India’s unresolved battle with marital rape — the act of a husband forcing sex on his wife without her consent — is again thrust into the spotlight as lawmakers, activists, and ordinary citizens grapple with what it means to respect consent (sahamati) inside a marriage and why marital rape remains legally invisible despite global trends toward criminalisation. In a recent winter session in New Delhi, Congress MP Shashi Tharoor pushed for sweeping reform, arguing passionately that a woman’s bodily autonomy should not evaporate when she says “no” (nahi) to intimacy with her husband (pati), and calling for India to move from “no means no” to “only yes (haan) means yes.”
India’s current legal framework treats forced sex within a marriage very differently from rape outside marriage. Under Section 63 of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, sex by a husband with his wife — provided she is over 18 — is specifically not considered rape, a relic of colonial-era law that assumes marriage automatically implies consent. This carve-out leaves thousands of women without recourse when their wishes are ignored by the very person entrusted with their care and safety. In a country where vivah (marriage) is often seen as a pavitra sanskaar (sacred sacrament), this legal blind spot reflects deeper social norms that treat women’s consent as subsidiary to marital duty.
Tharoor’s private member’s bill, introduced in the Lok Sabha, aims to delete this exception and make marital rape a punishable offence, stressing that non-consensual sex within marriage is hinsa (violence), not an expression of conjugal love. His stance is part of a broader push by rights activists who argue that denying a woman protection under rape laws is fundamentally incompatible with the constitutional principles of dignity (maryada), equality (samanata), and bodily autonomy under Article 21.
Critics of criminalisation often frame the issue as an intrusion into private marital life or fear misuse of the law. However, legal scholars and advocates counter that every offence—from domestic violence to financial fraud—carries the risk of false accusations, and that such risks should be mitigated through procedural safeguards rather than denying justice outright. Opposition rooted in tradition also reflects enduring patriarchal ideals that have historically positioned husbands as decision-makers and wives as acquiescent partners. In some conservative cultural narratives, there is an assumption — increasingly questioned by women’s rights groups — that a wife’s consent is implicit once she says “I do” at the altar.
Beyond the courtroom and Parliament, the lived reality of many women in India underscores the urgent need for clarity and protection. A report on violence against women notes that marital rape is not punishable in India outside narrow exceptions, even as other forms of rape and sexual assault carry severe penalties. Domestic violence laws offer some civil remedies, but these do not equate to criminal accountability for the sexual violation itself, leaving many survivors with limited redress.
The debate is not only legal but profoundly cultural. In many Indian households, conversations about sexual consent are taboo, and a woman asserting her preferences can be dismissed as disrespectful or even immoral. However, activists argue that consent is not a foreign concept but a universal one: without sahamati, any sexual act, whether inside or outside marriage, can be violence.
Globally, India finds itself among a minority of nations that have not criminalised marital rape. While countries across Europe, the Americas, Africa, and parts of Asia have recognised that consent cannot be presumed in marriage, India’s exception persists — even as legislators like Tharoor urge change. Public sentiment appears to be shifting too, with growing recognition among younger generations that marriage does not nullify individual rights and that love and respect must include mutual consent.
At its core, the movement to criminalise marital rape in India raises a fundamental question about the nature of marriage itself: is it a union based on mutual respect and equality, or can it still be defined by power and control? As the country debates amendments to its penal code, advocates insist that recognising marital rape as a crime is not an attack on marriage but a reaffirmation that no one — not even a spouse — should be immune from accountability when they violate another’s bodily autonomy.
Violence is violence. A crime is a crime. And a crime should be called exactly that — not wrapped in rituals, not softened by tradition, not excused by marriage certificates, sindoor, mangalsutra, or the sacred fiction that a woman’s body becomes communal property the moment she says “I do.”
Let me be very clear, because clarity makes some people uncomfortable: forced sex is rape. Inside marriage. Outside marriage. On a honeymoon. After twenty years together. With flowers on the bed or tears on the pillow. If there is no consent — sahamati — it is violence. Full stop.
India’s refusal to name marital rape for what it is tells us something deeply ugly about power. It says that a husband’s access to sex still matters more than a wife’s autonomy. It says that a woman’s “no” (nahi) is negotiable once she becomes a patni (wife). It says that marriage is not a partnership but a license — and that license somehow includes the right to ignore pain, fear, and resistance.
I hear the usual excuses. “It will destroy families.” “It will be misused.” “These things should stay private.” Darling, violence already destroys families. Silence just protects the abuser. And privacy is the oldest hiding place of patriarchy. If a crime happens behind closed doors, it does not magically become less criminal. It just becomes harder to survive.
What really scares people is not false cases — those exist in every area of law — but the idea that husbands might finally be held accountable. That the sacred grihastha (householder) might be revealed as an ordinary man capable of cruelty. That the home, so often romanticised, might also be recognised as one of the most dangerous places for women.
I am tired of hearing that criminalising marital rape is “Western.” Consent is not Western. Pain is not Western. Trauma is not Western. A woman flinching in her own bed is not a foreign import. The belief that wives owe sex on demand, however, is very much homegrown patriarchy — lovingly preserved and fiercely defended.
Calling marital rape a crime does not attack marriage. It attacks entitlement. It does not weaken families; it strengthens the idea that love without respect is not love at all. And punishment? Yes, punishment matters. Because without consequences, the law is just polite noise.
So no more euphemisms. No more sacred fog. Violence is violence. A crime should be called a crime. And if India truly believes in dignity, equality, and justice — not just as slogans but as lived realities — then it’s time to stop protecting rapists simply because they wear the label “husband.”