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Notifying Families, Policing Choice: Gujarat’s Proposed Marriage Rules Expand State Power Over Intimacy

Ajita Banerjie and Surbhi Karwa

The recently proposed amendment to a Gujarat marriage law introduces a verification process for marriage registration, requiring officials to notify blood relatives of the couple seeking to marry, and expands the State’s role in scrutinising marriages before registration.

Taken together, these new provisions in the Gujarat Registration of Marriage Act, 2006, mark a significant expansion of State involvement in the private and intimate choices of adult citizens.

Although presented as a measure to promote transparency and prevent deception in marriage, the proposal increases the State’s increasing reach into personal lives.

The proposal also reflects a broader trend in recent years, where marriages—particularly interfaith unions—have increasingly been subjected to legal and administrative scrutiny and increased surveillance, particularly in states run by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP).

The amendment illustrates how regulatory frameworks governing marriage are being reshaped to expand State monitoring of personal relationships.

Understanding the Process

Under the present version of Gujarat’s proposed law, marriages must be registered by submitting an application within 30 days of solemnisation. The application form—called a memorandum of marriage—records the details and signatures of the parties to the marriage, the witnesses and the officiating priest.

The application, along with the fee, is to be submitted to the registrar in the jurisdiction where the marriage is solemnised.

The grounds for refusing registration under current law are limited and specific. A registrar may refuse to register only if the identity of the parties, proof that the marriage was solemnised, or the marital status of the parties cannot be established.

Under the current law, applicants must provide details of their parents or guardians, but their signatures or permission are not required. Nor does the law mandate any form of public notice.

This framework is set to change under the proposed rules.

The registrar must notify the couple’s blood relatives by registered post and publish details of the intended marriage in the public domain, including newspapers and social media—30 days after which the marriage can be registered.

The purpose of such public notification is not clear and has drawn criticism.

Surveillance and Scrutiny

By mandating public notification, the amendment subjects adult couples to a form of surveillance that goes far beyond record-keeping.

Though framed as procedural safeguards, these requirements often create barriers for couples whose relationships depart from social expectations. For many couples—particularly those in inter-caste or inter-faith relationships—privacy is not merely a matter of preference; it can be essential for their safety and well-being.

Couples who elope to marry against the wishes of their family, often face administrative hurdles and criminal charges In such cases, a marriage certificate could serve as a tool against interference and as proof of the couple’s choice.

A requirement that parents be formally notified of a marriage application could expose couples to harassment, coercion, or violence, undermining the very protections that constitutional guarantees of liberty and privacy are meant to secure.

Similar conditions, under the Special Marriage Act, 1954, have already been found unconstitutional and invalid by high courts:

• In Kuldeep Singh Meena vs State of Rajasthan, 2018, the Rajasthan High Court prohibited sending of marriage notifications to the home of the parties.
• In Pranav Kumar Mishra vs Govt. of NCT, Delhi, 2009, the Delhi High Court declared the requirement to inform the local police station of an intended marriage invalid and held that the conditions that lead to “unwarranted disclosure of marriage” may jeopardise the marriage itself and may harm the safety and well-being of couples.

In another case, the Punjab and Haryana High Court in 2018 modified the requirement to publish a notice in a newspaper and notify the local tehsildar, citing the potential harm this could subject an interfaith couple to.

Rising Trend of Policing Relationships

Laws that cast suspicion on adult relationships—even under the guise of protection—threaten the core of what it means to exercise personal freedom in a democratic society.

This regulatory trend is also visible in laws governing religious conversion in the context of interfaith marriage.

In 2020, the Uttar Pradesh legislature enacted the Uttar Pradesh Prohibition of Unlawful Conversion of Religion Ordinance—often referred to as the “love-jihad” law—which introduced stringent procedures and criminal penalties for alleged religious conversions that have had serious implications for inter-faith couples.

Similar laws have since been enacted or proposed in other states, including Madhya Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Maharashtra, Karnataka and Rajasthan. These laws often grant broad powers to authorities, leading to increased police intervention and interference by vigilante groups.

