Recently, I watched the speech delivered by our Leader of the Opposition, Rahul Gandhi, at the “Chhatron ki Goonj” programme in Pune. His speech attracted considerable attention, particularly his criticism of the Manusmriti and his call to challenge patriarchal structures, break restrictive traditions and enable women to develop an independent identity.
One may like or dislike Rahul Gandhi or his politics, but his speech raised some fundamental questions for all of us, particularly for men. Why, after almost eighty years of independence, have women still not been able to enjoy violence-free lives within their families and communities? Why do many women continue to struggle for safe, respectable and dignified spaces in public life? Why does women’s representation in political organizations and Constitutional institutions remain comparatively low?
These questions are not simply about statistics. We can find data on violence against women, political representation, employment and education almost instantly through the internet. The more difficult question is: why do these conditions continue despite Constitutional guarantees, education, laws and decades of public discussion about women’s equality?
I want to approach this question from a slightly different direction. As men, why do we sometimes feel uncomfortable when discussions revolve around women’s freedom, autonomy and equality? Why does a woman’s freedom sometimes produce anxiety, suspicion or even anger among men? And why does this happen even among men who consciously believe that women are equal citizens?
This contradiction is more important than it first appears. We read the Constitution and learn about equality. We admire women’s achievements in education, science, politics, sports and public life. We speak about women’s equal citizenship and support their participation in Constitutional and political institutions. Many of us consider ourselves progressive because we accept women’s right to make choices and express their opinions.
Yet our everyday behaviour can tell a different story. A man may support women’s education but become uncomfortable when a woman in his own family wants to study far from home. He may support women’s employment but expect her to prioritize household responsibilities. He may believe in women’s independence but become suspicious when a woman makes decisions about her relationships, mobility or personal life without seeking male approval. This contradiction suggests that our attitudes towards women are not formed only through conscious political beliefs. Our family environment, social experiences, cultural expectations and psychological conditioning also shape them.
The family is the first school of equality
The family is the first place where we learn what equality and inequality actually mean. We often assume that sending a child to school automatically makes them educated and progressive. But children learn much more from observing their parents than from reading textbooks. They observe who makes decisions at home, whose opinion is taken seriously, who is allowed to travel, who is expected to sacrifice, and whose ambitions are considered important.
I have seen this difference in my own surroundings since childhood. In my village and neighbouring villages, boys are often encouraged to pursue higher education and professional careers away from home. Families may readily support a son who wants to study medicine, engineering or another professional course in a distant city. The same freedom is not always extended to daughters.
Girls are often asked different questions: Is the place safe? Who will take care of you? What will people say? What about marriage? Who will look after the family? Sometimes these restrictions are presented as care and protection. Parents may genuinely believe that they are protecting their daughters from danger. But protection can also become a form of control when women are denied the opportunity to make decisions for themselves.
This is where our understanding of gender begins to develop. A boy learns that moving to new place, ambition, and risk-taking are natural aspects of his life, while a girl learns that her choices must always be measured against family expectations. The child may never be explicitly taught that men are superior to women. Yet the hierarchy is still learnt through everyday experience.
What do men actually fear?
This brings us to the psychological dimension of the question. Men are not always consciously afraid of women’s freedom. Instead, some men become uncomfortable when women’s freedom challenges the roles through which they have understood themselves. In many families, men are expected to be the primary decision-makers, protectors and providers. Women are often expected to maintain the household, care for family members and protect the family’s reputation.
When these roles are challenged, some men may experience women’s independence as a loss of authority. This does not necessarily mean that every man consciously wants to dominate women. It means that many of us have grown up with certain assumptions about what a man should be and what a woman should be. When those assumptions are challenged, we may experience uncertainty, insecurity or anxiety.
The important question, therefore, is not simply whether men intellectually support equality. It is whether we can accept women’s autonomy without interpreting it as a rejection of our authority, our masculinity or our place within the family.
The burden of family honour
This becomes particularly visible in the Indian context. Women are often expected to carry the responsibility of protecting family and cultural honour. A daughter’s choices about clothing, friendship, relationships, marriage, sexuality, or career can become a concern for the entire family. Men rarely carry the same burden. A young man’s relationship may be described as a personal mistake or youthful behaviour. A young woman’s relationship can sometimes be treated as a matter of family reputation.
