Fighting for Freedom Every Day

Shalu Nigam

15 August 2023

Politically, India gained independence on 15th August 1947, however, for those on the margins, freedom is not a one-time event, They are struggling hard and fighting for every inch of space and for freedom on a daily basis at every possible space - public or private. 

Freedom implies a different sense to different people. For the elite and the privileged, freedom may be a one-day celebration. However, for a woman or a child in a violent relationship, a poor trapped in the vicious circle of poverty, a bonded laborer enslaved by the chains of bondage, or a young girl stuck in a trafficking channel, freedom may be desperately seeking liberation every moment. And there are a million men, women, and children who are entrapped in a similar situation. 

The freedom struggle in India has seen a lot of bloodshed and sacrifice by millions. However, several scholars have noted that once India attained independence, it is the powerful and elite Indians who replaced their colonial masters. The situation of the poor and marginalized, therefore, remained the same. 

Those on the margins, therefore, are still struggling every moment of their lives to attain freedom or Azadi - freedom from starvation, freedom from poverty, freedom from illiteracy and ignorance, freedom to study, freedom from patriarchy, freedom from everyday violence and fear of violence, freedom from casteism, freedom from fascism, freedom from majoritarianism, freedom from capitalism, freedom to dream and aspire, freedom to enjoy life. 

 The Founding Mothers: 15 Women Architects of the Indian Constitution

2016

The current question of women’s autonomy and rights in India is rooted in the nineteenth century when the quest for independence of the country from British rule was going on and the issues of women’s rights gained a central position in debates on social reforms. Although, at that point in time, the notion of gender justice or gender equality had not gained ground, yet, the social reformers were of the view that something needs to be done about improving the situation of women. Women then were construed as members of the community rather than individuals on their own and therefore, the notion of women’s entitlements was interpreted within the context of the religious, personal, and customary law sphere which never treated women as independent entities. The official colonial and post-colonial discourses in pre-independent India were initiated by male reformers who articulated their thoughts on the abolition of Sati or on the age of consent. The amendments of personal laws were not women-friendly or provided for equality of sexes, rather these were based on orthodox opinions as evident from debates surrounding the Age of Consent Bill, Indian Divorce Act, Indian Succession Act of 1865, Hindu women’s Right to Property Act 1937 or the Hindu women right to Divorce Bill, 1939. Even during the debates on fundamental rights in the Constituent Assembly, men argued that ‘sex’ should not be mentioned as a ground of discrimination. But it was the women members who insisted that where fundamental rights were concerned the term man could not stand in for both male and female. However, in spite of the fact that equality on the basis of sex was mentioned in the Constitution, it could not contextualize women as independent beings and visualize them as members of the community.

The women, though few, raised women’s concerns and voiced women’s questions in the debates in pre-independent India within the given social context; and therefore the Constitution of India when finalized does reflect all of these concerns. These Constituent Assembly debates shaped the process of state formation and also guided the attitude toward women’s questions. This book looks at those women who raised their voices, pushed the concerns for inclusion, and highlighted the women’s concerns when the Constitution was being made. These and many other women played a significant role in the making of the Constitution. Yet, their works remain in the shadow, their faces invisible, their voices hidden and their courage unsung. They were the crucial architects of the Indian Republic who made substantial leaps in the history of India. Here we have made an attempt to look at their life, their views, their thoughts and the issues that they raised, which played a significant role in shaping the document called Constitution. We, therefore, call them the founding Mothers of the Constitution who brought in specific women-related concerns in contrast to the Fathers of the Constitution who sometimes favoured women’s questions, sometimes rejected women’s notions or sometimes overlooked women’s concerns. These women chose an unconventional path and voiced their thoughts in an arena dominated by men, and made their mark while writing the destiny of the Indian Republic.

When Every Home Became a Chamber of Confinement

 When Every Home Became a Chamber of Confinement

When the COVID-19 pandemic forced the world into lockdown, streets fell silent, offices shut their doors, and families retreated within the sanctity of the home, in the name of safety. But for countless women, “home” did not mean sanctuary—it became a prison, a torture chamber, or a concentration chamber. A site of terror. A sealed chamber of confinement, echoing with the violence of men who now had unrestricted access to their victims.

During those months, I was inundated with calls and messages from women—some desperate, others resigned. Each voice carried a different kind of fear, but all shared a common thread: they were trapped with their abusers, and the outside world had disappeared. Their options were few, and their pleas felt like cries into an abyss. Some of the episodes of violence were so painful that I felt helpless.

Courts were closed. Any support became inaccessible. No one around to help. One cannot go out to seek help from family, friends, or neighbors. Even otherwise, stigma has prevented many women from speaking up or calling for help in such matters.