While these laws are presented as safeguards against coercion or fraud, they often rest on the assumption that interfaith relationships require heightened scrutiny and have, in some cases, led to hate-mongering and legal action against Muslim men.

The constitutional validity of several of these laws is currently under review before the Supreme Court. This broad trend highlights a growing tension between individual liberties and state-led or socially driven attempts to regulate intimate relationships, raising concerns about civil rights, gender autonomy, and secularism in contemporary India.

Violation of Right to Privacy and Autonomy

In K.S. Puttaswamy vs Union of India, 2017, the Supreme Court held that the right to privacy includes the right to decisional autonomy in matters relating to family, marriage and intimate relationships.

India’s Constitution guarantees the right to life and personal liberty under Article 21, which the Supreme Court has consistently interpreted to include the freedom to choose one’s partner.

These interpretations are evident in landmark judgments, such as Shafin Jahan vs Ashokan K.M., 2018, and Navtej Singh Johar vs Union of India, 2018.

In Laxmibai Chandaragi B vs State of Karnataka, 2021, and Shakti Vahini vs UOI, 2018, the Supreme Court specifically reiterated that the consent of the family, community, or clan is not required for two adults to marry.

Gujarat’s proposed amendment runs contrary to these rulings.

The registration of marriage is ideally an administrative measure for record-keeping. These conditions, however, change the registration process into a surveillance and permission process and violate personal liberty and privacy.

Violation of the Right to Equality

Gujarat’s proposed amendment also violates the right to equality under Article 14 and Article 15 of the Constitution.

First, it reinforces harmful stereotypes about women. The presumption that women need protection from men who may ‘lure’ them is based on a prejudiced perspective that sees women as naive and lacking the mental capacity to make decisions for themselves.

In this prejudicial worldview, women are seen in a reduced status, not as individual citizens but as daughters in the custody of fathers and in need of protection.

The Supreme Court in Anuj Garg vs Hotel Association of India, 2007, held that Article 15(1) prohibits discrimination based on sex and outlaws any legal provision that is based on stereotypical notions of women’s capacity and role in society.

Again, in Joseph Shine vs UOI, 2018, the Supreme Court held that while the Constitution allows beneficial legislation to be introduced for the advancement of women and protecting their rights, it is not a blanket permission.

Any measure that stereotypes women in the name of ‘protecting’ them can be declared discriminatory on the grounds of sex.

Second, the proposed amendment could disproportionately impact inter-caste and interfaith couples marrying against the wishes of their family and community.

Data suggest that marriages within caste and community remain a dominant norm. Inter-caste and inter-faith couples face significant social pressure, surveillance and violence.

By making parental consent mandatory, the law discriminates on the basis of caste or religion, prohibited under Article 15(1). It creates a hierarchy of acceptable and unacceptable marriage relationships and reinforces the idea that certain relationships require scrutiny or monitoring.

Questions Over Legislative Process

The proposed amendment also raises questions about the legislative process and the constitutional duty of the executive and the legislature for rights protection. While courts can act only when a petition challenges the validity of a law, across the world’s constitutional democracies, the legislature serves as a first check against rights violations at the pre-enactment stage.

For example, under the procedures and rules of the Australian parliament, all bills must be accompanied by a ‘Statement of Compatibility with Human Rights’.

The statement obliges the government to state explicitly whether the proposed bill violates any human rights. If yes, then the government must explain why the bill is necessary over less rights-threatening measures.

Similarly, in the British parliament, bills must be accompanied by explanatory notes and an assessment of rights protection, in case rights under the European Charter of Human Rights are violated.

While introducing the Gujarat bill, the state government provided no data or explained its impact on the right to autonomy and equality.

Instead, the deputy chief minister of Gujarat cited incidents of ‘love-jihad’ as the justification. It is now well-established (here and here) that ‘love-jihad’ is a conspiracy theory with no evidence or supporting data.

Last year, a similar law was introduced in the Rajasthan Legislative Assembly against so-called religious conversion on marriage or the pretext of marriage. The minister of state for home argued the need to protect women and children from conversion, but cited no data or explained its impact on fundamental rights.

