I am a colosseum of women who have molded me into the man I am, or at least the man I try to be. There is nothing more sorrowful and fantastic about me than this — I lived the life of a princess of a war-torn kingdom, but in reverse.
How the princess often has to act like a prince to adjust to a patriarchal society, to be looked at as equal — I had to do the opposite. I was treated like a woman, a princess, through my childhood, my adolescence, and even today to an extent.
I was the second child, born 8-10 years after my sister. A late, prayed-for child. My parents visited shrines, temples, took oaths to have me — the “child of blessing,” a male heir. And then I was born sickly. Pneumonia just after birth. My mom had to undergo hysterectomy, stop eating oily food, follow a strict diet, never leave me alone. I was not even able to crawl till I was 2. I was too weak to walk, talk, or even make proper noise. My dad was in the Middle East, hadn’t even seen me. When he came back and saw this silent, sick, near-lifeless child, he took it upon himself to teach me to crawl, to walk.
And so I was raised inside the house, wrapped in protection and prayers, pampered and brated off with love that rotted me in ways I still feel. My sister, on the other hand, had freedom — night stays, picnics, outings with friends and their families, even hikes with boys and girls in mixed groups. This was a tier-2/3 city in the 2010s — very surprising freedom. Meanwhile, I was never allowed to go out with friends, never allowed to eat at anyone’s place. My freedom was “you can play cricket near the house but be back before 6 PM.” That was law. Break it — you get beaten.
Class 5 — I came home late, got beaten. Class 7 — same thing. Class 11 — came home at 6:30, beaten again. My sister once came home at 8 PM — nothing happened. So when people say men are privileged, women aren’t — I look at my life and think, what privilege? My sister had more freedom than I ever did.
And here’s the crazy part — my freedom came only when she gave hers up. When she started saying, “I don’t want to go out, you go.” That’s when I was allowed to go anywhere. My independence was not mine — it was borrowed from her disinterest. I became a male handyman for her errands.
There were moments that made me wonder if my parents even thought of me as a boy. I used to think, maybe they think I’m a girl, I should tell them I’m a boy. My childhood was dolls, my sister’s lipstick on my lips and on the doll’s face, getting beaten for ruining both the lipstick and the doll — and beaten again by my dad for “doing what girls do.” That was the first step to being allowed outside.
Slowly, autonomy came in tiny doses — first, going to school without my mom escorting me, then being allowed to play outside (still under strict hours). But the major freedom came when my sister refused to do chores and sent me out instead.
I understand now why women say they feel oppressed. I’ve felt that oppression. I’ve lived it. Till today, I still need permission from my mom to go anywhere. If I go somewhere without permission and they find out, the next day the restrictions are even tighter. Yes, it sounds normal — everyone asks permission — but with me, it’s not just courtesy, it’s survival.
I think most women are parented with fear. Society is unsafe, so parents go overboard. A female freind of mine whose father is toxically overprotective — if she comes home late, he beats her. I get where he’s coming from — Delhi can be dangerous — but beating her? That’s just crazy.
And then I know another freind, who lives in Bengaluru, whose father doesn’t work, takes all of her mom’s earnings, cheats on her mom. He’s just a straight-up toxic man. So yeah, I’ve seen both kinds of fathers — the ones who are overly protective because they know how bad society can be, and the ones who are the reason society is bad.
I don’t hate my parents for this. I understand it now. I was a weak child. I was a high gamble. Letting me out could have gone wrong. Their parenting probably kept me alive. But that same overprotectiveness made me socially awkward, bad at decision-making, clumsy as hell. From the choice of my underwear to the choice of my friends — everything was decided by my mom or my sister.
When I was 16 and a half, they finally let me leave my hometown for college, to live alone. That was a big step. At 20, I finally went on my first trek with my brother — and that freedom tasted good.
Parenting is not just social, not just what some Instagram feminist shouts about patriarchy. It’s personal. Deeply personal. My whole life is proof. I was not raised like a man, not raised with “male privilege.” I was raised like a princess — protected, over-controlled, precious, and fragile. And it made me who I am.