As a lawyer and a social worker, I have long engaged with violence in its many forms, but something about this moment felt distinctly heavier, more suffocating. The volume, the intensity, and the utter helplessness struck with an unprecedented force. I could not understand what had happened and how I should respond to the gravity of the situation.  

I had no framework for the sheer collapse of the protective systems that women so precariously rely on. No tools seemed adequate. No intervention felt swift or strong enough. The anxiety and futility of being helpless overtook me. Every woman I talked to enhanced my anger against the system and society. The horror of atrocities beyond the human realm shook my humanity.

Some stories were so brutal that they left me shaking, sleepless. The weight of those disclosures settled into my chest, pressing heavily with each retelling. The feeling of impotence—of knowing and yet being unable to act with immediacy—was psychologically paralyzing. I found myself haunted not only by their pain, but by my own. Their stories resurrected old ghosts: my own experiences as a victim and survivor of violence. I have known what it feels like to be unheard, unseen, and dismissed. I recognized the silence on the other end of the phone when words failed. The pauses between breaths, when fear clutches the throat. The tears of pity, the melancholy of the universe, engulfed me again and again, reminding me of the horrors of my own past as a victim and a survivor of violence.  

The sense of experience of drowning in the pain and sufferings and sheer immediacy of the terrifying moment nullifies the existence of the trapped body and spirit. I was forced to confront a terrifying realization of how homes, the so-called safe spaces, for many, become chambers of unspeakable suffering. The term "lockdown" began to feel less like a health mandate and more like a state-sanctioned trap.

In the midst of it all, I began to question the very structure of our society. What kind of world have we built where a crisis, meant to preserve life, so casually sacrifices the lives of the most vulnerable behind closed doors? The metaphor that kept surfacing in my mind was unsettling but accurate: had every home become a kind of concentration chamber? A place where bodies were controlled, confined, and broken—psychologically and physically—without witness or escape?

The mind, desperate for solace, searched for antidotes—distractions, reassurances, rationalizations. But nothing offered clarity. In fact, the very act of trying to process the violence—while being surrounded by it, unable to stop it—only intensified my inner disquiet. My thoughts raced. And each new story brought another layer of anguish. It was not simply a professional crisis—it was a moral and existential one.

I tried to hold space for their voices, knowing that many of them were struggling even to find language to describe their pain. The trauma was too deep, too fresh. And not all could afford the emotional cost of telling the whole story. Some had no time, no privacy, no faith that it would matter. I listened—fully, quietly—but I often felt inadequate. I stood bare before their vulnerability, my own scars no shield against the enormity of theirs.

These interactions were more than cases or complaints. They were testaments to the terrible things human beings can do to one another—and how systemic neglect allows that terror to thrive. We often imagine violence as isolated, as personal pathology, but it is also deeply structural. It flourishes where institutions are indifferent, where silence is rewarded, and where patriarchy is allowed to dominate unchecked.

The memories of those months linger like smoke in the lungs. I fear they will never fully leave me—or the women who lived them. They have become a dark residue in our collective memory, a permanent tear in the fabric of time. A hole in the moral ozone layer of our shared history. Through that rupture, what seeps in is not only the memory of a horrific past, but a warning: when society prioritizes safety in abstraction without considering whose safety is truly being protected, we risk repeating these cruelties over and over again.

We cannot afford to forget what the lockdown revealed: that for too many, the greatest danger was not outside, but within the walls of their own homes. And if we continue to turn away, to relegate domestic violence to the private sphere, we become complicit in that suffering. We owe it to the witnesses, the survivors, and the silenced to listen, to act, and to refuse to accept this as normal.

 

 

 

Justice Dies Every Day in the Courtrooms

 

The death of a client is always difficult. But when that death also marks the quiet burial of justice, the loss feels deeper, more systemic, more damning. That is true when the litigant is a woman who has been fighting for justice for a long time. 

Recently, I lost a client. She had been fighting her case for over two decades. She was a seasoned journalist—dignified, articulate, and principled. She had joined a prominent media company many years ago, only to face a fate that countless working women still endure in silence: sexual harassment by senior management.

From Courage to Punishment

Unlike many, she refused to be silenced. She chose to speak up, file a complaint, and challenge those in power. This occurred long before the # MeToo movement. Additionally, at the time, the POSH law had not been enacted.

But the misogynist environment persisted, and instead of receiving protection or support, she was punished. The company suspended the victim, while the perpetrators retained their positions. It was a clear act of institutional retaliation.

