When religion decides who gets shelter

“Aap MUSALMAN hain…society allow nahi karegi”.

One sentence. One identity. One instant rejection.

For many students who leave their homes in search of education and opportunities, the struggle is not merely academic or financial. Sometimes, the biggest challenge is simply finding a place where they are allowed to exist with dignity. For people like me, Articles 14, 15, 21 and 25 of the Constitution often feel like words confined to textbooks rather than protected rights

India proudly calls itself a secular country, but the real question is, “are its people truly secular in practice?” In a nation celebrated for its diversity of cultures, languages, faiths and beliefs, is it fair that someone can be denied a place to live simply because of the religion they follow? Is it fair that a person’s attire or religious identity becomes a barrier to finding shelter? And is it justified that someone is suddenly perceived as a “threat” to society merely because of the faith they practice or the clothes they choose to wear?

This is not the plot of a propaganda film or an exaggerated social media narrative. This is a lived reality. As a law student, experiencing such discrimination and feeling helpless in the face of it has been deeply disturbing. At times, it makes me question my own place in this profession. If today I am unable to protect my own dignity and rights, how will I one day stand beside others in their fight for justice?

One night in April 2025, a message suddenly popped up on my phone and my roommate’s phone: “Hi, as per the agreement, I am giving you 15 days’ notice to vacate the Paying Guest accommodation.” Confused and shocked, we repeatedly asked why only the two of us were being asked to leave despite following every rule of the PG. The only response we initially received was: “Sorry ma’am, society issue hai.” (It's a society issue).

But what “society issue” could possibly arise merely from two students living in a PG? After repeatedly asking for a clear answer, we were finally told the real reason: “Aap log MUSALMAN hain, aur aap mein se ek hijab pehenti hai, jisse society ko threat hai.” (You people are Muslims and one of you even wears a hijab, which is perceived as a threat to the society).

What made the experience even more painful was the realisation that this was not an isolated incident limited to just one PG. Left with no other option, we began house hunting once again, only to encounter similar responses at nearly 70% of the places we approached. Sometimes, the rejection was direct. Sometimes, it came disguised behind phrases like “Agreement apne non-Muslim friend k naam pr bana lo madam” (Make the agreement in your non-Muslim friend's name). But the meaning remained the same: our religious identity had already decided whether we were welcome or not.

The incident reflects a painful reality of how deeply prejudice has entered everyday life. Years of polarised social and political discourse have normalised suspicion against certain identities to such an extent that even necessities like housing are denied. India is one of the world’s largest democracies and a country built upon pluralism and coexistence, yet people are still forced to prove that their faith and appearance do not make them dangerous.

The Constitution of India promises equality before law, prohibits discrimination on religious grounds and guarantees freedom of religion. Yet, for many tenants, especially Muslims, these constitutional guarantees disappear the moment landlords or housing societies decide who “fits” into their idea of society.

In the landmark case of Olga Tellis v. Bombay Municipal Corporation, the Supreme Court recognised that the right to shelter forms an integral part of the right to life guaranteed under Article 21. The Constitution promises every citizen the dignity to live without discrimination. Yet, for many people, the reality of securing even a roof over their heads continues to depend upon their religion, identity and appearance rather than their rights as citizens.

This growing social prejudice is also reflected in data. A study conducted by Pew Research Center revealed the disturbing extent of religious exclusion in everyday life. According to the survey, nearly 45% of Hindus expressed unwillingness to accept followers of at least one religious community as neighbours, while 36% specifically stated that they would not prefer Muslim neighbours. The findings were similarly concerning among Jains, where 61% respondents said they would not want neighbours from at least one religious group and 54% specifically expressed reluctance towards Muslim neighbours.

Such attitudes are no longer confined to private opinions; they increasingly shape access to housing and shelter in urban India. One widely reported incident in 2024 involved Rao Nadeem, a Muslim property dealer and political worker from Muzaffarnagar, who purchased a house in a Hindu-majority locality but later sold the property following protests and objections raised by local groups. The incident became yet another example of how religious identity can determine whether a person is accepted into a neighbourhood, regardless of their profession, character, or constitutional rights.

Housing discrimination often operates silently. No written rule explicitly says Muslims cannot rent a house. Yet, countless students and working professionals face rejection through coded phrases like “society issue,” “vegetarian only,” or “family preference.” Because these exclusions are informal, they rarely reach courts, allowing prejudice to function without accountability.

Laws alone cannot eliminate prejudice unless society itself becomes more sensitive towards diversity, inclusio, and coexistence. Schools, universities, media platforms and community spaces must actively encourage conversations around constitutional values, mutual respect and religious harmony so that differences in faith or appearance are not viewed with suspicion.

At an institutional level, universities and educational institutions that welcome students from across the country must establish accessible grievance redressal mechanisms for those facing discrimination in accommodation. Students living away from their homes and families should not be left helpless, isolated, or forced to silently endure exclusion in unfamiliar cities.

There is also an urgent need for clearer legal protections against discrimination in housing based on religion, caste, gender, language, or attire. Housing societies and landlords should be held accountable for arbitrary exclusions carried out under vague terms such as “society issue” or “unsuitable profile.” The byelaws of housing societies must clearly specify that no individual can be denied shelter solely on the basis of their religious identity, clothing, cultural practices, or other personal characteristics protected under constitutional principles of equality and dignity.

Education is meant to empower individuals, broaden horizons, and create equal opportunities. Yet, for many students and working professionals, the first battle is not fought in classrooms or workplaces, but in proving that their religion, name, or appearance does not make them dangerous. The painful reality is that in a country which constitutionally guarantees equality and dignity, a person can still be denied something as basic as shelter because of the faith they practice or the clothes they choose to wear.

The Constitution of India does not ask its citizens to prove that they are “acceptable enough” to deserve rights. Equality under Articles 14, prohibitions of discrimination under Article 15, freedom to practice any religion under Article 25, and the right to live with dignity under Article 21 are not conditional upon religion, attire, or social approval. Yet, when housing societies and landlords decide who “fits” into society, these constitutional promises begin to lose meaning for countless individuals.

Perhaps the question is no longer whether India is constitutionally secular. The real question is whether its citizens are willing to practice secularism in everyday life - in classrooms, workplaces, neighbourhoods and even in the homes they rent out. A democracy cannot survive merely through ideals written on paper; it survives when people choose humanity over prejudice, coexistence over suspicion and dignity over discrimination. Until then, for many, equality will remain more of a constitutional promise than a lived reality.

Aiman Tabassum  is pursuing a 3-year LL.B. from GJ Advani College of Law, University of Mumbai.