The Daughters You Raised. The Sons You Didn’t.
How I refuse to keep ‘peace’ in the family
My mother and mother-in-law are visiting us this summer. It just so happened that their visits overlapped for a few days. Most days have been joyous—watching them relish Bihar’s Malda mangoes at lunch and dinner while claiming to have control over their sugar, sharing duas with each other in a childishly competitive way, and enjoying their gossip-laden evening walks.
However, some days have been quite trying. Like, consider the following conversation they indulged in quite casually the other afternoon:
"Fatma ko bachcha hua jee, kitna time hua shadi ko? Does Fatma have a baby, yet? It’s been long since she married…
Lying on the couch, watching videos on her mobile, my mother-in-law asks me as my mother and I sit on the couch across from her.
"Hua nahin, nahin. Kiya nahin." She doesn't have a baby because she doesn't want one, yet.
I respond, looking into my phone—wondering if it ever occurred to her that having babies could be a choice.
"Aaj kal fashion hai," It’s become a trend now to not have babies early—my mother responds, also looking into her phone.
Taking a deep breath, I let my horns appear.
"Aap log ko pata hai na ki Fatma ki kitni demanding job hai? Waise bhi, kabhi ye kyun nahin poochtey aap ki uske shauhar Salman ko bachcha hua?" I hope you realize how demanding Fatma's job is. Besides, how come you ladies never ask if her husband, Salman, had a baby?
"Aaj kal k larke toh bahot help krtey hain, bhai. Hum logon k zamaney ki tarah thori!" Guys these days are so helpful, unlike our days! My mom stands her ground as my mother-in-law nods in agreement.
Another deep breath that hits the pit of my tummy this time, and my fangs come out. Gesturing to both the ladies, I’m stunned at my reaction: I’m sorry, but I never saw either of your sons ‘help’ around the house when I was working and having babies and managing the house.
The aircon struggles helplessly against the rising tension.
I started working straight out of university. Married at 25, I became a mother at 27—mostly because our mothers were eager to parade their children’s fertility. It didn’t help that my husband and I were both first-borns in our families.
Forty-five days after a C-section, I returned to work. My husband was very supportive of my career and has always been proud of me. But he couldn't cook to save his life, or contribute toward any chores. That's how boys in our families were raised.
"Larkey nahin krtey beta." Boys are just not capable of contributing towards house chores, said, not my mother-in-law but my mother back then.
A house-help was hired to save our marriage.
You would think two decades of marriage, two kids later, lavish holidays sponsored by your husband, expensive dinners, gifts, and therapy would make you forget what your body remembers even when your mind tries to move on.
"Aap ko pata hai na, 45 days ki maternity break milti hai yahan? Ghar aa kar bachcha dekhna, ghar chalana…Aap log k bete toh aap ke shauhar hi ki tarah reh gaye, magar aap ki betiyan? Aurat aur mard dono ban gayin.” You do know maternity leave here is just 45 days, right? Fatma will be back at work barely healed, juggling a newborn and a full-time job. I’m sure Salman would 'help' - but we all know the real weight falls on her. Your sons are still functioning like your husbands, but your daughters? They’re carrying the load of both a man and a woman’s in today’s world.
Defensive, my MIL says: "Baap ko dekh kar bete seekhtey hain, beta." My sons learned what they watched growing up. My mother nods in sync as both go on a rant about how miserable things were back then for them. Which they were. Which is what stuns me.
Refusing to play along, I prod—"Aap dono ne job nahin ki. Car nahin chalaya. Magar betiyon ko is layaq banaya na? Ye ehsaas nahin hua ki in betiyon se wahi larkey shadi karengein jinhe aap log upgrade krna bhool gaye?" You never held a job, never drove a car, yet you inspired your daughters to be independent - to work, to drive, to dream big. Did it not occur to you that these same daughters would end up marrying the kind of boys you forgot upgrading? Like, how was that supposed to work?
"Haan, ye ghalati hui hum se," Yes, I’m at fault here. My mother surprisingly concedes after a long pause—not sure if it was because she was acutely aware of my mother-in-law’s presence. Trying to ‘normalize’ the conversation and move on quickly, my mother calls it a casual discussion and that I shouldn't get emotional about it.
As if on cue, my mother-in-law tries to make light of the situation saying: "Achcha Fatma ko choro. Tum teesra kab kr rahi ho?!" Forget about Fatma. When are you having a third baby?
It took me my entire sanskar to not explode at this point. The women tiptoe around me for the next two days like I was a ticking timebomb.
Generations of our women have traded their voices to keep 'peace' in the family. What's worse is that, fearing retribution, we've continued to bend our girls into blind submission.
I inherit my fire from my mother. I see the pain beneath her bitterness. My mother-in-law is sharp and astute, someone who plays a strong role in her family and community. I sense her agony when she reminisces about her youth. My body revolts at their helplessness.
So it baffles me—how can two such formidable women remain so blind to the weight of their own conditioning? Why would they give us wings—beautifully and painstakingly sewn together with their dreams and desires—if they're so afraid to witness our flight? It hurts me to watch them perpetuate the very systems that diminished them. I wish they knew I'm not just angry at them—I'm angry for them too.
As a mother to a 12-year-old girl myself, I see our complacency and refuse to play along. It must end with us. This means I've become the party pooper in the family—I refuse to tear down other women because they're divorced, choose to marry late, or decide not to have children. I get rabid against the 'boys will be boys' mentality that shields them from accountability.
Being noisy has brought its perks—my husband and I have evolved over time, readjusting gendered expectations, with the understanding that our children are watching how the language of marriage needs to acknowledge hurt and injustice while making room for uncomfortable repair. Our kids—a girl and a boy—get to witness the healing and hopefully, will learn that a relationship that cannot survive straight talk may not be worth saving anyway.
Who benefits from the 'peace' our silence creates? Whose reputation are we safeguarding? If finding our truth and reclaiming our voices means destroying our reputation, I'm up for the swap.
Perhaps someday, my mother and mother-in-law will stop being anxious of watching our girls fly high in the sky and sing their hearts out, as our boys, unintimidated by another's stunning flight, will bask in each other's strengths without the need to clip each other's wings.
Not badi SS writing the crux of my last two therapy sessions.... Powerful, as always. Saying what needs to be said. <3
I love EVERYTHING about this piece. Most of all, the balance of craft. It is not a bitter essay that usually conversations of this kind can become, it is honest and reflects genuine empathy and effort towards reflection and changing what is not okay, one small step at a time. Sanobar every once in a while you spark a firecracker that lights up all our hearts as writers and as women, both. Kudos sister! Proud to know you and witness you!