She took the matter to the labour court. After a long and difficult legal battle, the court ruled in her favour. It directed the company to reinstate her and pay her full back wages. The judgment validated her ordeal and reinforced the principle that justice, though delayed, could still be delivered.

Weaponizing the Legal Process

But the company had no intention of complying. Instead, it filed an appeal before the High Court—an appeal not grounded in strong legal arguments, but in a delay strategy. Over the years, the management's legal team employed every procedural tactic available to stall the case.

They filed extensive documents—not to clarify the matter, but to create complexity. They sought repeated adjournments, frequently citing trivial or manufactured reasons. When that wasn't enough, they filed an application to summon records from the labour court, further slowing proceedings.

This wasn’t litigation. It was legal suffocation.

A System That Outlives the Victims and Survivors 

Meanwhile, my client aged. Time, stress, and uncertainty took their toll. She refused to accept the company’s meager compensation offers—insulting amounts meant to silence, not settle.

But justice never arrived.

She died while the case was still pending.

No reinstatement. No compensation. No closure. Just a thick case file buried somewhere in the High Court registry—another statistic in a system that too often allows the powerful to outlast the powerless.

The Broader Failure

This case is not an anomaly. It’s a symptom of a larger malaise within our judicial process. While courts remain the last resort for the oppressed, they have become too accessible for those seeking only to delay, dilute, or derail justice.

Procedural laws intended to ensure fairness are routinely weaponized. Adjournments are granted too freely. Cases involving vulnerable litigants are allowed to linger until those litigants no longer remain alive to see the outcome.

In this system, justice doesn’t just get delayed—it gets destroyed.

Conclusion: A Call for Urgency

As legal professionals, we must ask ourselves—how many more must die waiting? How long can we accept this as “just the way it is”? The law is meant to protect, to remedy, and to deter—not to become an instrument of exhaustion.

With the death of my client, a woman who fought bravely for her dignity and rights, a small piece of justice also died. But let it not be in vain. Let it serve as a call to reform the system, to restore efficiency, compassion, and urgency to our courts.

Because justice that arrives too late is justice denied—and, all too often, justice buried.

Why has the process of justice become particularly difficult for women survivors, especially in cases of sexual harassment, assault, or discrimination?

Why do the Indian courts fail to recognize the dynamics of SLAPP suits? 

Millions of women are fighting for justice. Despite facing various odds such as the high cost of litigation, difficult access to justice, social stigma, societal pressure, the fear of losing their job, and so on, the women are striving hard. And yet, the courts, the legal system, and society failed them. This is tragic. Why has the system failed to recognize the odds that women survivors face? 

 Dowry involves a triad of oppression

“Dahej naari jaati ka apmaan hai”

"Dowry is an insult to females.”

(A slogan raised against the immoral practice of dowry in post-independent India)

Cameron (2014) categorised the financially abusive partners into three categories: controllers, exploiters, and schemers. According to this study, the controllers use a peculiar combination of abusive behaviour to exert control, the exploiters use various forms of abuse to exploit partners for their own financial needs, and the schemers systematically strategize to steal the women’s money. The despicable goal of the schemers is to shamelessly exploit the relationship and to wrongfully take women’s assets. Using this critical approach to analyse the cases relating to dowry abuse depicts that those who demand dowry are schemers who systematically and brazenly strategize to control not only the women’s assets but also the money that belongs to her natal family. As a controller, the abuser threatens the woman and inflicts senseless violence on her, if the dowry demands remain unfulfilled, he murders her or tortures her to compel her to commit suicide. As an exploiter, the abuser ruthlessly exploits the marital relationship to make arbitrary, irrational demands, to extract resources and wealth.

A critical analysis of several of the reported cases of dowry shows that it is not merely a custom consisting of a simple exchange of gifts; it is a predatory practice that consists of a broader form of violence, which is physical, economic, mental, emotional, and verbal, where the abuser intentionally exploits the element of emotional intimacy and the woman’s economic dependency in the relationship using his position of authority and while taking advantage of a woman’s situation of vulnerability. This acute form of economic abuse inextricably involves a perilous set of oppressive elements, including

1) compulsive persistence, coercive, arbitrary, and irrational demands that are made continuously over an incessant period starting from before the marriage, during the marriage, or even years after the marriage is performed;

2) pressurizing and coercing a woman and her natal family in various ways, including physical, emotional, or mental torture of a woman for consumer goods or cash or other material benefits,

3) killing a woman, treacherously murdering her, or burning her alive, or she is mentally tortured to such an extent that her circumstances become unbearable, she feels helpless, and she is compelled to commit suicide.

