Conversations with women across the country — of all ages, classes, communities — always reveal their deep desire to be in public spaces and to be there more often. Still, access to these is routinely denied or curtailed.
When this is due to generic societal moral codes or short-sighted urban planning that makes it difficult to commute or be in certain areas, it is usually easier to challenge — at least in big cities — either with data, reason, protest, or a combination of those. But when access is denied under the guise of religion and religious strictures, it becomes more difficult to fight even seemingly ridiculous injunctions openly.
Yet in the recent past, we’ve seen several spirited battles on this front as well. For example, women’s groups have fought for the right of women to enter the inner recesses of dargahs, such as Haji Ali in Mumbai, and cross into the sanctum sanctorum of temples, such as the Shani Shingnapur temple near Ahmednagar. Young women across multiple religions have spoken up vociferously against menstrual taboos related to worship and mobility.
Those who uphold discriminatory practices against women in the name of religion (all religions have them), often try to divide women into religious lines in order to prevent solidarity across such borders. Those same dharm ke thekedars (religious contractors, is a kind word for them) then attempt to tell us that some of our sisters are more unfortunate than others and need more saving than others. In recent times particularly, the rhetoric of “saving our Muslim sisters” from their ‘joyless miserable lives thanks to their menfolk, clerics and religious practice’ has become commonplace. This seems to be as true in Paris as in Mumbai. There is so much that is wrong with this imagery.
Firstly, Muslim women are saving themselves. Even when minorities in general, and Muslims in particular, are being marginalised from the mainstream discourse in this country, Muslim women are speaking out on matters of religious practice including entry to dargahs and triple talaq at one sitting. Mind you, they are well-aware that their successes in these arenas will be used by Hindu right-wing groups to hit out at their whole community and religion. Yet they persevere for as some of them say, “Ab nahi to kab” (If not now, when?). Clearly, these are complex struggles and sometimes the victories are bitter-sweet.
Secondly, religion and personal law are not the only markers of Muslim women’s well-being or despair; other economic, social, and political markers are also important to assess their condition. In addition, Why Loiter’s research of both, women’s engagement in general with public space as well as the negotiations of Muslim women to access everyday public space, confirm that Muslim women in actuality have fairly similar restrictions imposed on their mobility and access to public spaces as women from other religions.
However, this is inflected by their identities as members of a minority community which is increasingly viewed with deep prejudice and suspicion and faces continual threat of violence. At such a time, Muslim women’s access to public space cannot be looked upon merely as something dependent on their men and religion. In fact, statistics prove that identifiable (skull-capped and bearded) Muslim men are now more in danger in public space in many parts of the country; they are more likely to be picked up in cases of roadside friction or sexual assault.
The unfortunate effect of this is Muslim women silencing their voices so that their fathers, brothers and husbands are not further harassed. At the same time, by finding itself excluded and at risk, all members of this community are unable to engage substantially with public space with the women, in particular, more policed and restricted. My final though: Only when all Muslims can lay claim to public space more fully and safely can Muslim women further their claim as well.
