4 SCC 155)

 A notorious precedent occurred during the Emergency in 1976, when Indira Gandhi’s government forcibly demolished homes of poor Muslim residents in Delhi’s Turkman Gate (See Engineer Asghar Ali (2007) The Minority Votes, DNAIndia.com, August 13 https://www.dnaindia.com/analysis/main-article-the-minority-votes-1115376.) The demolitions were accompanied by brutal police firing and a broader authoritarian agenda that included slum clearance, forced sterilizations, and curtailment of civil liberties (Raza Danish (2015) Tragedy and Turkman Gate: Witnesses recount horror of Emergency, The Hindustan Times, June 29, https://www.hindustantimes.com/india/tragedy-at-turkman-gate-witnesses-recount-horror-of-emergency/story-UD6kxHbROYSBMlDbjQLYpJ.html). The political strategy was armed with four major tactics moves that include compulsory sterilization (nas bandi), slum removal, police firing and curtailment of civil liberties (Wright Theodore P (1977) Muslims and the 1977 Indian Elections: A Watershed? Asian Survey 17(12) 1207-1220). The bulldozer, then as now, became a symbol of state repression.

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New India, Same Bulldozers

Today, decades later, the bulldozer has returned—not merely as a machine but as an extrajudicial instrument of state power. The targets remain eerily similar: the urban poor and Muslim minorities.

Despite laws that require due process—such as serving eviction notices and offering appeals—these procedures are increasingly ignored. Demolitions are often sudden, violent, and unaccompanied by any plans for resettlement.

Take the example of Khori Gaon, a 50-year-old settlement in Delhi with nearly 100,000 residents. In the middle of a pandemic and monsoon season, the settlement was demolished without warning. The residents were labeled as “forest encroachers,” and the court ordered their eviction without considering the humanitarian crisis. “We don’t want these Covid excuses,” the court stated. No hearings, no relief, no compensation—just brute force.

The state deployed heavy police presence, and residents—men, women, and children—were subjected to violence and trauma. No notices were served, no rehabilitation was planned, and no temporary shelters were provided. The very people who build and sustain cities were treated as disposable.

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The Politics of Slum Clearance

Slums are not a problem of illegality—they are a consequence of systemic failure. Displacement, poverty, lack of affordable housing, and urban exclusion force people into informal settlements. Often, these slums are not only known to state authorities but also unofficially sanctioned or even encouraged.

Yet, instead of addressing root causes, the state responds with violence. Slum clearance becomes a euphemism for class cleansing. Policies prioritize erasure over inclusion, and the poor are vilified as “encroachers,” “rioters,” or “illegal occupants.”

Forced evictions disproportionately affect women and children, causing generational harm—malnutrition, school dropouts, lost livelihoods, and increased vulnerability. Urban planning continues to ignore these costs, and the idea of humane rehabilitation remains absent from public discourse.

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Criminalizing and Dehumanizing the Poor

In places like Khori Gaon, Jahangirpuri, and Shaheen Bagh, homes are bulldozed under the pretext of punishing rioters or reclaiming land. But these demolitions function as collective punishment—used not to enforce law, but to signal power and reinforce prejudice.

By using bulldozers as punitive tools, the state legitimizes a narrative of criminality around the urban poor. Rehabilitation schemes, when they exist, are narrow in scope and exclude most affected families. The selective nature of demolitions—often targeting Muslim and marginalized communities—deepens social divisions.

This pattern reveals an alarming trend: the bulldozer is no longer just a machine. It is a weapon of majoritarian assertion, a symbol of control, and a tool for the dehumanization of the “other.”

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From Constitution to Control

The use of bulldozers today reflects a broader erosion of democratic values. What we are witnessing is not just the demolition of homes, but the systematic dismantling of constitutional rights, especially for the poor and minorities.

By bypassing legal safeguards and justifying state violence in the name of law, the bulldozer has become the face of impunity in “New India.” It is no longer about removing structures—it is about erasing people, otherizing them, diminishing their rights, and voices that do not fit into the state’s vision of urban order and cultural conformity.

True justice demands that we rebuild not just homes, but the very foundations of compassion, equality, and lawfulness that are being flattened under the tracks of bulldozer politics.

 

She is a girl; she has a right to survive with dignity

Shalu Nigam 

21 June 2022

She is not a commodity to be traded 

Hope that the moment you downgraded her could be faded 

She is not an object of your desire

She has dreams of her own to aspire

She is not a burden to be discarded 

She is a human to be accepted 

She is not a property to be owned 

She could imagine a world of her own

She is not a source of your free labor

Respect her rights and her worth, she is stronger

Because she is a girl, a woman 

She needs no permission

Her body her life and her future belong to her

Don't bring in your stereotypes, traditions or your repressive culture 

Your world is brutal and discriminatory 

But she dreams of a world that rests on equality

Where everyone has a right to survive with dignity

 

How the Malimath Committee Denied Women Their Rights?

