I know this is not an uncommon question, but it is an uncomfortable one. And that is precisely why it refuses to go away. There is something about powerful women in Indian politics that unsettles the public imagination. The discomfort rarely announces itself openly. Instead, it reveals itself slowly, through primetime ridicule, casual sexism disguised as humour, relentless commentary on appearance and temperament, and the tendency to scrutinise a woman's personality long before her politics are taken seriously.
What makes this phenomenon particularly revealing is that it transcends party lines and ideology. India does not reserve this hostility for one kind of woman politician. Eventually, almost every woman in public life encounters it, regardless of where she stands politically.
Looking at a few more prominent women politicians of India, the first name that inevitably comes to our mind is that of Indira Gandhi. There are many valid criticisms of her politics, and there always will be. The Emergency alone ensures that her legacy will remain complicated forever. But if you go back and really examine the public language around Indira Gandhi over the decades, you realise people were reacting not only to her decisions but also to the sheer fact that a woman leader was occupying that seat of power.
India had elected a woman Prime Minister long before many countries that now lecture the world about progressiveness. Yet, there was always an undertone of discomfort around her authority. Men with absolute political confidence are often described as commanding. With Indira Gandhi, the same traits came to be known as dangerous, power-hungry, and so on.
At the height of her authority, she was described by political opponents and admirers alike as "the only man in the cabinet", as though strength, decisiveness, and political control could be understood only through masculinity. Another prominent leader that comes to mind is the former Chief Minister of West Bengal, Mamata Banerjee. Whether people support her or dislike her politically is irrelevant here. What matters is the way public discourse around her often becomes intensely personal in a way that feels disproportionate even by Indian political standards.
And perhaps the clearest example of this came the moment she lost politically, because the mask fell almost immediately. The political criticism did not merely intensify, it became personal with startling speed. The language became crueller, uglier, and more mocking. Suddenly, there was an open eagerness not just to defeat her politically, but to humiliate her publicly. Social media was filled with jeering caricatures, television panels slipped from analysis into ridicule, and the misogyny that had always quietly existed underneath the discourse stopped pretending to hide itself.
India seems more comfortable discussing powerful women as characters than as leaders. The same thing happened with Jayalalithaa. A towering figure in regional and national politics, during her lifetime, she was endlessly scrutinised, from her appearance, her relationships, to the way she dressed, spoke, and carried herself. After her death, suddenly she became 'Amma' - almost untouchable, almost divine in public memory.
Mayawati, the former Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, faced something even more layered. She was not just a woman in politics; she was a Dalit woman in politics, and that combination exposed some very ugly instincts in elite discourse. There were people who simply could not process someone like her occupying that level of authority. The mockery around her often carried class prejudice, caste prejudice, and misogyny all at once.
Then there was Sonia Gandhi, who spent years being treated as though her presence in Indian politics itself required justification. Not merely disagreement, but justification. Her nationality, her accent, her background, even her silence at times, became objects of endless commentary.
Consider Sushma Swaraj, who was widely respected across party lines. The former External Affairs Minister, who became famous for not only her quips inside the Parliament, but also for assuring every Indian that the Indian Embassy would help even those who were "stuck on Mars".
A political luminary in her own right, yet much of the admiration directed toward her was framed through qualities such as warmth, grace, compassion, and accessibility. It was as though the public found comfort in powerful women only when that power remained emotionally reassuring and nurturing.
But when we quickly look at another BJP stalwart, Smriti Irani, her no-nonsense debating style and unapologetic political persona have made her the subject of intensely personal ridicule for years, from commentary on her appearance and body to endless caricatures of her temperament.
Misogyny for women leaders in India has layers. When we look at Mehbooba Mufti, the former Chief Minister of Jammu & Kashmir, she spent years navigating not only the volatility of conflict politics, but also a gendered ridicule. Her moments of grief have been labelled as 'theatrics', her emotions dissected in ways male leaders operating in similarly tense political environments rarely experience. Even Finance Minister Nirmala Sitharaman, despite holding one of the most consequential offices in the Indian government, often finds public discourse around her drifting away from her policies, and towards her personality. Her speeches become meme templates, with responses being clipped, circulated & dissected for tone as much as substance. Her perceived 'attitude' generates more virality on social media than the policies she is defending.
And this is where the question becomes difficult to ignore. Women politicians in India are rarely allowed to exist as just politicians. They become emotional symbols. Everything except ordinary political leaders doing ordinary political things. That is why the scrutiny often feels so exhausting.
To be clear, none of these women is beyond criticism, nor should they be. Democracy depends on criticism. But criticism is one thing, and the national obsession with reducing powerful women into personality types is something else entirely.
After years of watching Indian politics, I think that distinction matters more than we admit. So my question to you, dear reader, is this: Does India hate its women politicians?
(The author is a Social Media executive at NDTV)
Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author
