Dowry in India is often described as an outdated custom, yet it remains one of the most persistent and damaging gendered institutions in the country. Known commonly as dahej (दहेज), dowry refers to money, goods, or property transferred from the bride’s family to the groom’s family at the time of marriage. Despite being illegal for more than six decades, the practice continues across religions, castes, classes, and regions, shaping marriages, family relations, and, in the worst cases, women’s survival.
Historically, dowry did not begin as an instrument of exploitation. In ancient Hindu legal and social traditions, it existed as strīdhana (स्त्रीधन, “woman’s wealth”), property given to a woman at marriage to ensure her financial security, particularly in widowhood or marital breakdown. Jewelry, livestock, land, or household goods were meant to remain under her control. Over time, however, patriarchal inheritance systems, caste stratification, and the consolidation of male property rights transformed this protective custom into a payment demanded by the groom’s family. The shift accelerated during the colonial period, when land revenue systems, monetization of the economy, and rigid social hierarchies intensified competition in marriage markets.
In contemporary India, dowry rarely appears as a single transaction. It often unfolds as a process, beginning with “expectations” discussed discreetly between families and continuing through wedding rituals, post-marriage demands, and even childbirth. Dowry today may include large cash transfers, gold jewelry measured in tens or hundreds of grams, cars, apartments, land, or the full cost of lavish weddings. These demands are frequently disguised as voluntary gifts or “help for the couple,” allowing families to maintain social respectability while perpetuating coercion. In many cases, demands increase after marriage, when a bride’s negotiating power is weakest.
Dowry cuts across social boundaries. It exists among Hindus, Muslims, Christians, and Sikhs, in rural villages and globalized cities, among both working-class families and highly educated urban elites. Contrary to popular belief, education and salaried employment do not eliminate dowry; they often inflate it. Grooms with government jobs, overseas residency, or professional degrees are perceived as scarce assets, driving up dowry expectations in what sociologists describe as a marriage-market logic. Women’s education, instead of reducing dowry, can paradoxically increase it when families pay a premium to secure “high-status” husbands.
Legally, dowry is prohibited under the Dowry Prohibition Act, which criminalizes both the giving and taking of dowry, as well as dowry demands made before or after marriage. Additional legal protections include Section 498A of the Indian Penal Code, which addresses cruelty by husbands or in-laws, and Section 304B, which defines and penalizes dowry deaths—cases where a woman dies under suspicious circumstances within seven years of marriage following dowry-related harassment. The Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act (2005) further recognizes economic abuse linked to dowry. Yet enforcement remains weak. Families often avoid reporting abuse due to stigma, fear of retaliation, pressure to preserve marriage, and the slow, adversarial nature of the legal system.
The most brutal manifestation of dowry is dowry-related violence and death. Thousands of women die each year in incidents officially recorded as suicides, burns, or domestic accidents, many involving kitchens and kerosene stoves. Feminist scholars and activists argue that these figures underrepresent the true scale of the problem, as coercion, murder, and forced suicide are frequently concealed within private homes. Dowry violence ranges from verbal humiliation and food deprivation to severe physical abuse and murder, disproportionately affecting young women shortly after marriage.
Several structural factors sustain dowry despite legal bans. Patrilocal marriage norms require women to move into their husband’s household, stripping them of everyday support from their natal families. Although daughters have legal inheritance rights, social practice often denies them equal access to family property, making dowry a substitute that benefits the groom’s family rather than the woman herself. Deeply entrenched gender norms frame daughters as economic burdens and sons as long-term security, reinforcing the logic of dowry as compensation.
There is resistance. Women’s movements, NGOs, journalists, and younger couples increasingly challenge dowry through awareness campaigns, registered marriages, and public refusals. Yet resistance often places women at personal risk, exposing them to delayed marriage, social ostracism, or violence. Dowry in India persists not because it is cultural destiny, but because it is socially enforced, economically rationalized, and quietly normalized. As long as marriage remains a site where gender inequality is negotiated through money and power, dowry will continue to exact its price—most often from women’s lives.
Spicy Auntie here, stirring her chai a little too hard, because every time someone tells me dowry is “tradition,” my blood pressure files a police complaint. Tradition? Darling, if tradition involves invoices, installment plans, and post-marriage “top-ups,” what you have is not culture — it’s a subscription-based extortion scheme with a wedding playlist.
Let’s stop pretending dowry is some dusty relic surviving only in remote villages. I’ve seen it alive and well in air-conditioned apartments, WhatsApp groups, and five-star wedding halls. Gold weighed like groceries. Cash discussed like a business merger. Cars “gifted” with the same enthusiasm as a corporate bonus. All illegal, of course, but whispered so politely that everyone pretends it doesn’t count.
And the cruel joke? Dowry was once supposed to protect women. Strīdhana, remember? Wealth meant for her security. Somewhere along the way, patriarchy said, “Lovely idea, we’ll take it from here,” and turned women’s insurance into men’s entitlement. Now daughters are raised like emotional liabilities with excellent wedding packaging, while sons are marketed like premium assets with upgrade options: government job, foreign passport, mother with strong opinions.
What really makes Auntie choke on her ginger biscuit is the way dowry violence hides behind the domestic curtain. Bruises explained as clumsiness. Burns called kitchen accidents. Silence labeled family honor. The law exists, yes, but try using it when everyone — neighbors, relatives, even sometimes the police — suggests patience, compromise, endurance. Funny how endurance is always prescribed to women, never to men who demand refrigerators.
And don’t get me started on education. We were told schooling girls would end dowry. Surprise! It just raised the price tag. A master’s degree doesn’t buy freedom; it buys access to a “better” groom whose family sends a longer wish list. Feminism meets capitalism, and guess who pays the bill?
Of course, resistance exists. Brave women say no. Couples register marriages quietly. Activists shout. But let’s be honest: refusing dowry still comes with consequences. Delayed marriage. Social exile. Violence. It takes courage to reject a system that is enforced not just by men, but by aunties, uncles, neighbors, and that poisonous sentence: “This is how it’s done.”
So no, dowry isn’t culture. It’s control with good PR. And until daughters are truly equal heirs, until marriage stops being treated like a transaction, and until families stop monetizing masculinity, dowry will keep killing softly, behind closed doors, while everyone praises the food at the wedding.
Now pass me that chai. And keep your tradition. I’ll take justice instead.