Section 498A IPC was inserted in the Indian Penal Code in 1983 and provides to protect women from cruelty in their matrimonial homes. The Malimath Committee Report (2003), twenty years after the enactment of Section 498A, noted,

“In a less tolerant, impulsive woman may lodge an FIR even on a trivial act. The result is that the husband and his family may be immediately arrested and there may be a suspension or loss of job. The offence alleged being non-bailable, innocent persons languish in custody. There may be a claim for maintenance adding fuel to the fire if the husband cannot pay. She may change her mind and get into the mood to forget and forgive. The husband may realize the mistakes committed and come forward to turn a new leaf for a loving and cordial relationship. The woman may like to seek reconciliation. But this may not be possible due to the legal obstacles. Even if she wishes to make amends by withdrawing the complaint, she cannot do so as the offence is non-compoundable. The doors for returning to family life stand closed. She is thus left at the mercy of her natal family…This section, therefore, helps neither the wife nor the husband. The offence is non-bailable and non-compoundable making an innocent person undergo stigmatization and hardship. Heartless provisions that make the offence non-bailable and non-compoundable operate against reconciliations. It is, therefore, necessary to make this offence (a) bailable and (b) compoundable to give a chance to the spouses to come together” (p. 191).

 

The Committee, while making such observations, expressed its apprehensions about the ability of the criminal justice system to provide justice. However, the committee has failed to recognize that

First, cruelty under 498A is listed as a cognizable, non-bailable, and non-compoundable crime and has to be dealt with accordingly. The criminal justice system, while dealing with each case, is expected to take abundant precautions in ascertaining the guilt of the accused person; therefore, to suggest that this offence be diluted implies distrusting the judiciary and labelling the trial courts as inefficient to effectively adjudicate the culpability of the parties.

Second, the context of the relationship between the perpetrator and the victim does not make domestic violence a lesser crime. Rather, the severity of the crime is adverse in situations where the batterer is in the position to exert financial, emotional, and social control over the victim because of the relationship, and the victim is financially dependent on the perpetrator.

Third, salvaging a violent marriage is not a viable option when a man is abusive, as he destroys the family through his violent actions. Families cannot be built on the edifice of bruised and battered bodies or scarred minds.

Fourth, the bitterness in a relationship already starts once a wife is being abused; therefore, suggestions should have focused on altering the men’s violent behaviour.

Fifth, the policemen are not overzealous in arresting the accused. Rather, studies have shown that women undergo hassles in filing the FIR. Also, at every step of the trial, mediation is enforced vehemently to compel women to reconcile.

Sixth, making the offence compoundable will not serve the purpose, as neither will it deter the perpetrator nor will it help to salvage the relationship. Experiences show that violence escalates in situations when women are pushed back into abusive situations without the guarantee of safety.

Last, the committee has failed to raise concerns relating to provisions of shelter homes, medical, or legal aid, or other facilities for the battered women, as its only apprehension was to save the family. This indicates its biased approach.

Despite its pitfalls, this erroneous approach sets precedents, is being repeated multiple times, and has major implications for diluting the procedures and provisions relating to criminal law. Over the years, the state has followed the recommendations blindly without testing the validity of claims or referring to the existing research to suggest changes. 

For more details, please see my book

Domestic Violence Law in India: Myth and Misogyny (2021), Routledge

 How the courts failed gender justice 

The Basic Premise Behind Domestic Violence Remains Unchallenged

Domestic Violence in India is premised on several notions such as 

1) The marital relationship is hierarchical and inegalitarian. Women are accorded a low status within a marriage and the family whereas a man is considered a master of the household 

2) The husband and his family have the authority to beat the wife besides demanding dowry. Chastisement is a prerogative granted to a husband who can commit violence against a wife in the guise of love and discipline. 

3) A violent husband is not made accountable even if he brutally murders the woman. The law grants immunity to violent husbands even if the husband is a drunkard, vile, or criminal.  

4) The family is a private realm and no one and not even the law should interfere with the privacy of such an institution. Domestic harmony is prioritized over violence against women. 

5) The doctrine of marital unity as propounded by Blackstone persists which prevents law framers and implementers to see complainant wives as separate persons or a citizen demanding protection under the law. 

6) Courts are expected to uphold constitutional values instead they are enforcing the family ideology 

7) The law has been used symbolically and superficially to address violence issues but no steps have been taken to address the root cause, for instance, the dowry law has failed to eliminate dowry or address dowry-related violence 

8) The legal discourse focused on blaming the victim, stigmatizing her, and penalizing women for not `adjusting’ within families  

9) Due to the backlash, the focus is shifting away from reality from `bad men’ who are battering or burning their wives to `bad or terrible women’ who are misusing the law. 

Most of these premises are never questioned even in a court of law. The law does not utilize the principles of rationality while adjudicating the claims of battered or murdered wives. It legitimizes and reiterates social inequalities within the institution of marriage.

 A few attempts have been made to change the approach and the attitude of law implementers to see women as partners and citizens with equal rights. Legal reforms could not make a dent in the construction of women’s `natural’ position within the existing power structure that creates the everyday reality of their life within and outside the family. Additionally, the justice system is a part and parcel of a larger patriarchal society where the system is corrupt and inefficient. Courts used both the logic relating to chastisement prerogative and marital privacy while prosecuting men in cases of wife beating. Language of hierarchy, love, and discipline is used to protect violent men and the tropes of both hierarchy and interiority are used to cover bias in the hierarchical marriage arrangements. The regime of immunity is utilized to justify brutal violence while utilizing the dimensions of feelings and domestic space.  

