Written by Aparna Vats:
“Do not come back to us,” is what Nigar, the thematic lead at CEQUIN’s Mahila Panchayat, was told by her father on the day of her wedding. In many Indian households, the act of marrying a daughter off often functions as a social excision, where she is expected to forget her natal home and forge a new existence within the walls of her marital family. Nigar has been associated with the Mahila Panchayat since its inception in 2009. Having transitioned from a member to a leader, her trajectory reflects the model at CEQUIN, the Centre for Equity and Inclusion, which focuses on training women to move from beneficiaries to community changemakers. This shift is facilitated through the Women’s Collective Curriculum, designed to foster leadership within marginalized spaces. “There are two main thoughts, freedom and equality which are the most fundamental to our existence,” says Jahanara, a leader of the Mahila Panchayat. Shabnam, a member, adds that the reality of this inequality is felt in the double burden of labor: “I work outside and I return to work more at home. My husband does no work, this is what needs to change and now I know of this.”
The timing of these local shifts is significant as the country debates the implementation of 33 percent reservation for women in Parliament. While the legislative halls of New Delhi weigh the merits of quotas, the Mahila Panchayat in Jamia Nagar is engaged in a different kind of due process. Nigar argues that legislative quotas cannot be realized without this kind of ground-level mobilization. “Women need to know they deserve a voice before giving them the power to raise it,” she says. The programme began in 2009 as an effort to bring the spirit of the 73rd Constitutional Amendment Act, 1992—which pioneered the 33 percent reservation in rural local bodies—into the urban household. By adopting the “Panchayat” nomenclature in an urban ward, the collective attempts to replicate the agency of self-governance in a dense city setting where traditional legal structures often remain patriarchal and inaccessible.
The scale of this challenge is mapped out in the National Family Health Survey (NFHS-5) data. Approximately 20.3 percent of women aged 18 to 49 in India reported experiencing physical, sexual, or emotional violence by their spouses. The data shows a significant gap in seeking recourse; only 14 percent sought help to stop it, and less than 1 percent reported incidents to the police. The survey also indicates deep-seated conditioning, with 45 percent of women and 44 percent of men stating that a husband is justified in beating his wife for reasons such as neglecting the house or children. This signals how Gender Based Violence (GBV) is perceptive in its effects and dependent upon conditioning which is highly patriarchal and subjugating in nature.
“We did not know that we were being violated or forced to do what we are not supposed to,” says Taraksha, a member of the collective. Through the Women’s Collective Curriculum, members engage with themes of gender laws, health, and sexuality. This initiative involves over 430 women across twenty collectives, forming Saheli Sabhas. These groups develop strategies to address domestic issues, from supporting daughters in school to providing adequate livelihood and nutrition, and challenging the ills of child marriage and dowry. Zulfia, the State Lead at CEQUIN, notes that over the years, seven smaller panchayats have subsumed into two large units as the communities became more self-sufficient in navigating bureaucratic and legal rights.
The work faces practical bottlenecks. Nigar explains that an all-stakeholder approach is often difficult to maintain. Since the husband and family are usually central to resolving domestic cases, their refusal to participate can stall the process, whether through the formal process of law or counseling provided by experts at CEQUIN. “Many times men refuse to come, they believe that ‘Mahila Panchayat’ is for the women and will listen to just them,” Nigar says. There are also systemic barriers; women often cannot afford to leave their daily or hourly wage to attend sessions, and many struggle with restricted physical mobility that prevents them from reaching out to report an incident.
For members like Shah Jahan, the shift is about reclaiming time and agency. She recalls that after marriage, it was expected she would become the “maid of the house.” Taraksha adds that the collective provides a rare space for conversation: “We could never take out time for ourselves and now we make the time to talk to each other.” Even recreational activities become a form of reclamation. Jahanara mentions that playing football reminded her of younger days and how it was a reclamation of what they could not do when they were younger. “We could express ourselves freely,” she added.
The financial sustainability of these grassroots models remains a recurring hurdle. Lora Prabhu, the founder and managing director of CEQUIN, points out that international funding is slowing and government support is often limited to fixed timeframes that change with the political climate. “Very often women go back to abusive homes because of the lack of an alternative,” Prabhu observes, suggesting that the long-term approach must include changing the behaviors of men as well.
The whiteboard in the Jamia Nagar office currently marks a target of 250 cases for 2026, with forty-three achieved by April. The work is often unpredictable. Zulfia recalls a recent case where, after a week of intensive effort, the woman involved decided to stop the aid entirely. Literacy also offers no guaranteed protection. NFHS-5 reports that states like Karnataka record 44 percent cases of GBV, exceeding the national average and ranking above Bihar (40 percent). Nigar notes that for the literate, the fear of social stigma often prevents reporting, while for the illiterate, the primary fear is the lack of a natal home to return to. There is no alternate livelihood for many of these women, which is precisely what the collective attempts to resolve through vocational empowerment.
National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) data for 2022 registered over 4.4 lakh cases of crimes against women, with “cruelty by husband or relatives” accounting for 31.4 percent of the total. Beyond these figures, GBV manifests in structural issues like the estimated 4 lakh missing female births every year and the 23.3 percent rate of child marriage. CEQUIN’s broader initiatives, such as Kickstart Equality and Mardon Waali Baat, aim to address these through adolescent and adult sensitization.
The Women’s Collective Curriculum is designed to make women inquisitive about these structures. “The curriculum teaches about empowerment, touch, comfort, and health to help distinguish right from wrong,” says Zulfia. The goal is for the ecosystem to eventually sustain itself. In some areas, beneficiaries have already begun to resolve local issues independently, such as collectively challenging men gambling in public parks—a practice that restricts women’s access to communal spaces—or intervening in instances of eve-teasing in the local markets.
The work continues without constant external support. From cases that may seem trivial to the broader struggle for space, these women are collectively claiming the right to voice dissent. “It is about creating an ecosystem that sustains itself and can advocate for the children of the community,” says Lora. For Nigar, the pot continues to fill with every drop, ensuring that the next woman told not to come back home has a collective waiting to receive her.
