Indian Sons Are Worshipped, Not Raised — And Women Are Paying for It

In many Indian households, when a boy is born, something subtle but powerful happens. The atmosphere shifts. There’s celebration, yes, but also elevation — not just of a new life, but of an idea. The boy is seen as a legacy bearer, the future man of the house, the torchbearer of the family name. In ways both visible and invisible, he becomes more than a child. He becomes a symbol.

And over time, a god.

This is not metaphor. It is everyday reality. You’ll see it in the way he’s fed first. In how he’s not scolded like his sister is. In how he’s told, “You’re special,” “You’ll carry our pride,” and sometimes, “You can do no wrong.” What begins as cultural affection slowly mutates into entitlement. What begins as protection turns into privilege. And before anyone notices, a dangerous myth takes root — that being born male means being owed the world. In many Indian homes, the birth of a son is more than joy — it’s cultural victory. He’s seen not just as a child but as a legacy bearer, a future patriarch, a pride. What’s less noticed is the invisible pedestal placed beneath his feet. From the very beginning, the boy is treated not just with affection, but reverence. And that reverence — when left unchecked — turns into entitlement.

Without knowing it, a new version of patriarchy begins every time a son is raised as someone the world should revolve around. The conditioning starts early. A boy who misbehaves is called playful; a girl who does the same is scolded. A boy who demands is “expressing himself”; a girl who speaks up is “too loud.” One child is raised to lead, the other to serve. The love given to sons is often devoid of the boundaries and moral expectations that create healthy adults.

In time, boys are taught they don’t have to contribute — just command. That comfort is their right. That apology is beneath them. These early signals build a belief system: “I don’t need to help at home.” “I deserve respect without earning it.” “My emotions come first.” Boys internalize this and carry it into adulthood — into classrooms, offices, relationships, and marriages.

The statistics reflect this entitlement:

• Indian women spend over 5 hours/day on unpaid housework.
• Indian men spend less than one.

This isn’t about laziness. It’s a social script passed down for generations — and we’re still letting it run unchallenged. When a boy raised like a god becomes a husband, the wife is expected to become a new devotee. In many households, she manages his meals, his family, his emotions — while he manages little more than his work. The imbalance isn’t just cultural; it’s strategic. She’s told she’s lucky to have him. But no one asks what he’s doing to deserve her.

This is why Indian marriages are often unequal from the start. One is given the crown. The other, the burden. Boys are taught that crying is weakness, vulnerability is shameful, and anger is power. So they grow up emotionally stunted — unable to process failure, rejection, or conflict in healthy ways. This makes them volatile partners, fragile leaders, and poor communicators.

What’s worse is how society reinforces it. The idea of the “strong silent male” has done more damage than we admit. Because when men aren’t allowed to feel, they often learn to dominate instead. This is one of the hardest truths. Many mothers — shaped by the same patriarchal system — unintentionally pass it down. They pour affection, food, and forgiveness into their sons. But they pour expectations, restrictions, and silence into their daughters.

Why? Because they believe sons stay, daughters leave. Sons provide support, daughters are liabilities. It’s not cruelty — it’s survival in a system where women often have no other fallback.

But if mothers don’t teach their sons to share, serve, and respect — who will? When a man is accused of violence or misconduct, the reaction is predictable:

• “He’s from a good family.”
• “She must be lying.”
• “Let’s not ruin his future.”

From media trials to courtroom leniency, Indian society bends over backwards to protect its men — especially the privileged ones. Whether it’s a drunk-driving rich boy or a man accused of abuse, the instinct is to shield the son — not support the victim.

Because gods aren’t questioned. They’re defended. The tragedy is that even men suffer under this system — but they don’t realize it until it’s too late. Raised to believe they’re superior, they are unequipped to deal with modern women, real relationships, or emotional complexity. Many feel lost, lonely, or angry — but can’t name the cause.

The pedestal that once gave them privilege now robs them of growth. That’s the cost of being treated like a god. You stop learning how to be human. The solution isn’t to love our sons less — but to love them better. To give them the tools that matter: empathy, responsibility, and respect. To teach them to clean, to listen, to cry without shame, to apologize without ego, and to love without control.

We need to stop telling boys they are kings.
And start telling them they are humans — capable of great good, if they are willing to grow.

Because India doesn’t need more sons on pedestals.
It needs more men who can stand beside women — not above them.