 

The Justice System Has Failed to Meet the Changing Needs of the Society

Analysis of spates of judgments shows that women are being tortured, brutalized, burned alive, murdered, or forced to commit suicide yet, tragically, the current judicial discourse focuses on misuse or abuse of law by women. The cases relating to dowry deaths, murders of wives, the suicide of women in marriage, and domestic violence, found little space either in the media. No sensitivity is being displayed when a wife dies rather such cases are being normalized and trivialized and what is prioritized is fake concerns raised by fragile masculinity, probably because women’s concerns are no longer deemed relevant by the patriarchal society. Dowry deaths have been highlighted during the decade of the 80s and the laws have been reformed then, however, no monitoring or follow-up has been done to ensure that the system of dowry coercion is eliminated. Similarly, domestic violence cases are being reported in increasing numbers, yet no accountability has been fixed to ensure that actions could be taken to monitor the situation. The system has not devised ways to monitor the situation if the police are following the procedures or conducting the investigation seriously.  The criminal justice system has failed to respond to the changing situation. Similarly, civil law ignores the realities of women’s lives. Perhaps, the state is not willing to accept the agency of women challenging and defying patriarchal norms. Yet, with the existence of a strong constitutional paradigm besides advancement in terms of education, awareness, and enhanced aspirations, women are challenging the conventional stereotype and are defying age-old norms. However, once women enter the courtrooms, they face similar patriarchal restrictions which they have been dealing with outside the court spaces. The courts and investigative agencies dominated by men have failed to transform at the same pace and this lag in expectations of women and working of state is creating complications. The need, therefore, is to renovate the mindset and attitude of the state toward women’s concerns.

Excerpt from my book Women and Domestic Violence Law in India: A Quest for Justice (2019) Routledge

 

Brains, Not Superficial Beauty

 Brains, Not Superficial Beauty

In today’s superficial and hyper-commercialized world, women’s bodies continue to be commodified in the name of beauty. Capitalism, hand-in-hand with patriarchal ideals, has created industries that profit from the objectification of women, reducing their value to external appearances and marketable aesthetics. This obsession with physical perfection doesn’t just harm body image—it subtly and persistently devalues the intelligence, labor, and inner worth of women. It sidelines their ideas, erases their contributions, and perpetuates a culture that prizes appearance over substance.

This patriarchal mindset seeps into every institution, even into education, where women have fought hard for space. In the commercialized academic world, emphasis is often placed on rote memorization, standardized tests, and performance metrics that do little to nurture creativity, empathy, or critical thinking. What’s sidelined is the preservation and transmission of traditional knowledge, life skills, and lived wisdom—much of which has been carried, curated, and passed on by women across generations.

We are told to measure intelligence through IQ, grades, or degrees. But what about emotional intelligence? Social understanding? Resilience? Survival skills? These, too, are forms of intelligence—often more necessary for navigating real-world challenges than textbook knowledge. Yet they remain undervalued, especially when embodied and practiced by women.

It is time to challenge these narrow standards. True empowerment lies not in conforming to imposed ideals of beauty or intellect but in reclaiming the full spectrum of human potential, where emotional strength, cultural knowledge, caregiving, and intuition are recognized as equal to academic or professional achievement. Women should be celebrated not just for how they look, but for how they think, feel, lead, and survive.

Brains, not beauty. Depth, not display. Substance, not surface. That’s the revolution we need.

 Marriage is tragically not construed as companionship by the Indian state and society

“A wife should be an administrator in purpose, a slave in duty, Lakshmi in appearance, Earth in patience, Mother in love, Prostitute in bed”, wrote the Kerala judge while quoting a Sanskrit shloka to interpret the duties of a woman in a matrimonial relationship. (2018)

Thus, as per the court, a wife should be capable of adopting multiple roles. She must be perfect in work and appearance, should be caring and loving, and yet must work as a slave. The role of a wife is painted with high expectations, whereas no such roles are prescribed for husbands by the court. As per this notion, a woman can attain salvation only if she obeys her husband because, for her, her husband is a lord and a master beyond which she cannot have a separate existence. The traditional conservative notions about the ‘good woman’ who is obedient, compliant, docile, and does not question the norms are still prevalent within and outside the courtrooms and prevent many women from seeking justice using the legal system.  In fact, the conventional stereotype of an ‘ideal uncomplaining wife’ is reinforced by the judicial system that reiterates that a devoted and loyal wife will suffer torture silently. The paternalistic attitude that operates within and outside the courtrooms hinders many women from negotiating for their rights or obtaining justice. In fact, marriage is construed as a sacred relationship and not a tie that is based on companionship. As per this approach, it is dharma or the duty of the wife to look after her family subserviently without question. Marriage is considered to be a pious ‘ Dharmic ’ institution that is ‘made in heaven but broken on earth’. Much emphasis is laid on the performance of ceremonies such as the Saptapadi as per the rituals to accentuate the sacramental nature of the relationship that involves a union of souls that extends not only to one but to seven lives. 

Since the colonial era, the courts have been relying on ancient Hindu texts as coded in Vedas and Smritis. Many of these texts have been interpreted as putting the wife on a lower level, considering a woman to be a dasi or a slave. The intersection of caste and gender hierarchies is reproduced to arrive at the interpretation of ancient religious literature while construing rights and wrongs within marriage, rather than the constitutional values or legal norms. For instance, the Bombay High Court adduced that as per Shastras , in an anuloma marriage, marriage between a man from a higher caste to a lower-caste woman is valid, and children born out of such a tie are legitimate. However, the children born out of a relationship between Shudra men and a Brahmin mistress or a pratiloma marriage, which is declared invalid under the Hindu law, are not dasiputra and therefore cannot claim inheritance in their father’s property. While using the Brahmanical texts, gender and caste parameters are utilized to deprive a Brahmin woman and her children of their rights and penalize her for marrying a lower-caste man. This trend of interpreting rights in marriage narrowly continued in independent India. Contrary to the constitutional values of equality, justice, and liberty, such orthodox ideas and stereotypes are being embedded in personal laws morally, religiously, and socially and are evident in the spate of rulings and verdicts pronounced by the courts. 

