Is Kashmir Hiding Dowry Behind ‘Gifts’?

   

by Dr Ifrah Ferooz Kawoosa

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Kashmir’s culture of gifting brides increasingly resembles dowry, imposing financial, psychological and social costs while contradicting Islam’s marriage principles.

An unknown artist explains the custom of dowry.

There is a linguistic trick we have perfected in Kashmir. We do not call it dowry. We call it “gifting”.

There may be no formal demand, no written list and, often, nobody explicitly asking for anything. Yet the expectation that the bride’s family will provide substantial gifts to the groom and his family is enormous. The pressure to conform is equally real.

The result is the same whether we call it dowry or gifting. The social coercion remains, the financial burden remains, and the humiliation remains.

Changing the label does not change the contents of the box.

Those who defend the practice often invoke its supposedly voluntary nature. The bride’s family, they argue, gives these things out of love for their daughter. But if that were genuinely the case, why is the practice so widespread across economic classes? Why does failing to provide these “gifts” invite comments, comparisons and ridicule?

The argument of choice collapses when we ask ourselves one simple question: If there were no social approval or disapproval attached to this decision, what would I choose?

If a family fears what relatives, neighbours or the groom’s family will say if it does not provide furniture, utensils, bedding or other goods, that is not free choice. It is compliance born out of social pressure.

A custom cannot meaningfully be called voluntary when refusing to follow it carries social consequences.

The problem becomes even more disturbing when these gifts become a measure of the respect a bride will receive in her marital home. Her worth is indirectly linked to what her family can provide. The more prosperous the family, the more it is expected to give. The bride is made to carry not only her belongings into marriage but also the economic standing of her parents.

This happens even in families that consider themselves educated and progressive.

The costs

What we casually call gifting has become a serious economic burden. A middle-class wedding in Kashmir can cost anywhere between Rs 30 lakh and Rs 50 lakh, with a significant portion going towards the unspoken expectations surrounding the bride.

This is not simply spending. It can become a transfer of wealth from one family to another, impoverishing one household to add to another household’s possessions.

And the cost is not only financial.

When parents begin calculating how much they will have to spend when their daughter gets married, the daughter herself can gradually come to be seen as a financial liability. Every copper deg, every blanket, every piece of furniture and every addition to the trousseau reinforces the idea that a girl comes with a price tag.

That has consequences for how society views women.

If the bride and her family are expected to bear the financial burden of the wedding and beyond, including lavish feasts, Kokar Maaz, Hash Keanth, furniture, utensils and bedding,  then the idea of men as providers becomes little more than a hollow title.

From Stridhan to Dowry

The historical distinction between Stridhan and dowry is important. Stridhan was meant to be a woman’s own wealth, providing her with financial security. Over time, however, the idea of providing wealth to a woman was transformed into a coercive system in which the bride’s family was expected to transfer wealth and goods to the groom’s household.

A safety net became a social burden.

Changes in property rights and the rise of consumerism and status-driven display further distorted the practice. Eventually, dowry became a serious social problem, leading to the Dowry Prohibition Act of 1961.

Yet a law can do little when society continues to practice what the law prohibits by simply giving it another name.

We may have stopped saying “dowry”, but we have not necessarily stopped doing it.

The Islamic Reversal

The contradiction becomes even more striking when viewed through Islam.

Marriage in Islam is not meant to be an elaborate financial transaction. The essential requirements of Nikah include mutual consent, Ijab and Qabul, competency of the parties, witnesses and Mahr.

Mahr is the financial obligation that flows from the groom to the bride. It is her right and her property.

The direction of this financial relationship matters. The bride’s family is not required to purchase acceptance for their daughter by transferring wealth to the groom or his family. Instead, the woman herself is recognised as having a direct financial right within marriage.

In pre-Islamic Arabia, payments associated with marriage could go to the bride’s father or guardian. Islam changed that relationship by establishing Mahr as a gift to the bride herself, giving her ownership and control over it.

Fourteen centuries later, we seem to have reversed that principle.

Mahr, which should be a meaningful financial right of the bride, is often reduced to a nominal formality. Meanwhile, the bride’s family can spend enormous amounts on furniture, utensils, bedding, clothing, food and other “gifts”.

We claim to follow the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), who married his beloved daughter Fatima (RA) with simplicity. Yet we have turned marriage into an exhibition of wealth.

Islam made marriage simple. We made it a transaction. Islam gave the woman a financial right. We burdened her family. Islam gave marriage dignity. We turned it into a competition.

Dr Ifrah Ferooz Kawoos

There is nothing wrong with a parent voluntarily giving a daughter something out of love. The problem begins when affection becomes expectation, expectation becomes obligation, and obligation becomes social coercion.

So perhaps the first step is simply to stop sugarcoating the practice.

If the bride’s family is expected to provide goods to the groom and his family, if refusal carries social consequences, and if those goods influence how the bride and her family are judged, then let us have the honesty to call it what it is.

Dowry.

And perhaps once we name it honestly, we can finally begin to end it.

(The author serves in health and medical education. Ideas are personal.)

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