Just Like That | Boundaries between intrusive state, inviolable right to privacy

The true strength of a nation lies not in its ability to control its citizens, but in its willingness to trust them

In the times that we live in, a seminal issue before us is to define the boundaries between an intrusive state and the inviolable rights to privacy of individuals. In many cases the lines between these two polarities are being blurred or even demolished. The state now believes that it has the right to determine individual behaviour in all kinds of personal matters, including what people eat and drink, wear or don’t wear, and the kind of relationships they choose to have.

The recent Uttarakhand Uniform Civil Code Bill, which mandates that live-in couples must register their relationship with the state, is a significant case in point (Pixabay/Representative photo)

In some areas, the state does have the powers to play a regulatory role even if it impinges on personal freedom of choice. The minimum age at which people can marry, or the declaration of some days of national importance as dry days, or imposing punitive action under the law on adulterous relationships, are examples where people have largely accepted that their absolute rights to privacy can be curbed. The problem arises when the state believes it has the power to intrude indiscriminately, and believes that it has the prerogative to dictate individual choices in matters where it is clearly and illegally trespassing.

The recent Uttarakhand Uniform Civil Code Bill, which mandates that live-in couples must register their relationship with the state, is a significant case in point. While ostensibly presented as a move towards legal transparency and social stability, the provision raises fundamental questions about the extent to which the government can —or should—extend its reach into the legitimate privacy of consenting adults.

India, for all its ancient civilizational wisdom, often reveals a schizophrenic approach to modernity. On one hand, we celebrate our ascent into the digital age, global commerce, and cosmopolitan values. On the other, we are discomfited by changes in personal norms that challenge inherited notions of morality.

The live-in relationship, while still taboo in many quarters, is a legal and voluntary association between adults. The Supreme Court of India has repeatedly affirmed that such relationships fall within the realm of individual liberty guaranteed by Article 21 of the Constitution. Yet, by compelling registration under the UCC bill, the state appears to be imposing a moralistic imprimatur on a private arrangement — an act that is not just paternalistic but also legally suspect.

Proponents argue that registration is necessary to prevent exploitation, particularly of women, and to bring such relationships within a legal framework. While the protection of vulnerable partners is indeed a legitimate state concern, the method chosen betrays a deeper impulse — that of surveillance. The requirement to report such a relationship to a district officer, with possible legal consequences for non-compliance, transforms a personal choice into a potentially intimidatory proposition.

Is the state to be a protector, or is it to become a social arbiter that polices who lives with whom and under what terms? There is an ominous echo here of an earlier era, one where conformity to socially sanctioned norms was the price of civic respectability. India’s founding principles, of liberty, equality, and fraternity, were not just rhetorical flourishes in the Constituent Assembly. They reflected a solemn compact between the citizen and the state: that autonomy over one’s body, belief, and personal choices shall be inviolate, except in circumstances of demonstrable harm to others.

The registration of live-in relationships does not prevent crime or ensure social justice; rather, it opens the door to harassment, stigma, and selective enforcement. In a society already stratified by caste, religion, and gender, such laws risk becoming tools of moral policing rather than instruments of justice.

The legitimacy of the state does not lie in its ability to penetrate the lives of its citizens, but in its wisdom to know where to draw the line. Government interference in personal matters must pass the test of necessity, proportionality, and constitutionality. The Uttarakhand provision, by that standard, sets a dangerous precedent. So does the total Prohibition imposed in Bihar. The state, in the name of ‘social reform’, to reduce the consumption of alcohol—a laudable goal—has decided that nobody can consume any alcohol at all. The reaction to this unimplementable and impractical diktat on individual choices has been the rise of a vast illegal alcohol mafia. Liquor is available everywhere, lakhs of the poor are languishing in jail with not enough money to even apply for bail, there is rampant corruption in the police and enforcement authorities, and the ominous growth of consumption of drugs.

As we navigate the complexities of a rapidly evolving society, we must remember that the true strength of a nation lies not in its ability to control its citizens, but in its willingness to trust them. In matters of love, choice, and companionship, the state must learn the art of restraint, for in that restraint lies the true essence of democracy.