Excerpt from my Book Women and Domestic Violence Law in India: A Quest for Justice, (2019) Routledge

Gratitude

 

In North India, sex-selective abortion remains a grim reality, despite being illegal. The Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (PCPNDT) Act was enacted in 1994 and began to be more strictly enforced by the late 1990s. 

I still remember vividly the time I went for an ultrasound during my pregnancy. The law had started gaining traction, and doctors were sternly warned not to reveal the sex of the fetus under any circumstances. Violators could face strict penalties or even lose their license to practice. But while the law was in place, people's attitudes—particularly within families and communities—were much slower to change.

My own experience was no different. My ex-husband and in-laws were adamant that I find out the sex of the fetus. Their obsession with having a male child was overpowering and merciless. On two previous occasions, they had forced me to undergo abortions when they managed to find out—through illegal means—that the fetus was female. The trauma of those experiences still lingers in my memory.

During my third pregnancy, I once again went for an ultrasound. This time, the woman technician conducting the ultrasonography maintained a strict professional stance in front of my ex-husband and his mother. She clearly told them that the law prohibited her from revealing the sex of the fetus, and she would not break it under any circumstances. Her firm refusal was remarkable, especially in a context where many still circumvent the rules.

But then, when she found a moment to speak to me alone, she gently said something that would stay with me forever. “I know what you’ve been going through,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m risking my profession to tell you—it’s a girl.”

I was stunned. I couldn’t find the words to thank her then. But in that moment, I made a quiet vow to myself: this time, I will protect my daughter at all costs.

Years have passed, and that little girl is growing up with strength and dignity. She’s here today because of that single act of courage and feminist solidarity—a small gesture that came from a stranger, but meant everything to me. 

At the time, I was too naïve, too overwhelmed, to return and express my gratitude. But as I reflect now, I am filled with a deep sense of appreciation for that woman who, despite the risks, chose empathy over silence.

I may never know where she is now, but wherever she may be, I want to thank her from the depths of my heart. Her act of kindness not only saved a life but also restored my own courage and determination.

It’s these simple, quiet acts of bravery and compassion that keep the world going. In a system designed to crush women, it was another woman who stood beside me, and that made all the difference.

Thank you for being there, for saving the life of my daughter, for helping me to restore my dignity. 

Family courts uphold family ideologies, not gender justice

 

Family courts uphold family ideologies, not gender justice

During the 1980s, the demands were made by the women's movement to establish family courts, and the Family Court Act was enacted in 1984. The law provides for specialized forums to deal with ‘matrimonial conflicts’ and not domestic violence. These are designed to adjudicate matters such as divorce, custody suits, maintenance, restitution of conjugal rights, and connected issues. The goal is to make the courts accessible and less intimidating for women through dispensing with lawyers, legalistic jargon, strict rules of procedure, and standards of evidence.

These courts depicted mediation as an alternative to the patriarchy-inspired adversary system. This is preferred by many because of its reputation for providing a better hearing. Yet this system could not aid in reducing violence or enabling justice for women. Studies have shown that the family courts are not free from difficulties like backlogs, the exploitative commercial approach of lawyers, long, drawn-out battles, multiple court proceedings, and the insensitive approach of officials.

Family courts were created to avoid cumbersome litigation and replace it with samjhauta, or ‘brokering compromises’, to achieve efficiency and to shed the burden of the law. These courts mandatorily offer coercive persuasions to forcefully push women back to the violent families, to ‘adjust’, to ‘compromise’ to ‘preserve marriage’, even if it endangers their life and limb. An idea that is constantly being pushed is that the family is equipped to protect women while underplaying violence in it. Perhaps it is easier and more economical to compel women rather than question a man’s violent behavior. What is erroneously strengthened is the belief that women prefer to stay within abusive households, and therefore, through ‘forced compromises’, they are compelled to accept the violent situation without any guarantee of their safety or security. No options are offered outside the domain of the ‘sacrosanct’ family. The rhetoric of ‘counselling’, ‘mediation’ or ‘settlement’ reiterates the regressive family ideology rather than protecting women from violence or providing psycho-social support to victims. The focus on settling ‘family disputes’ could not deal with the serious violence women face. Family courts negate women’s experience of violence rather than providing justice. Theoretically, an adversary system is replaced to resolve matters expeditiously and harmoniously, but in reality, the criminal justice system is twisted to adjust to the tenor of the patriarchy.

The alternative dispute resolution system diluted the seriousness of domestic violence in various ways. The language itself deliberately lessens the gravity of an offense committed within the chardiwari of the household. The term ‘dispute’ entails that two parties are equal, as compared to the term ‘violence’ which implies an abuse of power. The concept of parity among parties on unequal footing is introduced silently by the slyness of the patriarchal forces. No attempts have been made to question the inequality in the relationship. This misconceived approach overlooks the fact that conciliation as a technique poses grave problems, as it overlooks the concept of power within the relation. It expands the state’s control over individual behavior within families, and more specifically, it is at times being used to cement the norms of a ‘good wife’, ‘good mother’, or a ‘bad woman’. Further, denial of anger and the command to forget the past and live in the present generate dissatisfaction and give rise to a feeling of injustice. The law has reinforced patriarchal oppression while discriminating against women.

