Veiled Realities — A Journey through Women’s Struggles and Traditions in Rural India
This story explores the roles and hardships of women in our society. In the 2024 landscape, women appear to have achieved significant success — earning degrees and navigating corporate 9-to-5 jobs. But what about the women and young girls in rural parts of real India who are still struggling to get out of the thick, suffocating layers of fabric that societal norms are cloaking these young women with, restricting their movement and choices. The story unfolds the prevalence of child marriage in several parts of India were true autonomy still remains a distant dream for many. Freedom to live at your own will, freedom to study get a job or most importantly choose your life partner. The story reveals the harsh realities faced by these women, for whom genuine freedom is still an elusive goal. Yet glimmering with a faint light of hope flickering like distant stars.
Growing up, I often found myself pondering about women, the mysterious figures who shaped much of my world. “Not that I find us mysterious, its mostly the men who do”. Were they merely another variation of humanity, or something far more profound? Observing the women around me, I couldn’t help but wonder: are they beings with their own destinies, or just commodities to be bartered and controlled by men? This curiosity fueled my journey to uncover the true essence of their existence, beyond the societal roles they were often confined to.
Working in the social sector for about four years now. Much of my work involves analyzing data on various social issues. In a recent article The Times of India on July 11, 2024, stated thousands of child marriages were solemnized across India in the last three years. The highest incidents occurred in Tamil Nadu, West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Assam, and Telangana, with approximately 8,324 cases reported in West Bengal alone, where I’ve spent most of my time studying and working. (Link) Diving in we see rural areas consistently exhibit higher rates of child marriage compared to urban regions. Extensive government efforts and the intervention of hundreds of NGOs continues the struggle to provide educational freedom for young girls. Whenever I worked with this data, I often found myself questioning the impact of my work in this sector. “Am I truly making a difference? Is my contribution meaningful? or is it just merely a drop in the ocean, lost in the vastness of these social issues”.
While working with several NGOs in West Bengal, I frequently visited Murshidabad, a district about 200 km (about 124.27 mi) from Kolkata, the state capital. Murshidabad consistently showed a high incidence of child marriage, mirroring the troubling trends as seen in Bihar.
I remember the first time I visited Kandi, a small block in the Murshidabad district. After a long train journey, we took a large, shared auto, known as a trekker, to the village. These trekkers, which can carry about ten people with at least four hanging on the sides, were our only mode to commute from the railway station. From there, we took a toto to Kohinoor Bibi’s house.
Kohinoor Bibi, the mother of one of our ground partners, graciously allowed us to stay at her place while we conducted surveys and launched awareness campaigns in the village. I remember her house quite well; she let us stay in her new pakka ghar while she moved to her kacha ghar. She had two goats, four ducks, and a few chickens. Every morning, she would offer us eggs, saying, “You must eat the eggs, beti; they’re fresh and very good for your health.” The ducks would wake us early as they headed to the nearby pond for a bath. People from the nearby houses would come to see us, curious to meet the didi and dada who had just arrived from the city. However, they seemed somewhat disappointed to learn that my colleague and I were over 25 and not married. They would often ask Kohinoor Bibi, “Is this girl and boy married? How can they be sitting beside each other?” For them, it was unusual for a woman to work outside and travel that too with a male colleague. Despite this, Kohinoor Bibi was very fond of us. She chatted with us every evening after we returned from our work. But even she herself could not convice her mind. Each time I visited, she would lovingly ask, “So, when are you getting married?”
This isn’t just the case in Murshidabad; it’s a reality in every remote rural village. Women are led to believe they are safe only if they have a husband to take care of, protect, and provide for them. Ironically, the same person who is supposed to be their shield often becomes the source of their suffering. I once met a woman in Jhunjhunu district of Rajasthan who arrived at our training center wearing a mangalsutra and vermilion on her forehead, leading me to believe she was married. It was only a few days later that the center head informed me she had lost her husband five months ago. As she is very young, she cannot let people outside her village know she is a widow or single, so she continues to wear the vermilion for her safety. I found this intensely difficult to digest.
Few women at this center often asked my colleague when she was getting married. Then, they would turn to me and invariably ask about children, as I appeared married with the Sankha Pola on my wrist and vermilion on my forehead, which Bengali married women wear. They would say, “Have your children early, didi, don’t wait too long,” as if motherhood were a ticking clock that mustn’t be ignored.
In those days right out of college, I was filled with enthusiasm after completing my MSW, I wanted to embark on a career as a social worker. I was determined to raise awareness, combat child marriage, and work with young girls and boys to break down gender barriers. I loved connecting with people at the grassroots level, gaining insights into the true India, even though it often differed from what I had studied in my semesters. Kohinoor Bibi loved to chat, whether it was the summer evenings or winter mornings. Her husband worked in a middle east country, and she had married off her daughter early at the age of 17, which is below the legal age. She lived with her 23-year-old son and was desperate to find him a bride, often showing pictures of girls all under 18. The irony was striking as I was working in the village to reduce child marriage and raise awareness among young girls and mothers about its consequences and legal repercussions. Each time she showed me a picture, I would counsel her. Kohinoor Bibi would often confide in me, saying, “This is how it goes in our community. If I don’t marry him off now, he won’t find a suitable bride later. People will say there’s something wrong with my boy.” It dawned on me then that, in some communities, even men are shackled by the chains of societal pressure to marry early.
One day, when I inquired about her daughter and where she lived, Kohinoor began to sob. “Beti, they might send her back. It’s been three years, and she hasn’t borne a child. She had two miscarriages already. I’m scared now,” she admitted, tears flowing like a river. As I comforted her, I couldn’t help but wonder about the young girl who was herself a child, now burdened with the expectation of bearing another.
It was a tragic waste of youth and potential. This girl, who could have become something her mother would be proud of, was instead being treated as a mere vessel for childbirth. The potential for her bright future was overshadowed by the weight of these age old traditions, like a flower struggling to bloom under the shade of an unyielding canopy.
Over my four years in the social sector, I’ve encountered numerous cases of young girls being compelled to enter child care institutions. Some have run away voluntarily, while others have been coerced or blackmailed. In some instances, families have arranged marriages for them. These girls face constant struggles in deciding between living a normal life, attending school, earning a degree, and the uncertainties about their romantic relationships. The young love they cherish becomes a dilemma when their parents force them into unwanted marriages, prompting some to choose running away, ultimately leading them to child care institutions. If only parents could see beyond the narrow lens of marriage as the sole solution and instead guide teenagers through the maze of adolescence, helping them find the right path.
Yet, this cycle persists across generations. Even in urban settings where women juggle household chores and corporate presentations, the narrative of equality and feminism often centers on equal pay and shared domestic responsibilities. However, we overlook the enduring grip of archaic traditions in parts of our country. These traditions keep women concealed behind veils, denying them empowerment and neglecting their voices and choices.
