Growing up, I thought I knew what freedom looked like for a woman. The idea is consistent with the way Bollywood portrays it: a woman who speaks well, is educated, works in corporates, is financially independent, parties, travels alone and most importantly, does not seek permission from others and makes her own decisions. Afterwards, the women I sought out woke up early, drank coffee, wore elegant saris or suits, drove to their offices, and flew internationally to meetings and conferences. They were doctors, academics, executives, consultants and educators. I took this idea without questioning it and strived to be that woman. What I had missed, however, was who made this liberation possible.
The overlooked reality of urban women’s freedom – the outsourcing of women’s work
Most successful city women I know have an army of domestic servants behind them. A cook who arrives before sunrise to prepare meals, pack lunches, and send children to school. A driver who takes the children to school. Later, another maid cleans and sweeps the house. A nanny – or sometimes a naani (maternal grandmother) – who helps raise the children. And in 2026, delivery men who will bring everything to your doorstep within minutes. In modern, liberal families, these workers are often treated “respectfully” and paid “market rates” for their time. City women may tend toward ambition because other women—mostly poor women—tend toward survival. My feminism, like that of most urban, privileged Indian women, is tacitly based on an economic arrangement that we never describe as political: the Outsourcing of labor.
City women may tend toward ambition because other women—mostly poor women—tend toward survival. My feminism, like that of most urban, privileged Indian women, is tacitly based on an economic arrangement that we never describe as political: labor outsourcing.
It is convenient to ignore the caste and class implications of this freedom. For a long time. I used to think feminism meant succeeding in a man’s world by working hard, earning equal wages, and breaking the glass ceilings in the boardroom. At some point it was reduced to not cooking or outsourcing the care, and so the measure of success became proximity to male privilege. We don’t cook, but someone does! We do not question the relationship between privilege, caste and class. And so we continue to congratulate ourselves on being progressive while maintaining deeply feudal domestic orders in our own homes.
I still remember the moment when my discomfort started to creep in. A classmate proudly told me that she returned to work just six weeks after giving birth. She proudly exclaimed that she couldn’t have done it without her jaapa (rest after childbirth) and her maid. I don’t doubt that her feminism is real; After all, she worked hard for many years, struggled with expectations and accepted the compromises between being a mother and being an employee. What angered me, however, was that her maid had to leave her own child behind in her village, hundreds of kilometers away. Two truths existed simultaneously: a woman was free and another woman’s opportunities were shrinking. It was then that I realized that the cost of urban feminism has to be borne by a woman from a rural area, most likely a woman from a marginalized caste.
The labor market and the informal economy
Feminism enables women to work. But which women and where? Notice who does the housework that makes an urban professional life possible. The International Labor Organization (ILO) estimated in 2016 that there are almost that many 3 to 10 million domestic workers in the country, while worker collectives put the number at up to 50 to 90 million. More than 90 percent are women, almost entirely without them Legal protection or formal contract conclusion. Domestic workers are technically excluded from the country’s formal labor laws because India’s four labor laws do not recognize private homes as “workplaces.”
Domestic workers are technically excluded from the country’s formal labor laws because India’s four labor laws do not recognize private homes as “workplaces.”
As a result, “upper class” and “upper caste” women enter professional jobs, while poor women enter their homes as workers. The liberation of one creates employment for another, but that employment comes without security, dignity and mobility. Furthermore, many estimates suggest that most domestic workers earn less than INR 10,000 in a month. So we are literally buying our freedom from someone else at a fraction of the actual price. Our version of progress not only ignores this inequality but also assumes that it remains intact. If it were not for this ecosystem of care through exploitation of the poor and marginalized, we would not even know what modern urban feminism looks like, because what are its foundations if not the outsourcing of work to the less privileged?
The hardest part of this realization is recognition. I’m not just an outsider observing this system; I benefit from it. The time to study, write, travel, and think—all the things I associate with intellectual freedom—exists because housework and care work are available to me at reasonable prices. I have the privilege of reading my morning newspaper with coffee because my maid sweeps the floor of my house. My complicity only tells me one thing: a feminism that only expands the possibilities of already privileged women runs the risk of becoming an elite project that simply rearranges power without questioning it.
Of course, this does not mean that professional ambition is wrong or that women should return to unpaid domesticity. The answer is not the individual fault of any one person. However, a more honest feminism in India would ask the following questions:
Who does housework and care work and under what conditions? We still haven’t managed to legalize minimum wages for domestic workers. Earlier this year, the Supreme Court a petition dismissed submitted by domestic workers for legal recognition of their rights. These predominantly poor and marginalized women are still waiting for what they deserve.
Why is housework still excluded from labor rights and social security? We demand more and more employment protections, maternity leave, vacation, retirement plans, insurance, pensions and, more recently, menstrual leave from our own employers, while we deliberately ignore the plight of the women who work in our homes and offices. Even now, India refuses to ratify it ILO Convention 189which guarantees domestic workers the same basic protection as other workers. India voted to accept it in 2011, but 14 years later it is still pending.
Why do we measure success by the ability to outsource housework? I think feminism is defined by whether a woman’s success leads to her freedoms multiplying. But should our progress mean that exploitation is simply pushed downward?
I’m still unlearning the feminism I inherited. It had once taught me to look upward, to power and authority. Instead, I’m learning to look at the women whose cheap labor hinders our lives and ask whether a movement that forgets them can ever truly call itself feminist.
For most urban Indian women, the question quietly but relentlessly arises: Can you really have it all? Behind any optimism in answering this question lies a harsher reality that is not spoken out loud but understood. If you want to do serious work, someone else needs to work at your house. If you want to be successful in your career, someone else has to cook your meals. If you want rest, someone else has to absorb your exhaustion. And in India, someone is predominantly poor, female, from a marginalized caste and is probably a migrant.
As mentioned, individual guilt is not the solution. Instead, we need to think about a fairer world for everyone, not just us. The answer is to reject a world in which my freedom depends on another person’s exploitation. But if you can hire a chef for less than a tenth of your salary, would you even wonder what a just world would look like?
Anuja Malhotra is a political researcher based in India. Her work focuses on the connections between environmental policy, sustainable development and livelihoods. She is interested in feminist literature and occasionally writes on issues of identity, caste and gender.