All these conspicuous elements may work together or singly, but the purpose is to compel women and their families to arrange for money, cash, valuables, or tangible goods. Arbitrary dowry demands, coercion, and violence are distinct elements that are not yet recognized legally in India. The legal system has grimly failed to recognize that the dowry demands or violence is not a one-time action, but it involves extorting money from the bride and her family by ruthlessly exploiting, torturing, subjugating, and oppressing women in the privacy of the home for years after marriage.

Making compulsive, arbitrary demands for the dowry from a bride is illegitimate, undesirable, immoral, and unethical, as are coercion and violence. The laws and policies on the dowry need to take these various complicated factors into account. The law has failed dismally to deter the attitude of entitlement among men who perhaps opine that it is their privilege that they can extort anything, anytime, from the family of the bride because of the marital relationship, ignoring the fact that marriage in no way entitles one to extract money or exploit women. The state hardly acts efficiently to curb this terrible crime; rather, the police and the courts, in several cases, as the bastion of male dominance, have propagated male chauvinism.

For instance, Mohinder Kaur, a teacher, set herself and her three children ablaze at her matrimonial home on 7.6.1983. Married seven to eight years ago, she was harassed for the dowry. She wrote a letter to the Deputy Superintendent of Police complaining of ill-treatment and persistently sought police protection. Her manipulative husband frustrated her frantic efforts to seek a transfer from the school where she was working. As per the prosecution, her mother-in-law and sister-in-law instigated her husband and conspired to brutally kill her by sprinkling alcohol, but their sinister plan misfired. Being fed up, Mohinder Kaur wrote a letter to her mother, sharing her unbearable agony, and committed suicide the next day. Her mother lodged an FIR. The trial court convicted her husband, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law, but the High Court acquitted them on the ground that the prosecution could not prove that they aided and abetted her to commit suicide. The Supreme Court in State of Punjab v Iqbal Singh, while taking into account her ill-treatment and the atmosphere of terror created for her, restored the conviction of her husband but acquitted his sister. The legal system insisted on technicalities and the prosecution’s ability to produce convincing evidence, and not on the fact that Mohinder Kaur was continuously and brutally tortured to such an appalling extent that she could not see any other way around but to commit suicide along with her three children.

In Arvind Singh v. State of Bihar the daughter of Phulmati was horribly burned alive. The deceased, before her death, disclosed that her husband and other family members forcibly poured kerosene and set her on fire. The helpless girl was cruelly tortured because she was `ugly looking,’ and the pent-up demands for a dowry of Rs 10,000 and a gold ring could not be fulfilled. The apex court dwelled on the ghastly forms of burn injuries, the technicalities of a dying declaration, the nonexamination of the investigating officer and other evidence, and set aside the imprisonment under Sections 302 or 304B and 498A on the ground that no dowry demands were made prior to the date of the occurrence of the crime. Those who viciously murdered Phulmati’s daughter with impunity burned her, and then refused to take her charred body to the hospital were simply not deterred by the rule of law. The perpetrators somehow knew that the oppressive system upheld the mindset that burning women alive for the dowry is not considered a deadly crime and that they could effortlessly be set free. Perhaps, it is much easier to hopelessly entangle justice in the complicated web of technicalities, nitty gritty, and legal procedures in cases where women are victims.

Harjinder Kaur committed suicide on 7.2.1998 by ingesting aluminium phosphate because she was brutally tortured for not fulfilling the urgent demand for a motorcycle and a fridge (Sher Singh v State of Haryana). Her violent husband bitterly contested that she was hot-tempered,  desperately wanted him to shave his hair, and inevitably forced him to leave separately from his parents. The session judge convicted her husband and in-laws under Sections 304B and 498A IPC. The High Court, on appeal, acquitted all others except her husband on the technical ground that the prosecution calamitously failed to establish their role.

The Supreme Court acquitted the husband and noted, “What motivated or compelled her to take this extreme and horrific step will remain a mystery, as we are not satisfied that the prosecution has proved or even shown that she was treated with such cruelty, connected with dowry demands, as led her to commit suicide”. The court could not consider the fact that, for a motorcycle and a fridge, an unfortunate woman was barbarically tortured to such an extent that she committed suicide while she was pregnant.

The courts in several cases have emphasized the dereliction of the duty on the part of the prosecution or the negligence by the investigation officers to acquit the accused persons while overlooking the fact that justice is indignantly denied to the tragic victims because of the overall sloppiness by the law enforcement system in its entirety. And while doing so, the courts omit to perform an active role by directing the state to impart training to the officers and the staff to avoid any further such neglect on their part. The courts remain silent in situations where the rights of the victims are at stake.

