During fieldwork in Dewas, Madhya Pradesh, I saw a woman being slapped by her husband in broad daylight. People watched. No one intervened, including myself. That jarring scene stayed with me through my fieldworks in semi-urban towns across central India. What follows is a compilation of my observations and accounts from women, girls and field counsellors gathered during these visits.
Their voices reveal complex and unsettling realities concerning caste, gender and structural violence. While these patterns were not new, hearing them directly from survivors and counsellors added a different perspective. Several adolescent girls spoke of attempts to run away from home. Most were quickly ‘retrieved’ by family members, withdrawn from school, and married early, with marriage framed as a form of protection. Reasons for their leaving ranged from bullying and harassment to academic pressure and troubled family environments; yet the prevailing narratives routinely assumed elopement and cited girls as the problem. This assumption deflected attention from the structural and the emotional challenges that these girls were fleeing from.
Accounts also illustrated how patriarchy, which operates within the family as an institution, was reinforced by both men and women. One counsellor revealed how a woman, who repeatedly sought divorce from an abusive husband, was, on each occasion, advised to cope. Even among caregivers, preserving the family unit often took precedence over ensuring a woman’s well-being. Caste surfaced as another decisive factor. In one instance, counselling for a 14-year-old survivor of sexual assault could not be completed because the father argued that the intervention would threaten Rajput pride. This combination of caste pride and stigma not only silenced the survivor but also blocked access to healing and support.
In the Banchhada community, based primarily in Madhya Pradesh, the intersection of caste and gender assumed a generational form: for decades, women were pushed into caste-based sex work as a means of survival and social coercion. Anecdotal accounts, however, showed that the practice has declined. In families where older daughters had been forced into the trade, younger daughters, now supported by interventions, are being encouraged to stay in school. But conversations with older women produced a dual narrative — some described breaking from tradition with the help of local organisations while others admitted that sex-work persisted within extended family networks. Change was visible but uneven.
In Shivpuri, a subjective-well-being assessment was conducted with several individuals, mostly women. The respondents raised such concerns as domestic violence, intra-family disputes and wage inequality. Their days are long and tedious: extended factory shifts leave little time or energy for hobbies or emotional outlet. Privacy is rare as conversations were often interrupted by in-laws or husbands. A prevailing sense of resignation emerged around the wage gap. Despite working comparable hours, women earn significantly less than men and emotional and physical labour goes largely unrecognised.
The common thread among these voices is how intersecting structures — caste, gender, economic marginalisation — shape pathways from childhood to early adulthood. In many cases, what is termed protection becomes another form of containment. For instance, marriage presented as safety often means curtailed education, reduced autonomy and heightened exposure to violence.
These narratives reveal how change demands shifts in social and institutional frameworks that reproduce harm. Reframing the stories told about girls and women and centring the voices of those most affected are as essential as policies and practices that heal rather than hide harm.