The Supreme Court's observation that India still needs strict enforcement of the Pre-Conception and Pre-Natal Diagnostic Techniques (PCPNDT) Act is both a reminder of how far the country has come and how far it still has to travel.
More than three decades after the law was enacted to curb sex-selective abortions, the very fact that the highest court finds it necessary to speak of the "behind-the-curtains" prevalence of such practices should unsettle us. This is not merely a legal issue. It is a moral and civilisational question. A society that debates women's empowerment while continuing to deny many girls the right to be born is trapped in a contradiction that no amount of economic growth can conceal.
The court's remarks arrive at a time when India proudly showcases women's achievements in politics, science, sports, entrepreneurship and the armed forces. From women fighter pilots and startup founders to Olympic medal winners and village sarpanches, the narrative of female advancement has become increasingly visible. Yet beneath this progress lies an uncomfortable reality. The preference for sons remains deeply embedded across social classes, regions and educational backgrounds. Female foeticide is often mistakenly viewed as a relic of rural backwardness. In reality, studies over the years have shown that sex selection has frequently been more prevalent in economically prosperous and better-educated sections of society, where access to technology and medical facilities makes such discrimination easier to execute and harder to detect. Patriarchy, it turns out, is not defeated by prosperity alone.
The numbers explain why the PCPNDT Act was considered necessary in the first place. India's child sex ratio declined from 945 girls per 1,000 boys in 1991 to 927 in 2001 and further to 919 in 2011. While some recent indicators suggest improvements in certain regions, several states continue to report sex ratios at birth below the national average. These figures are not statistical anomalies; they represent millions of missing girls. Every distorted sex ratio tells a story of a family that considered a daughter less desirable than a son. The reasons vary-inheritance practices, concerns about dowry, perceptions of economic burden, expectations of old-age support and deeply ingrained cultural norms-but the outcome remains the same. The unborn girl becomes the first victim of gender discrimination.
What makes this issue particularly troubling is that India has not lacked government intervention. Successive administrations have launched campaigns and welfare programmes aimed at improving the status of girls. Initiatives such as Beti Bachao Beti Padhao, Sukanya Samriddhi Yojana, Ladli Lakshmi Yojana and numerous state-level schemes have attempted to address both social attitudes and economic concerns. Awareness campaigns, financial incentives and educational support have undoubtedly helped. Yet the persistence of son preference demonstrates the limits of policy when social beliefs remain unchanged. Governments can provide scholarships, insurance and incentives. They can prosecute offenders and regulate diagnostic centres. What they cannot easily legislate is respect. Laws can prevent discrimination; they cannot automatically create equality.
This is why the Supreme Court is correct in arguing that strict enforcement must continue until there is a genuine change in mentality. Critics occasionally argue that stringent regulations under the PCPNDT Act place burdens on medical practitioners and diagnostic centres. While procedural fairness and accountability are essential, the larger purpose of the legislation cannot be forgotten. The Act was never merely about regulating ultrasound machines. It was designed to protect the most fundamental right of all-the right to life. Weakening enforcement in a society where gender bias still influences reproductive choices would risk undoing decades of progress. At the same time, enforcement alone cannot succeed. Schools must challenge stereotypes from an early age. Media narratives must celebrate daughters not as exceptions but as equals. Religious, community and political leaders must consistently reinforce the message that the worth of a child is not determined by gender.
The deeper challenge is to redefine how society understands value itself. The Supreme Court's reference to Subhadra Kumari Chauhan's poem celebrating the birth of a daughter and its invocation of the ancient maxim "Yatra naryastu pujyante ramante tatra devata" were not ornamental flourishes. They were reminders that India's cultural traditions contain resources for gender equality even as social practices often betray them. The question before modern India is not whether it can build a five-trillion-dollar economy or become a technological powerhouse. It is whether it can create a society where the birth of a girl is greeted with the same joy, expectation and dignity as that of a boy. Until that day arrives, the PCPNDT Act will remain necessary, and every celebration of women's empowerment will carry an asterisk. A nation cannot claim to honour its daughters if it still permits doubt about whether they deserve to be born.