As we write, similar patterns of legislative scrutiny being abandoned are emerging in Maharashtra.

Passing laws based on a conspiracy theory is a serious question mark on what legislative process is followed for scrutiny and justification of law-making.

[Ajita Banerjie is an independent socio-legal researcher based in India. Surbhi Karwa is a lawyer pursuing a PhD in Sydney, Australia. Courtesy: Article 14, an independent Indian news platform focused on the rule of law, civil liberties, accountability, and the functioning of courts, police, and state institutions. It is known for in-depth public-interest reporting and is led editorially by Kavitha Iyer.]

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Intercaste Marriages and the Unfinished Law

Vedaant Lakhera

For a decade now, April has been commemorated as Dalit History Month. Inspired by Black History Month in the US, it marks the birth anniversaries of revolutionaries such as B.R. Ambedkar and Jyotirao Phule. While it recognises the contributions made by them and countless others to secure women’s and Dalit’s rights in India, it also brings to the fore the setbacks suffered in the exercise of these fundamental rights.

These ongoing challenges are evident in recent reports of women in intercaste unions in Gujarat enduring violence and a public backlash, revealing the disturbing forms that caste endogamy takes in practice and the systemic overhaul it calls for. One such case is that of Kinjal Rabari—a well-known Gujarati folk singer based in Radhanpur in Gujarat’s Patan district, cherished by her fans as “Koyal Kanti” (koel-voiced)—who found herself at the centre of public scrutiny following her intercaste marriage to Ashok Chaudhary, which she announced on social media. Her decision defied familial and community expectations, escalating tensions between the Rabari and Chaudhary communities, and she began receiving online threats of abduction and murder. In a video on social media, she appeared distraught as she appealed to Harsh Sanghvi, Gujarat’s Home Minister, for protection and indicated her intent to seek legal recourse.

Meanwhile, a meeting between leaders of the Rabari and Chaudhary communities resolved that Kinjal was to be “returned” to her natal family. She was sent back. Kinjal deleted all her previous social media posts and released another video stating she had “lost her way” and was now happily reunited with her family.

Her return was not impulsive; it was the result of an orchestrated and sustained effort by her community. Reports indicated that the Rabari community issued a 24-hour ultimatum, with its leaders stating they would “know what to do” if she did not return.

Going by a social media post, the community called for a mobilisation of its youth to trace her whereabouts. A message read: “This woman is a well-known artiste of the Rabari community, but she has done things that have brought the community shame. Today, on 10/03/2026, she has absconded with a boy from another community. According to our information, this woman has gone to Abu (Rajasthan). All brothers are requested to help us find her. This message is for all the Rabari brothers living in Abu (Rajasthan). Please help us reach the truth. They have tarnished the name of [our] society. The photo below is of the boy she ran away with….”

Near-total impunity of community leaders

Kinjal’s case is part of a sustained and age-old assault on women’s autonomy, perpetrated by self-declared community leaders who operate with near-total impunity. The reactions of the Chaudhary community leaders to the notice asking for Kinjal’s coerced return to her natal family equally elucidate this. Following her return, Ashok Chaudhary’s family released a video appeal in which they said that in exchange for them having “returned” Kinjal with “full respect”, the Rabari community should now facilitate the “return” of another woman, Kanku Chaudhary.

Kanku left her home in 2024 to marry Mahadev Rabari. The couple lived largely unaffected by their communities and even welcomed a son, now a year old. But this appeal from Ashok Chaudhary’s family reignited tensions. Kanku appealed to community leaders in a video to not break up her family and leave her child without parents. Yet, a large Chaudhary gathering was convened after which members of the community gathered in huge numbers at Kanku’s village with the intent of forcibly bringing her back.

A rapid escalation followed as clashes broke out between the two communities and an agitated mob of an estimated 1,000 people began pelting stones, vandalising over two dozen vehicles, and blocking a national highway for nearly three hours. Authorities registered an FIR against 16 people and apprehended around 60 individuals.

