A country of overqualified housewives

Perhaps focus has been more on educating girls than on helping them become financially independent

Indian housewives, I recently read online, are amongst the most over-qualified demographic groups in the world. It made me think. As a society, perhaps our focus has been more on educating girls than on helping them become financially independent and productive members of the country’s workforce. Statistics bear this out: The National Sample Survey 2014-15 found that for every 100 men enrolled in higher education (college and above) there were 85 women. On the other hand, the 2015-16 National Family Health Survey shows that the proportion of working women, who were paid for their work, has fallen four percentage points over the past decade. People Research on India’s Consumer Economy reported in 2016 that over 60 per cent of households had only one wage earner each. So, while more people seem to be following the government’s Beti Padhao (educate daughters) diktat, more and more of our educated girls seem to be growing up to be overqualified housewives.

A couple of informal conversations proved useful in putting human faces to these statistics. I spoke to Om Prakash, a driver with two daughters studying in Delhi University. The elder one is studying law, the other pursuing a BA in history and wants to join the civil services. “I want to see my daughters complete their education successfully and marry suitable boys,” he said. “With their educational qualifications, they’re likely to marry into very good families.” What about their careers, I asked. Surely, after having invested so much in their higher education, he wanted to see them well-placed professionally. “Their careers will depend on the requirements of the families they marry into,” he said. “I feel my fatherly duties don’t go beyond educating them to the best of my ability.”

Nusrat Bano of Sheikh Sarai, herself unlettered, told me how happy she was that her daughter was in school. “She’s now in Class VIII and very good in her studies,” she told me proudly. The child wanted to become a doctor when she grew up. “I’ll do what I can to make her dream a reality,” she said. “I’ll take on extra domestic work to ensure she goes to a good preparatory class for medical entrance exams.” I asked her if she thought her daughter would be able to work after she was married. “Of course she would,” she exclaimed. “We’ll ensure she goes to an enlightened family.” Then she added: “Obviously, once she becomes a mother, she will have to give up working — unless of course, god forbid, straitened circumstances force her to work.”

The last conversation I had was with 20-year-old Seema, a domestic worker who wants to put her two-year-old daughter in an expensive playschool. “I want her to go to a good school and speak fluent English so that she can get a good job,” she said. “We’d like our daughter to be the first graduate in our family, but we worry that the jobs she will want then will not give her the flexibility that we had when she was born.” In the absence of family support, Seema was able to work as a part-time domestic help after her daughter was born only because her husband, a security guard, and she were able to juggle their schedules. “Anyway, at present, we just want her to go to a good playschool,” she said, “and leave the rest to fate.”

These conversations made me realise that while ensuring every girl’s access to education can’t be undermined, it’s not enough. Societal attitudes towards women’s work need to change as well. And unless we incentivise our female workforce with state-sponsored childcare and other benefits, the huge resources that the government invests in the education of girls every year will sink without any discernable impact.