Kamal Ghorui
For Sushma Verma, it felt as if her life was going in reverse. For the 30-yearold, a business administration graduate from Rajasthan’s Alwar, settling down in the city and seeking out a career was a no-brainer. Instead, in 2017, she was married off into a family in Rata Khurd village.It was just 24km from Alwar, but it felt as if it were light years away.Among the first things to strike Verma was the fact that she — like other young bahus — was expected to cover her face with a traditional ghoonghat in the presence of elders. This was totally alien to her. At Alwar, she was never even asked once to cover up. And, as if this weren’t enough, there were other unspoken rules — such as a no-sitting or -speaking, when elders were around.“I was never forced to observe these practices, but I had a sinking feeling when I came to Rata Khurd. I asked myself, ‘Where have I come? What have I done?’,” she says.But Verma is no longer plagued by self-doubt. In 2020, when the village panchayat seat was reserved for women, her husband and inlaws encouraged her to run for office. Verma was initially reluctant. “I could not imagine standing in front of people and speaking,” she recalls. But she did. And she won. The next few years were spent in repairing the village roads, in extending the local school from Class 10 to Class 12, and lobbying for a college, so that students didn’t have to travel to Alwar or Khairtal for higher education.Three Tiers, Three Decades…Verma’s tryst with local governance was possible because of two constitutional amendments, the 73rd and 74th, of 1992, which came into force from the following year. The amendments not only introduced the three-tier system of gram panchayat, panchayat samiti, and zilla parishad, but also established a framework for gender representation in local governance, mandating at least one-third (33%) of total seats in all rural panchayats reserved for women.In the more than three decades that have passed since, individual states have increased the women’s quota, with over 20 states now having 50% women’s representation in their local bodies. A recent RBI report estimates that India has over 1.4 million women representatives in various local bodies.Shashi Bala, sarpanch of Bhiduki maha gram panchayat in Haryana’s Palwal district, is one of them. Bala comes from a family of sarpanches and district judges, but until the village panchayat became a reserved seat, no one had thought of fielding her as a candidate. “I was busy as a college lecturer and my satsangs,” she says. “But once I won the seat in 2022, I understood the power of the election. It was tough, because there were 14 women in the fray.” For Bala, who had unsuccessfully fought the MLA election a few years earlier, this victory was a vindication of sorts.Yet, these women’s hard-won battles appear to have lost some of their shine. For Bala, watching last month’s Parliament debate on the 131st Constitutional Amendment Bill brought the realisation that she may never again get the chance to fight for an MLA seat. “Had they wanted to pass the amendment, they would have done it. But they didn’t,” she says.The recently concluded state polls saw heated debate over the women’s vote bank moving from one party to another, but little discussion on the minuscule number of women legislators who won. There were 7,829 candidates in the fray, but only 1,019 women among them. And only 8% of the fielded women won.So, why does political empowerment abruptly stop for women? Women sarpanches, who have held political office, bristle at the recent failure of the bill to operationalise women’s reservation. The govt passed the Women’s Reservation Bill in 2023 but made it a horizontal reservation, incumbent upon increasing the size of the Lok Sabha following a fresh census and delimitation. Last month, govt attempted and failed to bring in changes by proposing that the delimitation be advanced, placing a huge question mark over the struggles and aspirations of women in local bodies.‘No One Wants To Share Power’Tara Krishnaswamy, co-founder of Political Shakti, a volunteer collective that works to increase women’s participation in politics, says the bill failed because no party or govt is willing to share power. “Women could be given reservation off the bat, without the conditions. Just as political parties give tickets to OBC candidates in areas where OBCs are in the majority, or accommodate different caste arithmetic, they could give women tickets. Women form 50% of the demographic. Yet, no party thinks it is necessary to give tickets to women candidates, beyond the usual tokenism,” she says.Krishnaswamy feels there is “no doubt” that there are deserving women candidates. What there isn’t, she says, is space for growth. “There are plenty of women, who would do no worse than men, if they were given MLA tickets, because they have already fought and won the local elections. And yet, they are not picked.”A study of women’s representation in UP indicates the pervasiveness of this glass ceiling. The study found that between 2015 and 2021, women’s representation increased from 45% to 53.7% in gram pradhans, from 33% to 54.2% among block pramukhs, and from 33% to 56% among zilla panchayat chairpersons. However, representation among members stagnated at around 24-25%. It ends on a disappointed note: “Reservation has enhanced women’s visibility and empowerment in local governance, though structural and social barriers persist at the grassroots.”Rekha Jadhav, sarpanch of Herwad gram panchayat in Maharashtra’s Kolhapur, another reluctant entrant in politics, says she had high hopes of the govt bringing in the bill. Rekha worked with a local activist to stop ostracisation of widows. “Before the gram panchayat resolution, widows were segregated and treated badly, not allowed to wear jewellery, kept away from weddings and auspicious events,” she says. Jadhav’s interventions were so effective that they became a model for other villages in the state.But, having fought and won polls, worked for the community, many are asking whether there is a way ahead. “We had high hopes from the (amendment) bill this time,” Jadhav says.The Road AheadThe thing is, had there not been reservation for ST women for the sarpanch post at Nadimi Thanda, a tribal hamlet in Telangana’s Kamareddy district, Banoth Laxmi says she would never have even thought of contesting in the recently concluded local body elections.A school dropout who studied till Class 5, she says it was her husband’s reputation as a former upasarpanch that helped her win.“If not for the reservation, my husband would have contested,” the 33-year-old says. “But that doesn’t mean I am not interested in politics. I have got the opportunity now.” She has now set her sights higher, aiming to contest the mandal parishad territorial constituency elections — a step up from the gram panchayat, and which means greater power and influence.A similar story played out in Jangaon district, where Ellandula Thirupathamma, 50, was elected sarpanch of Chinnapendyala after the post there was reserved for an SC woman.Three decades after women’s reservation was introduced in local bodies, such stories continue to reflect how quotas are shaping political entry points for first-generation women leaders. Thirupathamma feels not many women can become leaders at the national level without reservation. “That is the situation, unfortunately. Many major parties do not give tickets to women. But having 33% reservation will force them to do so, and more women will reach the assembly,” she says. She readily concedes that even though she managed to win as an independent candidate in the sarpanch election, repeating the feat at the assembly or Lok Sabha elections would be difficult.In Haryana, Shashi Bala walks down the village road — newly laid and paved, thanks to her. “I can build roads,” she sighs, “but I cannot see the way ahead.”— Inputs from Nirupa Vatyam in Hyderabad, Umamaheshwar Rao in Visakhapatnam, and Abhijeet Patil in Kolhapur
