When the world’s largest democracy was born in 1947, it carried the promise of equality—not just in vote, but in voice. And yet, for the longest time, half of India’s population was barely a whisper in the corridors of power. Women’s representation in Indian politics has taken a long, turbulent journey from symbolic tokens in legislative galleries to fierce torchbearers of public power. It’s a saga stitched with irony, resilience, and, often, performative reforms masquerading as progress.
The Beginnings: A Freedom Movement with Feminist Undertones
India’s tryst with political feminism began before it was even a republic. Women like Sarojini Naidu, Annie Besant, and Aruna Asaf Ali were central to the nationalist movement. They weren’t just marching with Gandhi—they were leading protests, organizing strikes, and demanding civil liberties. The catch? Once the British left, the glass ceiling stayed.
Post-independence, the Constituent Assembly had just 15 women out of 389 members. Despite their stellar contributions—Dakshayani Velayudhan fought caste bias and Hansa Mehta pushed for gender-just language in the Constitution—their legacy was muted by the thunder of patriarchy in white khadi.
The Early Years: Symbolism Over Substance
After independence, Indian democracy prided itself on electing the world’s first female Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, in 1966. But let’s not be too quick to applaud. Gandhi’s rise, while historic, came not from a sweeping feminist wave but from dynastic politics. Her leadership was often more of a political strategy than a feminist milestone. Sure, she wielded power like no man dared, but her reign did little to create an institutional ladder for other women to follow.
During the 1950s to the 1980s, the number of women in the Lok Sabha rarely crossed the 5% mark. Political parties loved talking about empowering women, just not nominating them.
The 1990s: The Panchayat Revolution
Enter the 73rd and 74th Constitutional Amendments in the early ’90s—finally, some spine in the statute. These mandated 33% reservation for women in panchayati raj institutions (local self-governments), a move that would go on to produce over a million elected women representatives in villages and towns.
This grassroots experiment brought a strange paradox: the “sarpanch pati” syndrome. Many male relatives ran the show in their wife’s name. But with time, many of these women leaders found their voice. They didn’t just sign documents—they started setting agendas. Women like Chhavi Rajawat and Meenakshi Natarajan emerged from this revolution, redefining rural governance.
The Parliament Puzzle: Promises, Protests, and Postponements
While local governance saw a gender awakening, Parliament remained a men’s club. The Women’s Reservation Bill, first introduced in 1996, became the political equivalent of a hot potato—passed around, dropped often, never bitten. Every government promised it, none delivered. Until 2023.
In a move that was hailed as historic (and suspiciously timed before elections), the Narendra Modi government passed the Nari Shakti Vandan Adhiniyam, promising 33% reservation for women in the Lok Sabha and state assemblies. The catch? Implementation was pushed to after the next census and delimitation exercise. Translation: not before 2029. Until then, women remain hopeful placeholders in political party manifestos.
The Present: Women are Here, But Not Enough
As of 2024, women make up just about 15% of the Lok Sabha—better than before, still dismal by global standards. Rwanda, Mexico, and even Nepal have done better. Political dynasties still dominate; if your last name isn’t Gandhi, Scindia, or Abdullah, your chances shrink dramatically.
However, independent female leaders like Mahua Moitra, Smriti Irani, Priyanka Chaturvedi, and Atishi are breaking that pattern. They’re not just MPs—they’re brand names, media warriors, and policy architects. These women come armed with degrees, data, and a defiance for old-school politics. Yet, they’re often reduced to their clothes, voices, or tweets in public discourse. Misogyny hasn’t exited—it’s just better dressed.
Why It Still Matters (and Why You Should Care)
Representation is not about optics; it’s about outcomes. Studies have shown that women legislators prioritize education, healthcare, and clean drinking water—issues that impact real lives. More women in politics means more inclusive governance, lesser corruption, and stronger democracy. Yet, parties continue to treat them as crowd-pullers, not decision-makers.
Voters, too, are guilty. In 2019, women constituted nearly 48% of the electorate but only 8% of the total candidates fielded were female. The belief that politics is a man’s job persists, especially in heartland India.
The Road Ahead: Revolution or Regression?
There’s hope in the form of rising political literacy among women, youth-led campaigns, and social media empowerment. Hashtags like #WomenInPolitics and #SheLeads are not just trending—they’re transforming conversations. But until structural changes happen—from electoral funding to intra-party democracy—women will continue to fight uphill.
A real revolution will only happen when we stop being amazed at a woman chief minister, and start expecting her as normal. When we don’t prefix “female” to “leader.” When a woman contesting an election isn’t news—but winning it, with merit, is.
Final Thoughts
India has come a long way from the days when women needed a man’s surname to enter politics. Today, many need neither surname nor permission. Yet the journey from tokenism to transformation is far from complete.
Until Parliament reflects the real India—half women, multilingual, multilingual, and unapologetically ambitious—we’re only halfway democratic.