Of Bibis, Bais, and Khatoons

Every Waqf Board must include at least two Muslim women as members now; signalling a shift toward visibility and participation

- Shubhrastha Shikha IS A POLITICAL CONSULTANT, AUTHOR, AND A SPEAKER ACROSS MULTIPLE PLATFORMS

IN the hushed courtyard of a dargah in Lucknow, marigolds lie like scattered prayers. A young girl bends to tie a thread at the lattice wall—eyes closed, silently murmuring her negotiation with the divine. Behind her, a weather-worn plaque bears the name of a benefactor long forgotten by official memory, but still whispered in the wind.

Wazeeran Bai.

The name doesn't appear in textbooks or waqf board archives with any pride. And yet, if you ask the flower-seller at the gate or the old caretaker polishing the brass lamp inside, they'll tell you she was the one who gave the land. For the shrine. For the well. For the girls' library next door.

In Delhi, they say that when Gauhar Jaan died, her jewellery box still had receipts of donations made to mosques and women's clinics in Calcutta. The first Indian voice ever recorded, she was a woman who sang in Hindustani and ironically, gave in silence. In Hyderabad, tales circulate of Rekhti poets—tawaifs who wrote in the voice of women, for women—and funded spaces for literacy in the alleys near Charminar. In Banaras, they remember courtesans who sponsored musicians' pensions and temple musicians' meals—Hindu, Muslim, all. But most of these names are not even in footnotes of history. And there are no museums to preserve their memory.

In Islamic tradition, “waqf” is a gesture of permanence—a property removed from private hands and dedicated, eternally, to public good. A permanent pact between wealth and welfare etched in time between the faithful and the divine. Across empires and centuries, it has served as a cornerstone of religious philanthropy, architectural patronage, and community care. The