These episodes may well resemble the script of a film in which the site of caste violence transforms into a police camp: violence that the administration and law enforcement, however, always fail to pre-empt.

In another incident, the popular folk singer Aarti Sangani faced a backlash after she married Devang Gohel, a musician from a “lower” caste. The couple claimed that they suffered financial losses after many of their professional engagements were deliberately cancelled.

In 2025, a more gruesome case was recorded. Chandrika Chaudhary, an 18-year-old woman from Banaskantha district—who had cleared NEET (National Eligibility cum Entrance Test, the entrance exam for undergraduate medical courses)—was killed by her father, allegedly with the assistance of her uncles, in what appeared to have been an “honour” killing over her intercaste relationship.

She had fled with her partner, Haresh, in May that year, prompting her relatives—alongside the local police—to track them down in Rajasthan on June 12. Haresh was arrested, while Chandrika was taken back to her natal home. On June 17, her final Instagram message to Haresh conveyed her desperation: “Come and take me away, otherwise my family will get me married against my will. If I refuse, they will kill me. Save me.”

Her partner filed a habeas corpus petition before the Gujarat High Court. However, on the date scheduled for her appearance, the court was informed that she had died of natural causes. Meanwhile, among their community, her family claimed that she had died by suicide, and in an apparent attempt to avert scrutiny, they cremated her swiftly. However, according to the charge sheet pertaining to the case, she appears to have been first sedated and then strangled to death. The document noted that the family had insisted that she marry under the community’s reciprocal endogamous system.

Speaking to Frontline, Jharna Pathak, assistant professor at Gujarat Institute of Development Research and secretary of the Ahmedabad Women’s Action Group, noted that the practice of nullifying marriages is deeply entrenched in Gujarat, particularly in north Gujarat. The region, she observed, is extremely conservative: “Even a cursory look at social indicators—be it literacy rates, child mortality, or female foeticide—reveals the extent of backwardness in the area. Caste control, especially in north Gujarat, remains profoundly entrenched.”

Women exchanged in marriages

Pathak cited the example of Sata Pratha: a regressive custom common among communities in the region where women are exchanged reciprocally in marriage. In its simplest form, a family consents to marry their daughter into another family only if the latter offers them their daughter in return. To secure this exchange, children are often married off at a very young age, curtailing their education and going against the fundamental rights of the girls.

The most damaging dimension of this arrangement, however, is its cascading or “domino effect”. If a marriage is fractured or culminates in divorce, the correspondingly paired marriage is also likely to dissolve under familial pressure, irrespective of the couple’s compatibility. Women in such arrangements are, therefore, often unable to extricate themselves from abusive circumstances. For, should a woman leave an abusive husband, her brother’s marriage may be jeopardised in retaliation. This may effectively close any avenue of escape.

Kinjal’s case garnered media attention largely because of her public profile, but despite the attention, the perpetrators in her case went on with impunity, largely unfettered by any fear of consequences. Pathak said: “Kinjal had posted on social media that her life was under threat and had appealed for protection, but the system did not take any cognisance. Ideally, the police should have intervened immediately. Similarly, in Kanku’s case, when she released a video seeking help, the authorities ought to have extended the necessary protection and initiated action against those threatening her.”

Pathak added that persistent inaction effectively confers legitimacy upon such actors: “This is how caste operates. These communities remain confined within their echo chambers, constantly seeking to assert dominance. This is precisely why the Chaudharys went after Kanku. They saw themselves as having lost ground after Kinjal [returned] and so declared their intent to bring back Kanku. For them, a woman’s body amounts to nothing more than a transactional object.” She underscored that women from these communities who, unlike Kinjal, have no social capital often do not even think of marrying outside their caste, let alone actually do so.

Frontline reached out to the Gujarat State Commission for Women for comments but did not receive a response as of going to press. Queries to the National Commission for Women also did not elicit a response.

In 2018, the Supreme Court ruled that the state is constitutionally obligated to protect intercaste and interreligious couples from violence and harassment. The court declared any interference by family members or the so-called khap panchayats (community councils) in the consensual marriage of two adults “absolutely illegal”.

