I remember clearly the day several years ago when I was walking on Bangalore’s Brigade Road on a Saturday morning. Two boys rode past on a bike and called out “Hi, Axxxx’s mum”. I recognised them as seniors in my son’s acting class; they probably didn’t know or remember my name. I was amused and taken aback. It reminded me of scenes from Hindi films set in villages where the woman is referred to as “Raju/Lajjo ki maa”. It was also the first time outside of his school that my identity centred on being his parent. This incident came to mind when I recently bumped into someone I hadn’t seen in years.
She had ventured into the entertainment industry, causing quite a stir in her hometown by leaving her husband and kids to chase her dreams. After we snapped a customary selfie, she paused and asked if I was going to post it on Instagram. I said I wouldn’t if she didn’t want me to. She replied, “Post it, but please don’t mention or tag my children.” She was a bit hesitant and apologetic while explaining that she had crafted a distinct identity in her career, separate from her family life. In her professional circle, she was known solely for her work, and she wanted to keep it that way. Her children were prominent in a different sphere, and she feared that old acquaintances like me might inadvertently merge her two worlds.
Far from feeling affronted, I hastened to reassure her that her family would stay untagged. And just as important, she didn’t need to justify why her identity mattered. I got what she meant. Women continue to be viewed through the lens of their familial roles for the most part, notwithstanding all our many achievements in diverse fields. Our identities are locked into being daughters, sisters, wives, and mothers. And let’s not forget that we bear the labels of ‘branded’ property with our surnames but that’s a complex story for another day.
Cue to the time when I was invited by a respected theatre personality to moderate a panel discussion. He introduced me to a panellist thus: “Do you remember so and so? This is his wife.” He might as well have thrown ice-cold water on me. It was all the more of a shock that a supposedly enlightened person was denying my personhood. I recovered quickly and shot back, “Is that the reason I am here? I am sorry for you that you are ignorant of what I have been doing.” My reply might have seemed brusque to the strangers around us, but if I didn’t speak up for myself, nobody would. I have been introduced similarly in the past and will undoubtedly continue to be. It all depends on context—if I were at a gathering of my husband’s family or colleagues or friends, it’s perfectly acceptable to introduce me as the wife. But never, ever in my professional or quasi-professional context.
Our identities are not solely defined by our relationships. These roles, while significant and cherished, do not encompass the entirety of a woman’s identity. We refuse to be deified as self-sacrificing mothers or accommodating wives. We can’t be pigeonholed as “good” mothers or “good” wives. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mother and am happy in the right context to be known as my son’s mother. I am equally chuffed to be known as my parents’ daughter or my husband’s wife. Being a mother, a daughter, and a wife has been joyous. But those roles are just parts of the composite that is me. Our multi-faceted and independent identities are enriched, not defined, by our familial roles.
Each human is a unique individual, shaped by their experiences, aspirations, and achievements. While this individuality often intersects with family roles, the essence of who we are transcends these roles. A woman is an individual first and has every right to prioritise personal growth alongside or even above her family responsibilities.
Pushing back against historical gender norms is not easy, even for a modern urban woman with full family support. The friend I mentioned earlier has a husband who’s completely in sync with her life plan. It’s other people who are quick to judge a wife who puts her career over her husband. The judgement is even harsher for a mother. The harshest critics, unfortunately, are often other women.
It takes fierceness to hold onto your purpose, to not let your worth be diminished whether you prioritise your career or passion. The toughest battle is often with oneself—to unlearn indoctrination and leap over traditional expectations. U.S. Vice President and the most likely presidential candidate for the country’s upcoming elections Kamala Harris’ mother, Dr Shyamala Gopalan, often told her daughters, “Don’t you let anyone tell you who you are. You tell them who you are.” Let this be our mantra, ladies.
Sandhya Mendonca is an author, biographer and publisher.