In India, a woman looking for justice is often required to prove far more than the facts of her case. Before her claims are heard, before evidence is weighed, and sometimes even before investigations conclude, an unspoken question takes centre stage: What kind of woman was she?
This phenomenon, which sociologists describe as the “good woman test”, continues to shape public opinions and legal outcomes across the country. Whether in cases of suspicious deaths, domestic abuse, divorce, or child custody, the scrutiny frequently shifts from what happened to a woman to who she was.
The recent death of Twisha Sharma brought this pattern into focus. Even before authorities could establish the circumstances surrounding her death, social media platforms were flooded with commentary dissecting her personality, her mental health, her marriage, and her life choices. It was as though her character could somehow explain, or worse, justify: her death. The tragedy became secondary to a moral audit of her life.
This is not an isolated phenomenon. The same bias quietly permeates family courts across India. In custody battles, working mothers are often required to defend not just their parenting but their professional ambitions. They must explain how they will balance long working hours with caregiving responsibilities, even when their income is critical to the child’s well-being.
Ankita Biswas (name changed), a 42-year-old marketing professional in Mumbai, knows this struggle all too well. “I was constantly asked how I would ‘manage’ my job and my kids,” she says. “It didn’t seem to matter that I had a stable income, a flexible work setup, and people to help me. The underlying assumption was always the same that my career meant I couldn’t be fully present as a mother.” At times, the scrutiny went beyond parenting. Her social life, too, was pulled into question. “There were pictures of me at an office party, just laughing and having a good time, that were used against me,” she says. “The fact that I went out with friends or colleagues, even male colleagues, was somehow turned into a reflection of my character.” “It felt like I had to first prove I was a ‘good woman’ before I could even begin to argue that I was a good parent,” she says. After nearly two years, the court granted her primary custody, noting clearly that her job did not come in the way of her children’s well-being. But the process left its mark. “The judgment went my way, but it took a lot out of me,” she says. “It wasn’t just about the law. It felt like I was being judged as a person the whole time.”
Over the years, several High Court and Family Court judgments have attempted to push back against these stereotypes. Courts have repeatedly clarified that employment, financial independence, remarriage, or a demanding profession cannot automatically render a mother unfit for custody. Yet, the persistence of such clarifications reveals how deeply ingrained these biases remain.
Research by the Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy highlights how gender stereotypes subtly influence judicial reasoning, particularly in matters involving caregiving and family responsibilities.
Beyond the Courtroom
The implications of the “good woman test” extend far beyond individual cases. They shape how society responds to women’s suffering, how institutions interpret their claims, and how justice is ultimately delivered.
When a woman must first establish her moral worthiness before her rights are acknowledged, justice becomes conditional. It is no longer about facts, evidence, or fairness; it is about conformity to an ideal that is both unrealistic and unequally applied. Dismantling this bias requires more than progressive judgments. It demands a shift in societal attitudes, greater gender sensitivity within the judiciary, and a conscious effort to separate character from circumstance.
Until then, many women in India will continue to face an uphill battle not just to prove what happened to them, but to prove that they deserve justice in the first place.