This unequal expectation places women in a difficult position. They are asked to sacrifice their ambitions, choices and sometimes even their happiness for the sake of family honour. Over time, men may unconsciously learn that women’s behaviour must be regulated because women are seen as representatives of the family’s dignity. This is not merely an individual psychological problem. It is embedded in social expectations that are reproduced from one generation to another.
What do we teach our children about sexuality?
Another important part of this problem is our silence around sexuality. When children reach puberty, many Indian families become anxious about relationships between boys and girls. Instead of creating spaces where young people can learn about emotions, consent, intimacy and responsibility, we often respond with silence, separation and restriction.
Boys and girls grow up with a limited understanding of one another’s emotional and sexual lives. What happens when natural emotions are treated as something shameful? Young people may begin to understand sexuality through secrecy, peer conversations, popular culture or pornography rather than through healthy conversations about mutual respect and consent. This can create confusion about desire, rejection, intimacy and responsibility. Men may develop assumptions about women that have little connection with women’s actual experiences. If we want a society based on mutual respect between men and women, we cannot continue treating sexuality as something that should be suppressed or ignored.
Tradition and our understanding of women
The relationship between religion, tradition and women’s status is complicated. Different religious traditions contain different interpretations, and people often disagree about whether particular traditions promote equality or hierarchy. Rather than settling that enormous debate here, let’s ask a simpler question: what have we actually learnt from the traditions around us about women?
In many communities, women are expected to preserve family traditions, maintain relationships, care for elders, and protect the family’s reputation. Their sacrifices are often celebrated as virtues. There is nothing wrong with care, responsibility or commitment to family. The problem arises when these values are expected primarily of women and used to justify limiting their choices. A woman may be praised for sacrificing her dreams for her family, while a man who makes the same sacrifice may be regarded as exceptional. Such expectations create a moral inequality that can remain invisible precisely because it is presented as love, duty and tradition.
Can Constitutional equality enter the family?
This may be where our discussion needs to move beyond the simple explanation of patriarchy. It certainly provides an important framework for understanding the historical and structural subordination of women. But if we use it as the only explanation, we may miss the everyday processes through which gender inequality is reproduced.
Constitutional equality is a political principle. But equality must also become a lived social practice. We can write equality into the Constitution, create laws against discrimination and establish institutional mechanisms to protect women. Yet if a girl continues to grow up believing that her brother has greater freedom because he is a boy, Constitutional equality remains incomplete.
Democracy, therefore, cannot remain confined to Parliament, courts and elections. It must also enter our families. We need to ask whether decisions within our homes are made democratically. Do women have an equal voice? Can daughters disagree with their parents without being treated as disrespectful? Can wives make decisions independently? Can sons and daughters enjoy comparable freedoms? These are political questions, even though they occur inside private spaces.
Are men ready for women’s freedom?
Ultimately, the question I began with may have a surprisingly simple answer. Men are not necessarily afraid of women’s freedom itself. Sometimes we are afraid of what women’s freedom asks us to reconsider about ourselves. It asks us to reconsider authority, masculinity, family roles, sexuality, honour and even our understanding of love. It asks a man to accept that protecting a woman does not mean controlling her; caring for her does not mean deciding for her; and loving her does not mean possessing her.
Most importantly, it asks us to recognize women not merely as mothers, daughters, wives or bearers of family honour, but as individuals with their own ambitions, choices, desires, disagreements and visions of life. Perhaps the real challenge is therefore not whether Indian women are ready for freedom. Women have been demanding freedom for generations. The deeper question is whether we, as men, are ready to accept women as equals without feeling that their freedom diminishes us.
A society in which men and women can express their emotions, opinions, ambitions and disagreements without fear would not only be better for women. It would also allow men to escape the narrow expectations imposed on masculinity. Women’s freedom, therefore, should not be understood as a threat to men. It is an invitation to build a society in which neither women nor men have to live according to identities imposed upon them by fear, hierarchy and social expectation.
Dedicated to my Dadi Maa and Maa.
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