The response of Gujarat’s ruling political establishment to these brazen attacks on women’s autonomy has notably been inadequate. In March, the State Assembly led by the BJP passed the Uniform Civil Code (UCC) Bill. The proposed UCC mandates the registration of all marriages and live-in relationships and stipulates uniform conditions for a valid marriage. It prescribes the minimum age of marriage as 21 years for men and 18 years for women. The rules, however, mandate that within 10 days after the documents are cleared, parents on both sides are to be notified of the marriage either physically or digitally.

While the Bill awaits the President’s assent, it has already elicited as many as 127 suggestions and objections from the public.

Jignesh Mevani, a social activist and the Congress MLA from Vadgam, asserted that obstructing intercaste marriages remains central to preserving Brahminical patriarchy. “If one were to examine anthropological material, it becomes evident that practices of endogamy emerged nearly 1,900 years ago. Since then, it has effectively remained central to the ideological project of organisations such as the BJP and the RSS to ensure the absence of interreligious and intercaste marriages in society. This is precisely why one witnesses pervasive moral policing by [these] groups,” he told Frontline.

An organised apparatus

In Gujarat, the violation of women’s constitutional rights appears to be facilitated by an organised apparatus that effectively operates at the perpetrators’ disposal.

Navchetan Trust (also known as Navchetana) is an organisation that specifically targets women who have left their families to marry someone of their choice or marry outside their caste or religion. Babu Bajrangi, a former leader of the Bajrang Dal’s Gujarat wing, has served as the president of Navachetana. In 2007, a Tehelka sting operation captured him claiming to have orchestrated the Naroda Patiya massacre during the 2002 Gujarat riots. The existence of organisations like Navchetana run by individuals such as Bajrangi suggests the presence of a structured syndicate that polices, controls, and ultimately curtails women’s autonomy.

The BJP has over time even enlisted community influencers to disseminate these ideas. Mevani contended that the proposed UCC Bill mirrors the BJP’s casteist and feudal orientation.

But he added that the responsibility must also rest with the administration: the police must remain neutral and extend support to women and couples entering intercaste marriages. For this, a broader cultural reform spearheaded by citizens and the political class is essential.

Mevani said: “We should have textbooks with more progressive content, and as a society, we must embrace the agenda of annihilation of caste. When the objective is to dismantle caste, it will naturally entail the acceptance of intercaste marriages. Unfortunately, that is not the case in India; we, as a society and as a nation, are yet to confront and feel genuine shame over this anachronistic institution called caste.”

Some experts also criticised the judiciary’s silence, asking why the courts had not taken suo motu cognisance of such cases. In her video, Kinjal questioned why the norms governing choice in marriage applied only to daughters and not sons. Historically, women have functioned as the primary bearers of caste purity.

Pathak explained that caste was effectively reproduced through women, who are not perceived as having an independent caste identity but are assigned the caste of the men in their lives: first, the father and then the husband. When a woman enters an intercaste marriage, the system faces the prospect of ceding control over her, which it is unwilling to concede.

Over the years, the Supreme Court has repeatedly reiterated that the right to marry is integral to the Right to Life and Personal Liberty under Article 21. It has now been nearly 72 years since the enactment of the Special Marriage Act, 1954, which enables marriage between two consenting adults irrespective of religion or caste.

Then why do such constitutional safeguards collapse so readily on the ground? As Pathak said, this right did not emanate organically from society; rather, it was constitutionally enshrined without a corresponding social transformation. Society, she argued, remains insufficiently sensitised, unable to comprehend the very idea of choice or consent.

According to Pathak, the number of such cases would only increase as more women get access to education and step outside the confines of their homes. The onus, therefore, lies on society to evolve, to align itself with women’s aspirations and to accord them the autonomy they seek over their own lives.

[Vedaant Lakhera is a journalist who writes for Frontline, with recent work on environment, public health, governance, policing, and climate vulnerability. Courtesy: Frontline magazine, a fortnightly English language magazine published by The Hindu Group of publications headquartered in Chennai, India.]