Mediation avoids questions relating to power, property, and violence within a relationship. The use of coercion in a situation where two parties are not on par creates problems rather than resolving issues. This process of ‘coercive harmony’, as explained by Laura Nader, destroys rights by limiting discussion of the past. It prohibits anger, curtails freedom, eliminates choices, and removes protection of the law. It ignores a ‘victim’ status and compels a woman to compromise her health, life, or limb. Mediation within marriage does not address the structure of power located within the relationship and ignores the fact that parties in conflict in no way operate within the universe of ‘balanced bargaining equity’. It does not satisfy the survivor’s need for justice. Rather, it normalizes and trivializes the violence in everyday lives and compels survivors to curtail their emotions and hide the resentments that arise when they face abuse. During the process of mediation, a woman is vulnerable to threats and harassment and is under extreme stress and pressure, yet the reconciliation procedure does not consider these facts. Mediation overlooks legal entitlements and ends up denying justice to women who have less bargaining power and cannot negotiate.

Another choice offered is ‘settlement’, where a victim is left with no other alternative but to fend for herself and her children instead of a meager amount of money, if any, offered by the violent husband, or she may stay at her maika or remarry. Therefore, these so-called ‘women-friendly’ adjudication spaces failed to address the concerns of the victims of violence. In other words, these courts are ‘family-centric’ rather than ‘victim- or survivor-centric’.

This approach rejects the notion of making survivors economically self-sufficient or offering options to lend socio-economic support to victims. The patriarchal imagination failed to provide distributive justice or material relief and support to the abused wives through a single-window mechanism, despite the knowledge that a comprehensive rehabilitative package is essential to remedy the situation of violence. The bold notion of challenging male dominance while improving the status of women or providing innovative solutions aiding survivors has not been imagined as an alternative by the state or society.

For more details, see my book Women and Domestic Violence Law in India: A Quest for Justice, 2019, Routledge

p 59-60

The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

 

The Rebellion of My Mother Inspires Me Somehow

My mother often tells me a story—one that I’ve heard many times, yet it never loses its power. It’s about a moment in her life when she decided to quietly but firmly push back against the oppressive expectations placed upon her. This story, though rooted in pain and resistance, has become a quiet source of inspiration for me.

She was in Class Eight, barely a teenager, when her parents informed her that her marriage had been arranged. In her family and many others across patriarchal Hindu households in North India, this was the norm. Her elder sisters had already been married young, and there were younger siblings still waiting in line. The pressure was as heavy as it was expected. No one questioned it—not the girls, not the women, and certainly not the men. The authority of the patriarchs was absolute, and girls were rarely asked what they wanted.

But my mother, even as a young girl, found a way to rebel.

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t run away or shout in protest. Instead, she cried. She cried for days, letting her tears speak the words she was never allowed to say out loud. She stopped eating. Her silent resistance slowly began to shake the very foundation of her parents’ decision. Her sorrow became too heavy to ignore. Eventually, her parents relented. They called off the marriage.

Although she did get married a few years later, before she could finish her college education, that single act of defiance left a lasting impression—not just on her family, but on me as well. Her rebellion may have been quiet, but it was powerful. In a world where obedience was expected, she chose resistance. It wasn’t the dramatic kind of revolution we often read about, but it was a rebellion nonetheless—a refusal to give in to a system that demanded her silence.

That act, that moment, planted a seed. A seed of courage. A seed of questioning. A seed of change.

Today, I realize how much that story has shaped me. It’s not just my mother’s story—it’s the story of countless women who have dared to resist in small, subtle, but deeply significant ways. Her quiet rebellion has become part of my inheritance. It has taught me that strength doesn’t always roar; sometimes, it whispers. And sometimes, that whisper is enough to crack open centuries of silence.

Her rebellion inspires me—somehow, in all the ways that matter.

A Life Warrior

 

A Life Warrior

Not long ago, a book titled Exam Warrior gained widespread attention. I haven’t read it, but the title alone suggests that it's intended to guide school and college students on how to excel in examinations — how to score high marks, overcome test anxiety, and perform well academically. No doubt, such guidance can be useful during one phase of life. But my own experiences have taught me a very different lesson: life is not an exam — it is far more complex, unpredictable, and demanding.

Unlike academic tests, life does not give you a syllabus. There is no fixed pattern to follow, no past papers to solve, and no single correct answer. The challenges we face in life are often unexpected and don’t come with instructions. They test not only our knowledge but also our resilience, emotional strength, adaptability, and character. And unlike exams, which have a scheduled start and finish, the tests that life throws at us can emerge at any moment — sometimes without warning.

That’s why I believe we need more than just exam warriors; we need life warriors.

A life warrior is not someone who merely excels in academics or performs well in a job interview. A life warrior is someone who learns to cope with failure, who keeps going after a loss, who adapts to change, who stands up again after being knocked down — someone who, above all, refuses to give up.

In school, we are taught to memorize answers. But life demands that we learn how to ask better questions — and how to live with uncertainty. In college, we’re graded on individual performance. But in life, success often depends on teamwork, relationships, empathy, and communication — things that rarely show up on a report card.

Our education system tends to emphasize academic performance as a measure of a person’s worth. But the real world doesn't operate that way. Some people top exams but struggle to find happiness. Others may not have earned high marks, but they go on to lead impactful, fulfilling lives. Why? Because they’ve learned how to face the tests of life — not just the tests of school.

So while exam skills may help you get a degree or land a job, life skills help you live. Skills like critical thinking, emotional intelligence, time management, self-discipline, patience, and resilience — these are what shape a life warrior.

