DATELINE: When Power Forgets Consent: A Masterclass in How Not to Be a Chief Minister
The hijab is a boundary. Consent is a boundary. The Constitution is a boundary. Any power that crosses them deserves not excuses—but consequences.
Peerzada Masarat Shah
History has a strange way of repeating itself—sometimes as tragedy, sometimes as farce. What unfolded at the Samvad event in Patna, however, was neither subtle nor symbolic. It was crude, invasive, and humiliating. Bihar Chief Minister Nitish Kumar, a man entrusted with constitutional authority, was seen pulling at the hijab of Dr. Nusrat Parveen, a Muslim woman doctor, in full public view. If this was meant to be leadership, then Bihar deserves a refund.
This was not curiosity. It was not warmth. It was not a “senior citizen’s mistake.” It was a deliberate crossing of boundaries—physical, moral, and constitutional.
For Muslim women, the hijab is not decorative fabric waiting for political inspection. It is faith, autonomy, and a personal boundary. Touching it without consent is no different from touching the person herself. When that violation comes from the highest office of a state, it stops being an individual lapse and becomes a statement of power—one that says dignity is optional when authority feels entitled.
History remembers moments like these. Muslim memory, in particular, is not unfamiliar with them. The echo of “Wa-Mu‘tasimā” still rings—not as a call to violence, but as a reminder that the dignity of women has always been a red line. Civilizations have been judged by how they treated the most vulnerable, not by how loudly they justified their actions afterward.
What followed the incident only deepened the insult. Instead of accountability, we were offered excuses. Instead of apology, arrogance. A minister casually defending the act as harmless curiosity exposed the real problem: not one man’s hand, but a mindset that sees Muslim women as fair game for public scrutiny.
The cost of this mindset is already visible. Dr. Nusrat Parveen, a qualified AYUSH doctor, has reportedly chosen not to join government service. Years of study, ambition, and public service undone—not by incompetence, but by humiliation. Her family urging her to “adjust” reflects a bitter truth: in India, victims are often expected to compromise so that power can remain comfortable.
Let us ask the uncomfortable question others are avoiding: had the identities been reversed, would the nation still be debating intent? Or would hashtags, arrests, and prime-time outrage have followed within minutes?
Age, we are told, should excuse behavior. But since when did seniority become immunity? If a Chief Minister can no longer distinguish between respectful interaction and physical intrusion, perhaps the issue is not malice alone—but fitness for office. Governance is not a retirement hobby.
This incident did not emerge in isolation. It is part of a longer chain that began with targeting hijab-wearing schoolgirls, continued through public moral policing, and has now reached the office of a Chief Minister. When power is not challenged democratically, it grows bolder. Silence, history teaches us, is never neutral—it always sides with the oppressor.
The answer is not chaos. The answer is constitutional resistance: democratic protest, political accountability, and collective refusal to normalize humiliation. Bihar does not need slogans—it needs courage. It needs voters, civil society, and institutions to remind those in power that authority is a responsibility, not a license.
Dr. Nusrat Parveen’s quiet decision speaks louder than any speech. Walking away from a government job to preserve dignity is not weakness—it is resistance. It is a reminder that self-respect is worth more than appointment letters signed by hands that do not respect boundaries.
The hijab is a boundary. Consent is a boundary. The Constitution is a boundary. Any power that crosses them deserves not excuses—but consequences.
And history, as always, is watching.
(Straight Talk Communications Exclusive)
