The Grace of Men

There is a burning question in the hearts of many young women I know. Most of these women are of my age, approaching their 30s. Some are older, some are younger. Not too long ago, the same question nearly scorched a hole in my heart too.  

The question being, “Why can’t my father let me provide for him?”

Many times, I've seen my friends wrestle with this question, each in their own way, shaped by the cards life dealt them. Some have lost their mothers, leaving fathers to navigate a lonely old age. Others, though both parents still live, fight against financial problems. There are those without brothers, no one to share the burden of caring for ageing parents. Some are only daughters, without siblings to take turns with, while others are the eldest daughters of their families.

They see it as a raw deal, the way their father won't think twice about taking money from his sons but hesitates when it comes to his daughters. To the daughters, this seems unfair. They can’t help but wonder—was it because their father didn’t see them as capable, as able to stand on their own and provide? Or maybe it’s worse than that. Maybe it’s tied up in that old saying, "beti paraya dhan hoti hai"—a daughter is someone else’s wealth. It’s a phrase soaked in the old ways, in the idea that a daughter is just passing through, never really meant to stay, raised with the quiet understanding that one day she’ll belong to another home, another name.

Many women, by some instinct, are drawn to view things in this way. But only recently have I come to grasp that the truth lies elsewhere. It isn't for the reasons we've been taught to believe. Fathers shy away from leaning on their daughters, not out of pride or stubbornness, but because deep down, it stirs a quiet fear within them—a fear that they’ve somehow fallen short as providers.

It was hard to arrive at this truth. Men and women do not always feel guilty for the same things, and what one finds glaringly evident may slip past the other’s comprehension. Take for instance a woman’s plight: if she’s bedridden and can’t manage to prepare a meal for her family, she might be consumed by a gnawing guilt, ordering out instead of serving a home-cooked dish. To a man, this might seem like an overblown concern. Conversely, should the bills go unpaid for a month, she might merely pass the responsibility to her husband without a second thought. It’s almost humorous to her if he were to dwell on not being able to provide a trinket she’d like. Yet, in times of financial strain, men often find themselves beset by a deeper, more troubling anxiety, not merely over where the money’ll come from, but what this shortage signifies about their worth as providers.

Once articulated, the truth set me free. It made me feel so much gratitude and empathy for the men who’ve borne this burden, without complaining and with so much grace. We often hear about the quiet fortitude of women—mothers who make silent sacrifices for their children. Yet, there is a grace in men as well, one that is no less noble.

In modern thought, feminism paints a picture of men as the sole architects of freedom—men who go where they please, dress as they wish, and command the flow of currency with a casual ease. The image conjured is one of untrammelled liberty, yet behind this veneer of ease lies a vast sea of responsibility. Feminists advocate for women to earn, but primarily for personal empowerment and self-assurance, rather than to take on the responsibility of providing for others. In fact, most feminist discussions are about rights, never responsibilities. They teach women to view every move a man makes as a manoeuvre to encroach upon their domain, painting his every action as part of a grand crusade against their progress. However, one must not forget that much of what men endeavour to achieve is in the interests of women. 

Still, many women do want to provide for their families, and there is much meaning to be gained from the fulfilment of this responsibility. But the weight of this responsibility is huge, as is the contribution of men to family and society. A man may toil his entire life, adorn his wife with jewels, educate his children, see them married off, and indulge his grandchildren, only to find himself scraping by when his own turn finally comes in his seventies. Even then, he hesitates to depend on his children, especially his daughters. If he’s lucky, his son will step into his own shoes, and his daughter will be crafty in sneaking in help however she can, careful not to ask him to forsake the very principles that define him. If he is unlucky, he might find his ungrateful, ‘empowered,’ and otherwise successful children treating him as a burden and a failure, only to find themselves in a similar position someday. Then again, rotten eggs turn up in the best of families.

Image source: Cimon and Pero by Peter Paul Rubens