It’s time we broaden the definition of success. Let’s not raise a generation of children who believe their worth is tied only to grades or ranks. Let’s encourage them to dream, to question, to explore, to fail, and to rise again — to become not just exam warriors, but true life warriors.

Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

 Why Are Courts Ignoring the Everyday Realities of Women’s Struggle for Justice?

In recent years, a troubling narrative has taken hold in many Indian courtrooms: the idea that women are misusing the Domestic Violence Act. This narrative, often repeated without thorough evidence, reflects a deep-rooted suspicion of women's voices, especially when they speak out against abuse. What the courts fail to see—or choose to ignore—are the everyday, lived realities of women who are systematically silenced, disbelieved, and denied justice.

Let me share the story of one of my clients, which highlights the grave injustice being carried out in the name of procedure and skepticism.

She was a government employee, financially independent, and had a daughter from a previous marriage. Hoping for companionship and stability, she married a man from Calcutta who had been divorced. What unfolded after the marriage, however, was nothing short of betrayal and abuse. This man emotionally and financially exploited her. Under the pretext of buying a house for their future together, he took control of her salary, drained her savings, and even coerced her into taking loans in her name.

Then he vanished, leaving her with mounting debt, false promises, and a child to support.

When we approached the court under the Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, hoping for relief and protection, the response was disheartening. Despite repeated efforts, the man refused to appear before the court. Instead, he sent her threatening messages, harassing her from a distance. When we presented these messages as evidence and requested a protection order, the court did not act. Rather than offering urgent protection to a woman clearly under duress, the court insisted on giving the man yet another chance to appear.

For nearly a year, this cycle continued. The police claimed they had pasted the summons at his address in Calcutta—a symbolic gesture at best. The legal system moved at a glacial pace while my client lived in fear, burdened by debt, and emotionally shattered. Eleven months later, she received news that he had died. Just like that, the court closed the case.

No protection. No justice. No acknowledgment of the harm she endured.

And now, she is left with nothing but the consequences of his lies—trapped under the weight of loans taken in her name, with no recourse, no restitution, and no home. The documents for the house were fake. There is no property to claim, no inheritance to fight for, only a lingering sense of abandonment—not just by the man who exploited her, but by the very system that was supposed to protect her.

She tried to console herself, thinking of this as her karma. But are these really her failures, or is it because of the indifference of the system that she suffered? 

Is this what justice looks like?

The courts' reluctance to believe women’s experiences of domestic violence reflects a dangerous and systemic failure. While concerns about misuse of the law exist and should be addressed responsibly, they cannot become an excuse to dismiss genuine cases outright. Every time the courts delay action, demand yet another piece of evidence, or wait endlessly for the accused to respond, they are enabling abusers and endangering survivors.

Justice delayed is not only justice denied—it is justice undone.

We need a judicial system that understands the complexity of domestic abuse, especially when it involves financial manipulation, coercive control, and emotional trauma. Women don’t just need legal provisions; they need courts that act swiftly, sensitively, and decisively.

Until then, the law remains a promise unfulfilled. And women like my client will continue to pay the price.

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

 

It’s My Life — And I Know Best How to Live It

There was a time in my life when everything seemed to be falling apart. I was in a dark, difficult place—emotionally, mentally, and even physically. It felt like I was drowning in pain no one could see, and certainly, no one could understand.

During that time, someone suggested I take the Art of Living course. Their intention, I’m sure, was to help. But the moment I heard it, I felt a wave of resistance rise up in me.

How could anyone else possibly tell me how to live my life?

My pain was unique. My circumstances were layered. No one knew the full story—what I had endured, what I was feeling, or what it truly meant to carry the weight I was carrying. No one saw my inner strength, my quiet resilience, or the flickers of hope I still held onto. So how could someone—no matter how well-meaning—offer a one-size-fits-all solution to something so deeply personal?

The truth is, advice often comes easily from the outside. But living through trauma, healing, and growth? That’s an inside job.

I chose not to follow that suggestion. Not out of arrogance, but out of self-trust. I decided to turn inward instead of outward. I wanted to find my own way of healing—one that honored my story, my pace, and my truth.

So I stopped chasing external guidance. I stopped listening to voices that claimed to know what was best for me. And instead, I listened to the quiet, persistent voice inside me—the one that had been drowned out for too long. It wasn’t always easy, and it certainly wasn’t fast. But over time, that choice changed everything.

Today, I can say with confidence that I have not just recovered—I have grown, evolved, and begun to thrive. But what saddens me is how often I see others falling into the same trap: thinking someone else has the answers they’re looking for.

Here’s what I want to say to anyone who might feel lost or broken:
You are not a problem to be fixed by someone else. You are a human being capable of healing, in your own way and on your own terms.

Yes, support is important. Guidance can be helpful. But at the end of the day, only you can walk your path. Only you can truly know what you need. And only you can decide what kind of life you want to live.

So trust yourself.
Honor your journey.
And remember: it’s your life—and you know best how to live it.

TAKE A STAND. ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY. RESIST.

 

TAKE A STAND. ACCEPT RESPONSIBILITY. RESIST.

Let’s not sugarcoat it — we’re living in an age of manufactured consent, weaponized lies, and systemic gaslighting.

Once, to stand with the truth was an act of moral clarity. Today, it’s a revolutionary act. Because in this neoliberal capitalist hellscape, truth isn’t just inconvenient — it’s dangerous. It threatens the polished veneers of power, the profit machines, the corporate empires, the bought-out politicians, and the puppet masters in the media.

