— ✍️Sidharth Gautam

Pierre Bourdieu introduced the concept of cultural capital. For instance, if a classroom contains five students, their life experiences will inevitably vary. Some students may excel in English because they grew up in a family environment where the language was spoken from the very beginning, while others may have received mobile phones at a very young age. Conversely, other students may not be as privileged; they face a distinct set of challenges. They may have had to learn to speak English through sheer hard work at school—perhaps being the first in their entire lineage to ever attend school—or their parents may hold the belief that children should not be permitted to use mobile phones. This is precisely what constitutes "cultural capital"—a form of capital rooted in social experiences and cultivated within one's mindset. It is entirely distinct from "economic capital"; while money allows us to purchase virtually anything we desire, it cannot buy the accumulated wealth of knowledge and social experience that is passed down from one generation to the next. Within the realm of cultural capital, marginalized communities have historically remained disadvantaged. This is particularly true for women, Dalits, and Adivasis; even when they manage to acquire economic capital, they often continue to suffer from a significant deficit in social capital. A case in point involves India's last two Presidents, both of whom hailed from marginalized communities; however, the national political discourse appeared far more preoccupied with the fact that they belonged to marginalized groups—specifically as a Dalit or an Adivasi—than with their actual work or intellect. In such contexts, social identity is often accorded greater significance than individual competence or wisdom.

It is frequently observed that within Indian households, generational wealth—or cultural capital—is often gauged through the lens of its male members. Even a woman's educational trajectory is frequently determined by the educational attainment of the men in her household—specifically, how educated they are or what they are currently studying. We observe that in the context of intergenerational education, the cultural and social capital of any male or female family member is often viewed as equivalent; this assessment is predicated on the educational background of the father or grandfather of the household. If the male patriarchs possess even a rudimentary education, the subsequent generations—the second, and then the third—who pursue formal schooling will inherit significant social capital. However, this constitutes a grave manifestation of patriarchy: a woman's cultural capital is measured against that of her father or grandfather, while the educational attainment and literacy levels of her grandmother or mother are entirely overlooked. If a mother has never once set foot inside a school, her daughter becomes the first female in her entire lineage to pursue an education—thereby earning the designation of a "first-generation learner"—and faces a unique set of challenges, even if her father happens to be a university graduate. The fundamental premise here must be entirely different: a woman's cultural capital should not be defined by the achievements of the men in her life, but rather should be determined by the legacy of her mother or grandmother.

However, an argument regarding lineage arises here: in patrilineal societies, generational wealth and social capital are traced exclusively through the father. The same logic would, therefore, seem to apply to matrilineal societies—that lineage within the family is determined through the women, just as they hold the rights to property and assets. Yet, upon closer examination, there are significant differences between patrilineal and matrilineal societies. When comparing patriarchal and matriarchal systems—or even patrilineal versus matrilineal ones—a considerable imbalance persists; indeed, it could be argued that the influence of patriarchy remains present even within these contexts. For instance, the Khasi tribe of Meghalaya is a well-known matrilineal society in which women play a pivotal role—for example, upon marriage, the husband moves into the wife's home. However, men in this society generally do not have to navigate the same social complexities; unlike the daily attacks and violence frequently reported against women, there are typically no reports of men facing harassment or violence. If we focus specifically on matrilineal societies like the Khasi tribe, authoritative and social decisions are often made by the maternal uncle—who is, himself, a man. This reveals a subtle, hidden patriarchy that often goes unnoticed. While it is evident that women exercise their power within their private lives—albeit largely confined to the domestic sphere—men tend to exhibit greater participation and dominance in the public realm, particularly in economic and political spheres, even within a matrilineal society. For example, although the matrilineal system is followed in the majority of households in Meghalaya, the 2011 Census report indicates that the female literacy rate stands at 72.89 percent—which is 3 percent lower than the total male literacy rate. From a regional perspective, while women are certainly keeping pace in terms of literacy, they have not yet managed to surpass men, despite the society's matrilineal structure. Furthermore, women constitute less than 10 percent of the Members of the Legislative Assembly (MLAs) in Meghalaya. Social capital is scarce for women here as well; indeed, in a substantive sense, the manner in which men's social capital expands in this context—rooted as it is in societal connections—remains distinct from, and significantly greater than, that of women.

In this patriarchal society, a woman's cultural capital has been confined to the realms of domestic labor and marriage; however, things now appear to be undergoing a gradual transformation—and it comes as no surprise that women's participation in the field of education has increased. Yet, it has been observed that in the modern era, for many women, acquiring an education serves less as a means for their own personal upliftment and more as a tool to enhance their eligibility for marriage. In other words, despite attaining an education, women remain shackled by chains in a system where this very patriarchal society dictates every aspect of their lives. For instance, the demographic we refer to as "half the nation's population" accounts for a mere 14 percent of the representation in Parliament; similarly, women constitute only 6.7 percent of the Union Ministers in the country. Women's representation in the nation's highest offices remains negligible. Even their cultural capital is determined by the norms of masculinity, which dictate precisely what—and how much—is to be allotted to them. Nevertheless, it has been observed that women's participation has increased significantly at the grassroots level; for example, the Panchayati Raj system mandates a 33 percent reservation for women. However, a closer look reveals that as one ascends the hierarchical ladder of power, these statistics begin to dwindle—as evidenced by the fact that, currently, out of the 30 Chief Ministers across the country, only two are women: West Bengal's Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee and Delhi's Chief Minister Rekha Gupta.

When Savitribai Phule established India's first school for girls and emphasized women's education, she faced significant opposition; she worked tirelessly to ensure that everyone possessed an equal right to education. However, another perspective worth considering is whether, in an egalitarian society, women's social capital would truly be on par with everyone else's—and if so, what would constitute the foundational basis for such a system of equality or parity? For instance, the standard of "equality for all" cannot simply be defined by the male-centric norms of society; rather, it must ensure the active participation of every individual. This situation mirrors the reality in our country: while women constitute nearly half of the total population, their participation remains conspicuously absent when it comes to the realm of policy-making

A woman's cultural capital should not be determined by patriarchy, as the challenges in every individual's life are unique. To do so is akin to projecting someone else's identity onto oneself. For instance, we observe in society that when a woman's husband secures a job, her identity is often conflated with his—a practice that, while perhaps understandable given that they are life partners, ultimately fails to allow the woman's own identity to take shape independently of men. It would be far more appropriate if her social capital were defined by her own contributions and achievements, rather than being determined by her husband's profession or prestige. As Dr. Ambedkar once stated, "I measure the progress of any society by the progress of the women within it." Therefore, the advancement of women is essential; only then can society as a whole truly progress. Their identity should be their own, and they should be the architects of their own cultural capital.

-Sidharth Gautam is currently pursuing MA Sociology, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.