Who Gets to Sit, Read, and Stay: Why Feminist Spaces Still Make Cities Uncomfortable

In an eastern pocket of Mumbai, amid affluent gated communities stood Sabki Library in Jai Bhim Nagar, Powai. Sabki was more than a library—it became a place where girls and women could sit, read, and exist without being monitored or corrected. It also exposed how intellectual freedom for girls and women is constrained not by lack of interest, but by an overload of responsibility. Domestic labour, protest maintenance, water collection, caregiving—these demands fall early and heavily, especially on adolescent girls.

But the creation of Sabki Library visibly enraged the upper class residents of the gated societies who constantly complained of the 'nuisance' and 'encroachment' which ultimately resulted in the forced eviction of all residents from the footpath and the demolition of Sabki Library.

This mirrors a larger urban truth: that public space is not neutral. As coordinator Huma Namal points out, the alliance between the state and big builders consistently strips marginalised communities of their right to protest, gather, or claim visibility.

Namal reminds us that the pushback faced by Sabki Library and the JBN residents who occupied the footpath sends a clear and resounding message that the city belongs to the upper class. Creation of such spaces in this framework amounts to the uniting of working class and resisting their exploitation, which poses a threat to them. “Feminist infrastructure in such conditions become not only optional but merely a nominal gesture,” she says.

Feminist spaces are often spoken about as ideas—aspirational, progressive, even symbolic. But on the ground, they are physical, contested, and deeply political. Whether it is a small library in a demolished basti, a reading room named after revolutionary women, or informal spaces carved out by women’s collectives decades ago, these places do something quietly radical: they allow women to sit without justification.

Coordinator Huma Namal’s account of Sabki Library makes it clear that the space was never just about books. It emerged in a landscape shaped by class segregation, demolition, and everyday survival, where even childcare infrastructure like the Anganwadi could be tactically withdrawn, collapsing women’s livelihoods in the process. The library’s challenge was not only to invite girls in, but to insist—gently and persistently—that their time mattered. “Not only in Jai Bhim Nagar, such inclusive spaces are rare everywhere. Hiranandani, the posh locality where JBN is located, has various cafes, working spaces, community spaces etc. but none that the working class people (as those of JBN) can access,” Namal points out, describing the perilous conditions where those uprooted are forced to live on the footpath for over a year, struggling for their basic rights by the continuous attacks of big builders like Hiranandani in collaboration with the government authorities. This does not facilitate the creation of any inclusive spaces.

Aqui Thami’s Sister Library in Bandra is a curated treasure trove of female-authored works, ranging from classic literature to contemporary fiction, non-fiction, and zines - reflecting the diverse experiences and perspectives of women. Beyond books, Sister Library offers a range of activities and events, including workshops, discussions, and community gatherings. These initiatives provide opportunities for women to connect, share their experiences, and build a sense of belonging.

Across Mumbai, the Savitri–Fatima study groups (named after Savitribai Phule and Fatima Sheikh, revolutionaries who believed that all knowledge is social) is an initiative of Mukti Che Swar, run by the Stree Mukti League. Over time, it has evolved into a space for women where they can freely read, learn, write, paint, and engage in serious discussions about history, science, politics, film, art, and their real-life struggles should ideally not be seen as disruptive. “However, we live in times of capitalist patriarchy. A profit-centric society views women as reproductive machines, expected only to create and maintain the labour force required to sustain these profits,” observes coordinator Pooja Vrushali Vijay.

“Masses living in working class areas like Mankhurd-Govandi can hardly access or afford to be literate, let alone get educated and gain knowledge of the world and thereby are always subjected to exploitation. This is absolutely deliberate. Keeping the masses in the dark helps the ruling class by avoiding or stirring conflicts and protests” Mukti Che Swar is a quiet uprising to break these barriers and carry forward the legacy of Savitri-Fatima. But women rising in resistance and building collective spaces has always unsettled many people and the reasons lie in patriarchy, believes Pooja, stressing however, that Stree Mukti League is not a feminist organization. “We refuse to engage in identity politics. When we speak of collectivism, we include people of all genders, castes, and religions. The task of building an egalitarian world rests on the shoulders of every conscientious citizen today, who recognizes that we live in a capitalist society, one where profits are placed over people. Therefore, our struggle cannot be restricted to the individual freedom of a few.”

Building and sustaining an organised mass movement is the need of the hour. Collective spaces and libraries such as Mukti Che Swar aim to do exactly that. “History has always been rewritten by the ruling class because genuine history reveals that solidarity and collective movements have toppled governments and rebuilt societies. They do this because they are afraid of the legacy of our revolutionaries. And we must fight with every inch of our strength to protect these legacies and take them to the masses,” says Pooja.

Urvashi Butalia, an independent feminist publisher, author and activist reminds us that feminist spaces in India have long existed outside formal labels. From Vacha and Akshara in Mumbai to Saheli in Delhi, these were places where women came not only to seek help, but to sit, read, talk, and belong, she reminds. “For a while the Zubaan office also functioned that way - women would come and sit and read and we’d give them coffee and then it tapered off. The Forum in Mumbai also had such a space - women brought their problems but they also just came to sit and talk and read,” says Butalia.

Many of these spaces have shrunk, shifted, or become informal over time -but their legacy persists in how women’s groups continue to open doors, even when permanence proves elusive. What unites all these stories is a sense of uncertainty. Feminist spaces are repeatedly forced to justify their existence in ways that parks, cafés, or co-working spaces never are. They are not simply dismissed - they are actively dismantled. They are asked to prove utility, scale, and compliance - while doing the slow, unquantifiable work of care and consciousness. They do not just offer services; they enable solidarity, which is seen as dangerous. In a time when feminist infrastructure is still treated as optional rather than essential, the sight of a woman sitting with a book, unmonitored and unhurried, is unsettling to many.