The truth? It’s being slaughtered.

Every. Single. Day.

Sliced up, twisted into soundbites, buried beneath headlines designed to distract, distort, and dumb us down. It’s not a mistake — it’s the system working exactly as it was designed to. Injustice thrives because the truth is anesthetized, mocked, and sold back to us in the form of slogans and spectacle.

And those who dare to stand with it? They’re not praised — they’re punished. Silenced. Criminalized. Branded as “radical,” “extremist,” “unpatriotic,” or “naïve.” Activists are surveilled. Whistleblowers are exiled. Journalists are jailed. The ones who speak up are cast out, not because they’re wrong, but because they’re right — and that terrifies the establishment.

Courtrooms are corrupted. Laws are weaponized. The media is complicit. Justice is a performance, staged for those with power, while the rest of us are told to shut up, stay in line, and scroll.

So what do we do?

We refuse to comply. We refuse to be complicit. We refuse to be silent.

To stand with the truth today is to enter the fight. It means rejecting the illusion of neutrality — because neutrality in the face of oppression is betrayal. It means recognizing that we are all part of a system that profits off lies — and choosing to fight back anyway.

It’s time to accept responsibility. Not the individualistic kind sold to us by self-help gurus and billionaires pretending to be saviors, but collective responsibility. The kind that links our voices, our stories, and our struggles together in resistance.

Because the truth doesn’t need saviors — it needs accomplices.

So take a stand. Speak out. Organize. Uplift. Unlearn. Resist.

The truth is under attack.

Will you protect it — or pretend you never saw it bleeding?

The Invisible Weight: The Emotional Toll of Supporting Survivors of Domestic Violence

 

The Invisible Weight: The Emotional Toll of Supporting Survivors of Domestic Violence

Working with women who are survivors or current victims of domestic violence is not just a professional responsibility—it’s a deeply emotional and often overwhelming experience. It is never easy. While I’ve committed myself to being a source of support, the emotional weight of their trauma often seeps into my own mental and emotional well-being.

There are moments when the urgency of their need collides with the fragility of my own mental state. Sometimes, women reach out in the middle of the night, desperate and afraid, because there’s no one else they can turn to. Just a few nights ago, one of my clients called me at 1:00 a.m. Her husband, heavily intoxicated, had beaten her and thrown her out of the house—into the freezing winter night. She had nowhere to go. No one else to call. In those moments, being her only support is a privilege—but also a burden that leaves lasting echoes in my mind.

On another occasion, I was scheduled to give an important interview. Just an hour and a half before the scheduled time, a woman called me in tears. Her voice shook with fear, pain, and desperation. She needed immediate help. I listened, comforted, and tried to guide her—but emotionally, it left me shaken. I carried that pain with me into the interview, and I couldn’t give it my best. As a human, I was disturbed. Her pain had become mine, and it was difficult to compartmentalize.

Many times, when I listen to the harrowing stories of abuse, violence, and betrayal, a deep anger rises within me. It’s not just a reaction to the injustice these women face, but also a reflection of my own unresolved emotions. Even as a child, I found it difficult to tolerate injustice. It would agitate me, unsettle me. And now, hearing these stories—each one a saga of pain, survival, and shattered dignity—it sometimes opens old wounds within me. Wounds I thought had healed.

These experiences are a reminder that supporting survivors is not just about offering services or professional counsel. It is about carrying a piece of their pain, being present in their most vulnerable moments, and sometimes, losing parts of yourself in the process.

But despite the emotional toll, I continue. Because every call answered, every woman heard, and every moment spent with a survivor fighting for dignity is worth it.

Learning the Practical Application of Human Rights

 Memories 

June 2017 at Gandhi Peace Foundation, Delhi 

with PUCL Interns 

The journey of understanding and applying human rights in real-world scenarios is a continuous one. Every case of a human rights violation brings with it unique circumstances and challenges, demanding a tailored approach. In the context of India, where the socio-political dynamics are complex and evolving, these violations are becoming increasingly frequent and, at times, more severe. Navigating this landscape requires more than just theoretical knowledge—it calls for hands-on experience, critical thinking, and empathy.

As a human rights professional, one is constantly learning—each day brings new insights, challenges, and perspectives. The field of human rights is dynamic and deeply intertwined with evolving political, social, and cultural realities. No two cases are ever truly alike; each presents its own set of complexities, requiring critical thinking, contextual understanding, and adaptability. Whether it's understanding emerging forms of discrimination, navigating legal frameworks, or responding to shifting public sentiments, the learning never stops. Engaging with diverse communities, listening to survivors, and collaborating with colleagues across disciplines further enriches this ongoing process. Ultimately, this continuous learning is not just a professional necessity—it is a moral imperative that strengthens one’s ability to advocate effectively and compassionately for justice and dignity.

I consider myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to work alongside some of the most respected figures in the field of human rights. Their experience, commitment, and strategic thinking have been invaluable learning resources for me. Collaborating with them allowed me to observe the importance of detail-oriented analysis in every case. Whether it’s a minor infraction or a major abuse, every incident demands a nuanced understanding of the law, the context, and the people involved.

From these experiences, I’ve come to appreciate the necessity of building thoughtful, well-informed strategies to resist oppression and advocate for justice effectively. Human rights work is not just about standing up against injustice—it’s about doing so with clarity, compassion, and a clear plan of action. This practical learning has not only deepened my commitment to the cause but also sharpened my ability to contribute meaningfully to it.

