What If Society Controlled Indian Men Like It Controls Women?

Let’s Play a Thought Experiment. Imagine if boys in India were raised the way girls are. Not in some alternate fantasy dystopia. But right here, same streets, same schools, same traditions—just flipped expectations. Sounds ridiculous? Exactly. Let’s walk through it.

You wear shorts. A vest. Maybe your shirt rides up a little when you stretch. And suddenly, it means you wanted something. Apparently, you were “asking for it.” Your outfit did the talking, and now you have to “handle the consequences.” And if something goes wrong? It’s not the other person’s fault. You should’ve covered up. Welcome to the world women live in, every single day.

You have sex once—and congratulations, you've just soiled your entire family line. Not hers, of course. Yours. Your father walks with his head bowed. Your mother doesn’t meet her friends' eyes. Because you “lost” something that was never supposed to be yours. Your worth is now officially reduced to your chastity.

You’re too thin? Problem. Too bulky? Problem. You wear makeup? That’s desperate. You don’t? Wow, no effort. You’re told: "Don’t be too flashy, but don’t be lazy." "Care about your appearance, but not too much." "Be attractive, but never know it." It’s not fashion advice—it’s psychological warfare.

You get a job. Great. Now go home and make dinner. Handle laundry. Clean the bathroom. Raise the kids. And no, you don’t get praise for it—that’s “just being a husband.” But imagine if you dared to ask your wife to help. “Ugh, he’s so entitled. Can’t even manage his home.” This is what “balancing both worlds” looks like when only one person is expected to carry the weight of two.

You fall in love. You marry. And now—you leave your home. Your name. Your identity. You adjust to her family. Her food. Her rules. You nod politely when they insult your cooking, your salary, your masculinity. All while everyone claps for how lucky you are to be accepted.

It’s broad daylight. You’re walking alone. Someone follows you. You cross the street. They still follow. You speed up. Your heartbeat does too. Now imagine this is so normal, you don’t even bother telling anyone anymore. Because if you do, they’ll say: “Why were you out alone in the first place?”

You walk into a bus, a market, a cinema, a street. You don’t just walk—you scan. You watch. You tense. You brace. Because it’s not a question of if someone will brush against you, graze your chest, or press too close. It’s when. And if you react? “Don’t make a scene.” “Maybe it was an accident.” “Boys shouldn’t be this sensitive.”

“Nice legs, baby!”
“Wanna ride?”
A slow, lingering whistle. A smirk. You're not flattered. You're humiliated. But the world says: “Relax, take it as a compliment.” Because in this world, your discomfort is someone else’s entertainment.

You’re hot. That’s it. Not smart. Not kind. Not deep. Just hot. No one cares about your dreams, your fears, your quiet 2 a.m. thoughts. They want your body. Not your story. And if you ask for love? “Too needy.” “Too intense.” “Too much.”

You give up a job offer because your wife doesn’t want to move. You skip promotions, change cities, let go of your hobbies, your friends. All for marriage. And if you ever express resentment? “Why did you agree then?” “Real men don’t complain.” Real men disappear into the lives of others and call it maturity.

This isn’t just role-reversal for entertainment. It’s an invitation to empathy. Because if this made you uncomfortable—even imagining it—ask yourself: Why is it okay when women live it? None of these points are fiction. They’re lived realities. Normalized. Trivialized. Repackaged as culture, love, or “how things are.”

Control wrapped in tradition is still control. Misogyny dressed as morality is still misogyny. And just because someone has learned to endure pain quietly doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. If Indian men lived even one of these truths, they’d call it oppression. And they’d be right. But when women live them, we call it adjustment. Maybe it’s time we start calling it what it really is. And then? Maybe we actually start doing something about it.