Chinu Rani married Arjun Acharjee on 13.3.1994, and after their marriage, her husband and father-in-law severely tortured her physically and mentally for Rs 5000 in unpaid dowry out of the demand to pay Rs 20,000 (Nirode Ranjan Acharjee v State of Tripura). She wrote a letter to her father on 18.5.1994 requesting him to meet the pending demand. She tragically died on 30.6.1994. The post-mortem report noted that she died of insecticide poisoning. The trial court acquitted both the husband of the deceased and her father-in-law of the charges under Sections 304B and 306 IPC and convicted her husband only under Section 498A. On appeal, the High Court discarded the critical testimony of her parents, sister, and friend, where they testified that the deceased had told them that she had been subjected to harassment for nonpayment of the dowry, as hearsay evidence. The court also rejected the letter written by her as evidence, wilfully ignoring the dreadful agony the deceased underwent within a short period of her marriage. She died merely because her parents could not pay the money as promised at the time of marriage.

Mamta got married on 21.10.2001. She had a two-year-old daughter when she was found dead on 23.01.2005 (Rohit v State of Delhi). Her parents allege that her husband used to brutally torture her for the dowry and that they gave him cash many times. A day before she committed suicide, her husband sternly demanded Rs. 5000 in cash and a generator for his business. The case was registered under Section 304B and 34 IPC. However, the trial court acquitted the accused on the ground that the allegations were vague, general, and inconsistent, and no cruelty was committed by the accused. On appeal, the High Court maintained the acquittal on the ground that no proximate demand was made at the time when the deceased committed suicide while disbelieving the convincing testimonies of the witnesses. No one is held accountable for Mamta’s suicide.

Case after case demonstrates how crooked men have coerced, exploited, and murdered women for extorting the dowry. In all such cases, violent men have improperly used the devious mechanism of violence to pressurize, and torture women for months or years, and then murdered them for money or goods. Yet, the courts have upheld the patriarchal assumptions while acquitting the accused. Women have died in compelling circumstances. The testimony of witnesses and other material evidence indicates that women have been brutally murdered or were forcefully compelled to commit suicide because of unreasonable motives or coercive demands. Yet, the perpetrators of dowry violence are released on flimsy and technical grounds.

The courts frequently overlook the material evidence while disdainfully pointing out the faults of women as wives. The oppressive elements such as coercion, exploitation, extortion, or irrational, arbitrary demands are not taken into account while adjudicating the matters. Women are cruelly tortured and brutally murdered for the voracious ravenousness of soulless men, women are subjugated and oppressed by their families, and yet, are denied justice by the patriarchal state.

The United Nations Declaration on Basic Principles of Justice for Victims of Crime and Abuse of Power, clarifies that it is the duty of the state to ensure that the victims of crime should be treated with compassion, respect, and dignity and the judicial and administrative mechanisms should ensure that victims are not denied access to justice. However, in the situation of dowry violence, it appears that victims are deprived of justice and all the provisions and the norms mentioned in the said international instruments are flouted. The courts are seemingly unwilling to consider the varied elements of the triad of oppression deployed against women for the purpose of extracting dowry from them. The rights of women as human beings are still not upheld despite the promises and pledges made at the national or international level.

Excerpt from Dowry is a Serious Economic Violence: Rethinking Dowry Law in India, 2023, Amazon p. 104-106

 Excerpt from my book 

Dowry is a Serious Economic Violence: Rethinking Dowry Law in India 

(2023)

Amazon

Centuries ago, when Karl Marx wrote exhaustively about the callous exploitation of workers by the capitalist class, he may not have imagined how in South Asia, women as brides would be treated as commodities, pitilessly exploited, and violently murdered in their own homes by their abusive husbands for extorting wealth. As the ruthless oppression of the toiling masses could not be prevented by laws or policies, the merciless torture and murder of women could not be regulated despite establishing a legal mechanism in place. Over the decades, predatory capitalism has irrevocably acquired an altered form, and the free-market approach has devised a new mechanism of manipulation (Faber D, 2018). Similarly, the viciousness of the neoliberal forces, clubbed with patriarchy, feudalism, conservatism, rampant materialism, and excessive consumption propelled by extensive consumerism, is aggravating the desire among men and their families to accumulate quick wealth using marriage as a tool to extract resources from women and their families. The bourgeoisie-proletariat categorization, in the situation of dowry practice, is expanded to include the classification of savagely privileged men versus women – rich or poor, and in urban or rural areas. Women from all backgrounds dreadfully suffer for the material gains of men and their families in a harsh and hostile environment fuelled by the neoliberal, Brahmanical capitalist patriarchy.

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.