Who decides what a woman should wear?

It is a question that India seems to answer differently depending on whether a woman chooses to reveal more or cover more.

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I remember fighting my first election in 1996. I would travel through rural areas campaigning in a kurta churidar, with a dupatta loosely draped around my neck. The situation was extremely volatile, and many people were reluctant to come out and listen to me because of the fear of militants. Those who did come were mostly men, particularly young boys, for whom seeing a woman campaigning for an election was still unusual and highly amusing.

For me, however, the experience was not always comfortable. My dupatta would slip from my shoulders, and sometimes the wind would lift my shirt. Instead of concentrating on what I wanted to say, I found myself worrying about my clothes.

The next day, I opened my cupboard and found an abaya that I had brought back from Madina during my Haj in 1995. I put it on, took a scarf to cover my head and went out campaigning.

For the first time, I felt comfortable and liberated.

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I no longer had to worry about my shirt clinging to me in the wind or my dupatta going haywire. I felt more at ease among the people who came to listen to my speeches and bombard me with questions about my father and his tenure as Home Minister.

It was still a difficult task. I was doing something I had never done before and had to find the confidence to speak to people in an atmosphere that was far from easy. But wearing an abaya and hijab made the experience a little easier for me.

Imagine if, instead of simply making that personal choice, I had been forced to go to court to seek permission to wear my abaya and hijab.

I am not advocating hijab for every woman. Quite the contrary. I firmly believe that every woman has her own understanding of comfort and freedom. Many women feel equally comfortable and liberated wearing skirts, dresses, bikinis or any other clothing of their choice. For one woman, covering her head may provide confidence and freedom, while for another, revealing her shoulders may do the same.

Every woman has her own yardstick for feeling comfortable and free.

And that is precisely the point.

Today, two women have found themselves at the centre of very different controversies. Yet, curiously, they represent two faces of the same coin.

One is being criticised because she chose to reveal more. The other went to court because she wanted to cover more. One is being told that her clothes are inappropriate for Indian culture. The other was told by a high court that she could not insist on adding a religious headscarf to her school uniform.

At first glance, the two cases could not appear more different. Yet they raise the same fundamental question.

Who gets to decide what a woman should wear?

The first is actor Kriti Sanon, whose appearance in a jewellery advertisement for Raksha Bandhan triggered a social-media storm. The controversy intensified after actor and BJP MP Kangana Ranaut criticised the advertisement and described Sanon’s outfit as resembling a bikini or undergarments.

Sanon responded by arguing that the essence of a festival lies in its emotions and traditions, not simply in the clothes a woman wears. Fortunately, she did not stand entirely alone. Among others, Rahul Gandhi came to her defence, saying that what a woman wears, what she does and where she goes should be her choice.

Eventually, GIVA withdrew the advertisement, saying it had not intended to hurt anyone’s sentiments, expressing respect for Indian culture and traditions.

And then there is Sukaina Rizvi.

Sukaina, a student who had completed Class X at Tagore Public School in Attarsuiya, Prayagraj, approached the Allahabad High Court seeking permission to continue wearing a hijab with the school’s prescribed uniform. The court dismissed her plea, holding, among other things, that she had not placed sufficient material to establish that wearing the headscarf constituted an essential religious practice of Islam.

Unlike Kriti Sanon, Sukaina did not have celebrities or politicians rushing to defend her choice. Her plea to cover her head, rather than reveal it, largely fell on deaf ears.

Courts are supposed to be the last resort when citizens believe their rights have been infringed. But when even the last door closes, one is left asking where a young woman should go when she seeks protection for a choice she believes should belong to her.

Sukaina is around my daughter’s age, and perhaps that is why I found myself relating to her dilemma on a deeply personal level.

The larger issue, however, goes beyond these two women.

The real problem begins when a woman’s clothing becomes a measure of her morality, character, religion or loyalty to a particular culture.

Sanon’s neckline does not tell us whether she respects Indian culture. Rizvi’s hijab does not tell us whether she respects her school, her country or anyone else. Clothes cannot be allowed to become a proxy for judging a woman’s character.

We speak constantly about women’s empowerment. We celebrate women entering Parliament, occupying boardrooms and becoming pilots, soldiers, scientists, doctors and judges. We speak about equal opportunities, representation and independence. Yet we remain remarkably uncomfortable with one of the most basic expressions of personal freedom: A woman deciding what she wants to wear. We seem willing to celebrate women’s choices only when those choices conform to our own idea of what is acceptable.

That is not empowerment.

The problem is not merely conservative patriarchy. It is also the increasing politicisation of personal choices involving religion, clothing, marriage and relationships.

Over the past decade, questions that should ordinarily remain within the sphere of individual liberty have increasingly become part of political and cultural battles. The politics surrounding the so-called “love jihad” narrative is one example of how the personal choices of consenting adults can become matters of public and political scrutiny.

If one woman chooses to wear a skirt, why should that automatically be seen as a threat to our culture? If another chooses to wear a hijab because it makes her feel comfortable or because it reflects her understanding of her faith, why should that automatically be treated as a threat to the majority culture?

The two choices may be entirely different. But the principle should remain the same. A woman must have agency over her own body and her own choices, subject only to legitimate and constitutionally valid restrictions. This is also why the judiciary must be cautious about becoming an arbiter of personal morality or religious faith.

The same principle of equal treatment should apply when religious practices become controversial, whether the issue concerns places of prayer, religious processions, religious symbols or practices like animal sacrifices associated with festivals.

Constitutional freedoms cannot become conditional rights, protected when politically convenient and restricted when they become uncomfortable for those in power.

The real test of women’s empowerment is not how loudly we celebrate women when they conform to our expectations. It is whether we defend their freedom when their choices make us uncomfortable.

Kriti Sanon chose to wear revealing clothes in a commercial. Sukaina Rizvi wanted to wear a headscarf to school. These choices are not identical, and the legal circumstances surrounding the two cases are certainly different. A school’s uniform policy and the constitutional questions involved in Sukaina’s case cannot simply be equated with an actor’s choice of attire in an advertisement. But there is a common thread. Both women deserve to be treated as individuals rather than symbols. Kriti’s neckline should not become a measure of her respect for Indian culture. Sukaina’s hijab should not become a measure of her loyalty to India.

Neither should become a battlefield on which politicians, trolls, religious gatekeepers or social-media mobs fight their cultural wars.

We do not have to agree with every choice a woman makes. We do not even have to understand it. But we should defend her right to make it.

She should simply be free to choose.

The writer is former chief minister of Jammu and Kashmir