As a woman—and a first-generation political practitioner with the benefit of academic grounding—I watched last week’s developments in the Lok Sabha with deep dismay. What allegedly unfolded was not mere parliamentary disorder, but something far more disturbing: reports and widespread parliamentary chatter suggesting that a group of Opposition women MPs had planned a coordinated commotion near the Treasury benches at the precise moment Prime Minister Narendra Modi was to enter the House.
If these accounts are even partially true, this was not a protest—it was premeditated provocation. A deliberate attempt to engineer chaos in the so-called temple of democracy, with the singular objective of maligning the Prime Minister of India.
Had the Speaker of the Lok Sabha, Om Birla, not exercised restraint and advised the Prime Minister to avoid the House at that moment, the consequences could have been far-reaching. A staged disruption involving women MPs, amplified by hostile international media ecosystems, would have instantly been spun into a manufactured scandal, damaging not just the Prime Minister but India’s parliamentary dignity itself.
As a BJP karyakarta and, more importantly, as a woman, I hang my head in shame—not because of any act by the government, but because of the sheer moral bankruptcy such a conspiracy represents. Never did I imagine that women parliamentarians would stoop so low as to allegedly contemplate theatrics bordering on character assassination, purely for political gain.
What makes this episode particularly galling is the identity of the target. Narendra Modi is the very Prime Minister who finally delivered on women’s political empowerment by ensuring the passage of the Women’s Reservation Bill—after it languished for decades as an unfulfilled promise. Though cleared by the Rajya Sabha years ago, the Congress-led UPA governments, despite enjoying comfortable majorities, never made the political will to see it through in the Lok Sabha. The bill was reduced to an election-time slogan—a carrot dangled before women voters and withdrawn once ballots were cast.
It took the NDA under Narendra Modi, during his second term, to transform that promise into law—opening the doors of legislatures to countless capable women who are neither dynastic beneficiaries nor political widows.
The Congress often cites Indira Gandhi as evidence of its commitment to women’s leadership. Yet her elevation was not the outcome of structural empowerment but dynastic entitlement. Contrast that with today’s BJP, which has consistently fielded women candidates in large numbers, elevated women from marginalized communities to constitutional posts, and appointed India’s first tribal woman as President.
Beyond politics, this government has expanded women’s participation into spaces once considered unthinkable—most notably the armed forces, where women now command, fly, and lead.
Against this backdrop, the very idea that women MPs would allegedly conspire to stage a spectacle—reportedly even willing to tear their own clothes near the Prime Minister’s seat—should shock the conscience of the nation. This is not dissent. This is degradation.
What pains me further is that one of the MPs reportedly involved hails from my home state of Telangana. If true, it is a betrayal not just of parliamentary ethics but of the women they claim to represent.
The Speaker, who is constitutionally entrusted with safeguarding the dignity of the House, must not allow such matters to be buried under political noise. If names are known, they should be made public. Transparency is not vengeance—it is accountability.
Are these the same women MPs who are now leading protests against the Speaker, demanding action against him? And if so, for what exactly? For denying them the opportunity to execute a plan aimed at defaming one of the world’s most prominent democratic leaders?
If this is the Opposition’s idea of women-led politics, it is not empowerment—it is exploitation. (The author is a BJP activist.)