Some of the important learnings for this session are:

Human Rights are not abstract concepts. For the subjugated, the language of rights is essential for articulating everyday oppression, including the denial of basic entitlements such as education, health care, housing, employment opportunities, erosion of livelihoods, land alienation, displacement, and all forms of violence.

Against this complex hierarchy of unspeakable suffering, the rights discourse holds the state accountable and compels it to recognize the rights of the marginalized for meaningful survival.

The Scars That Speak: A Woman’s Quiet Revolution

 

Maya Angelou once said, “Each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it, possibly, without claiming it, she stands up for all women.”

I didn’t fully grasp the weight of those words when I was in the thick of my own storm—living a reality that felt like a waking nightmare. Everything I had known collapsed in an instant. It was as though the light vanished from the world, leaving me trapped in an all-consuming darkness.

That period was marked by unbearable pain—an agony so deep, so raw, it felt like my very soul was being torn apart. It was a chapter of grief, humiliation, and silent screams, one I wished I could erase from memory. But some pain doesn’t fade. It lingers. It embeds itself in your spirit. Each day that passes doesn’t dull the wounds—it sharpens them. 

In a world shaped by patriarchal norms, society rarely allows a woman to forget. It reminds her constantly of her place, of its expectations, of her so-called limitations.

The most painful betrayal came not just from strangers, but from those I once believed would shield me—family, colleagues, friends. Those in positions of power who could help, instead, looked away—or worse, twisted the knife deeper. At times, it felt like I was standing alone, abandoned by the very people I thought would stand beside me.

But here’s the truth that emerged from the ashes like a phoenix: I survived.

Through the searing hurt, through the silence and solitude, I endured. And in that endurance, something powerful awakened. I wasn’t just surviving—I was transforming. Each scar, each emotional wound, became a mark of resistance, a badge of resilience. Where once there was only sorrow, now there was strength. My pain became my power.

These scars, though invisible to the eye, carry stories. They tell of a woman who refused to be broken, who faced the darkness and chose to rise, again and again. And in rising, I found a new kind of freedom—not the absence of fear, but the refusal to be ruled by it. I began to imagine a different world—a freer one. One where women are not silenced but heard. Not shamed, but empowered.

This, I believe, is what Maya Angelou meant. Courage is not the absence of suffering; it’s the quiet determination to rise despite it. When a woman dares to take a stand—even unknowingly—she becomes a beacon for others. She becomes the voice, the hope, the fight for every woman who has ever been told to stay silent.

In reclaiming myself, I was reclaiming space for others, too. That is the legacy of courage. That is the revolution of simply standing up. This is my version of feminism. 

MN Roy Memorial Lecture 2017 on Free Speech, Nationalism and Sedition

 

12 May 2017 

Speaker: Hon'ble Justice Ajit Prakash Shah

Chair: Hon'ble Justice Jasti Chelameswar 

"There is a spiritual affinity between international Fascism and parochial and revivalist nationalism. That spiritual affinity persuades the average Indian nationalist to believe that the victory of Fascism will not in any way be prejudicial for India’s aspiration to freedom."

MN Roy, 1941

https://www.academia.edu/125515563/MN_Roy_Speech_on_Freedom_and_Fascism_with_background_note

"A nationalism with a revivalist programme cannot naturally appreciate the value of human progress made in the epoch of modern civilization. As a matter of fact, to derive the achievements of modern civilization has been the characteristic feature of orthodox Indian nationalism."

MN Roy, 1941

https://www.academia.edu/125515563/MN_Roy_Speech_on_Freedom_and_Fascism_with_background_note

M.N. Roy, writing in 1941, astutely observed the ideological kinship between international Fascism and parochial, revivalist nationalism. He argued that this “spiritual affinity” led many Indian nationalists of the time to believe—mistakenly—that the rise of Fascism posed no threat to India's quest for independence. This delusion, he warned, stemmed from a shared hostility to modern democratic values and rational progress.

Roy further noted that a nationalism grounded in revivalist sentiment was ill-equipped to recognize or value the advancements of modern civilization. In fact, he argued, orthodox Indian nationalism often made a point of rejecting the very foundations of modernity—reason, individual liberty, and human rights—in favor of a glorified, mythic past.

These reflections remain strikingly relevant today.

In 2017, former Chief Justice of the Delhi High Court, Justice A.P. Shah, invoked M.N. Roy’s critique during his MN Roy Memorial Lecture titled "Free Speech, Nationalism & Sedition," delivered on April 19 in New Delhi. Justice Shah highlighted the perils of narrow, exclusionary nationalism—echoing Roy’s concern that such ideologies often pave the way for authoritarianism rather than genuine freedom.

Justice Shah also examined the outdated and colonial nature of India’s sedition law, which still relies on the 1870 definition inherited from British rule. Contrasting India’s continued enforcement of sedition statutes with the UK’s repeal of its own sedition laws, he pointed out how many democracies have moved toward abolishing or substantially reforming such laws, recognizing them as incompatible with free expression in a modern, democratic society.

Roy’s warnings from 1941 and Justice Shah’s reflections in 2017 converge on a vital point: freedom and democracy cannot flourish under the shadow of dogmatic nationalism and legal repression. If India is to remain true to the spirit of its constitutional ideals, it must embrace progress, pluralism, and the free contestation of ideas, not a regression into authoritarian nostalgia.

The text of the speech is available here http://sacw.net/article13222.html