Indian Mothers Are the Real Villains in Most Marriages
Riya Kumari | Jun 10, 2025, 18:02 IST
( Image credit : Freepik, Timeslife )
Okay, so here’s the thing. If you're a married Indian woman and you’ve ever wondered whether you accidentally signed up for a joint account with your husband and his mom’s feelings—congrats, you’re not alone. You’re probably just married to someone whose emotional umbilical cord was never quite cut. And his mom? She’s still out there with scissors in one hand and passive-aggressive recipes in the other.
We often talk about Indian marriages like they’re between two people. A man and a woman. But walk into most Indian homes, and you’ll quickly realize—it’s rarely just the two. There's always a third person sitting quietly between them, shaping their decisions, policing their love, dictating their silences. It’s the mother. Not the evil mother-in-law of Ekta Kapoor fame. Not the cartoonish villain. The real one—the loving, sacrificing, culturally decorated mother who’s been fed for decades that her son is hers, entirely, forever. And the moment he chooses someone else, marries someone else, or emotionally leans on someone else—it feels like theft. She doesn’t know how to let go. Because nobody ever taught her that she was supposed to.
Indian boys don’t just inherit property from their parents. They inherit emotional contracts—unsaid, binding, and heavy. These contracts say:
“You are responsible for your mother’s happiness.”
“Your wife must never come before your mother.”
“You will be a good son, even if it means being a half-present husband.”
So when a man marries, he isn’t starting a new life. He’s being stretched between two—one where he feels duty-bound to never disappoint his mother, and another where he’s expected to grow into an emotionally available partner. Most fail. Because the system is designed that way.
Here’s a truth that stings: most Indian mothers weren’t taught to raise independent men. They were taught to raise sons who would never leave them—physically, emotionally, or otherwise. So they fed them, praised them, coddled them, and tied their own worth to how loved they were by their sons.
They never imagined another woman entering his heart. And when she does, it feels like betrayal—not growth. That’s why she resents the wife silently. Not because she’s bad. But because she’s new. She’s the part of the son that the mother will never fully know. And that unfamiliarity threatens the identity the mother has built for years.
Ask any married Indian woman who’s felt emotionally isolated, and she’ll tell you: the fight isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s made of tiny decisions—whose call he picks first, whose opinion he respects more, who he defends in a disagreement. And often, the man says, “Don’t make me choose.”
But here’s the thing: he already has. Every time he stays silent when his mother insults his wife, every time he expects “adjustment” without accountability, he’s choosing. He’s just too conditioned to see it. Men are taught to see conflict between their mother and wife as “women’s drama.” But it’s not drama. It’s damage. And by sitting it out, they allow it to deepen.
The mother wants to remain the emotional center. The wife is asking to be seen, not as a threat, but as a partner. The man stands in the middle, trying to balance loyalty with intimacy—and failing at both. What if we taught boys that love can grow without dividing? That choosing a partner doesn’t mean replacing a parent?
What if we taught mothers that letting go of their son emotionally is not abandonment—it’s evolution? Because no matter how many rituals you perform or vows you take, a marriage will never feel like a home if the husband belongs somewhere else more than he belongs here.
This isn’t about blaming mothers. It’s about unlearning patterns that were never questioned. Indian mothers are not villains because they’re cruel. They’re villains because no one told them they weren’t the hero of their son’s life forever. And until we start teaching emotional boundaries with the same passion we teach respect, love in Indian marriages will keep being interrupted—by the woman who loved him first, and never learned how to let go.
The solution isn’t to ask mothers to step back cruelly. It’s to ask society to finally give them an identity outside their sons. And to raise boys who don’t see loyalty to their mothers and love for their wives as two competing ideas. Only then will Indian marriages stop feeling like emotional battlegrounds, and start feeling like partnerships—real ones. Because a man who still needs his mother’s permission to love his wife… isn’t really married. He’s just relocated.
1. The Emotional Inheritance No One Talked About
“You are responsible for your mother’s happiness.”
“Your wife must never come before your mother.”
“You will be a good son, even if it means being a half-present husband.”
So when a man marries, he isn’t starting a new life. He’s being stretched between two—one where he feels duty-bound to never disappoint his mother, and another where he’s expected to grow into an emotionally available partner. Most fail. Because the system is designed that way.
2. Indian Mothers Raised Sons to Be Good Sons—Not Good Men
They never imagined another woman entering his heart. And when she does, it feels like betrayal—not growth. That’s why she resents the wife silently. Not because she’s bad. But because she’s new. She’s the part of the son that the mother will never fully know. And that unfamiliarity threatens the identity the mother has built for years.
3. Why the Conflict Is Always Between Two Women—and the Man Gets to Sit It Out
But here’s the thing: he already has. Every time he stays silent when his mother insults his wife, every time he expects “adjustment” without accountability, he’s choosing. He’s just too conditioned to see it. Men are taught to see conflict between their mother and wife as “women’s drama.” But it’s not drama. It’s damage. And by sitting it out, they allow it to deepen.
4. Love Shouldn’t Be a Tug-of-War. But in Indian Homes, It Often Is.
What if we taught mothers that letting go of their son emotionally is not abandonment—it’s evolution? Because no matter how many rituals you perform or vows you take, a marriage will never feel like a home if the husband belongs somewhere else more than he belongs here.
Conclusion:
The solution isn’t to ask mothers to step back cruelly. It’s to ask society to finally give them an identity outside their sons. And to raise boys who don’t see loyalty to their mothers and love for their wives as two competing ideas. Only then will Indian marriages stop feeling like emotional battlegrounds, and start feeling like partnerships—real ones. Because a man who still needs his mother’s permission to love his wife… isn’t really married. He’s just relocated.