Family Studies

O X F O R D ST U D I E S I N C O N T E M P O R A R Y
I N D I A N S O C I ET Y

OXFORD STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY INDIAN SOCIETY (originally

titled OXFORD INDIA STUDIES IN CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY) is a series
of interdisciplinary compilations on issues and problems shaping lives in twenty-​
first-​century India. The Series aims to introduce to a wider audience the central
importance of interdisciplinarity in contemporary social sciences. It was initiated
at an opportune time, when the boundaries of social science disciplines were
being redefined, and theories and perspectives were being critically interrogated
globally. Using the frameworks developed by social science interdisciplinarity,
this Series captures, assesses, and situates social trends in contemporary India in
order to aid ways of doing global social science research. It affirms the necessity
of analysing issues and themes that have a direct bearing on our daily lives, and
in doing so, brings fresh perspectives into play, integrating knowledge from a
variety of unexplored sources in conventional social science practices in India.
It presents novel themes of investigation and builds a fresh approach towards the
longstanding debates on methodologies and methods within global scholarship.
With its emphasis on the debates on and about ‘society’ rather than ‘social
sciences’, this Series should find an audience not only among the students and
scholars of conventional social sciences, but also among the students, researchers,
and practitioners of fields such as law, media, environment, medicine, policy
studies, and business studies.

Sujata Patel is Retired Professor, University of Hyderabad.

Family Studies
Edited by
A N U J A A GR AWA L
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 Acknowledgements

I am deeply indebted to all the contributors of this volume for trusting

me and being patient through the inevitable ups and down of the journey
that produces such a volume. I began to work on this volume during the
pandemic induced lockdown and it was a difficult time for everyone.
This makes me doubly indebted to all my co-​travellers, including those
who had to get off along the way due to circumstances beyond their con-
trol. This volume is indeed an outcome of a collective effort in which each
of them have played a critical role.
I would also like to express my deep gratitude to all the discussants
who contributed to an online workshop to discuss this volume held in
November–​December 2022. The volume received a lot of intellectual
stimulation from the inputs provided by Indrani Chatterjee, V. Geetha,
Shalini Grover, Fritzi-​Marie Titzmann, and Patricia Uberoi and the
same has enormously enriched the final outcome. I would also like to
acknowledge the support that I received from Prem Chowdhry for re-
viewing some chapters at early stages of the preparation of the volume.
Additionally, the comments received from anonymous reviewers at
various stages of this volume were very helpful too.
I owe a very special thanks to Patricia Uberoi not only for her con-
tribution to the workshop and the preparation of this volume but also
for being my lifelong mentor and inspiration. I wish to place on record
my deepest gratitude for the selfless, tireless, and generous support that
I have received from her in many of my personal travails as well as intel-
lectual pathways.
This volume would have not become a reality without the support and
encouragement that I received from Sujata Patel, the series editor. Her
commitment to this undertaking, her unwavering faith in my ability to
execute it and her standing by me at every step of this journey, which in-
cidentally began when we serendipitously crossed each other’s paths on
an Air India plane, is key to the final outcome. I will always be indebted to
her for entrusting me with this opportunity as well as responsibility.
vi Acknowledgements
First Moutushi Mukherjee, and then Sohini Ghosh and Amrita
Brahmo, at the Oxford University Press were most professional in their
support for this work and also deserve a note of thanks.
The MPhil course ‘Rethinking Family in Contemporary Society’, that
I taught for several years at the Department of Sociology, University of
Delhi has shaped many of the ideas that find a place in this volume.
It would seem odd if I did not thank my family members for helping
me produce a volume on family studies. I therefore place on record my
gratitude to my husband whose partnership is critical to every endeavour
of mine; my daughter whose excitement with the prospect of this volume
is endearing; my father and sister for their pride in my achievements and
my sister-​in law for being always there to share the burdens of domes-
ticity. Sunima and Piya, my housekeeper and cook, do not know any-
thing about this volume but I think this is a good place to acknowledge
the enormous debt those in privileged locations like mine owe to those in
their position.
Finally, I would like to dedicate this book to my late mother, Radha
Rani Agarwal.
 Contents

List of Figures ix
List of Tables xi
Brief Biographies of Contributors xiii

Introduction 1
Anuja Agrawal

PA RT I . C R I T I C A L R E O R I EN TAT I O NS
1.  Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family’: The Politics of
Family-​Based Discourse 47
Penny Vera-​Sanso
2.  The Insides and Outsides of Families: Social Reproduction
in Neoliberal Times 73
Kumkum Sangari

PA RT I I . BE Y O N D T H E ‘ N O R M AT I V E’ FA M I LY
3.  ‘ To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married
Life’: Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Indian Law
and Practice 113
Sylvia Vatuk
4.  Making Families without Wives: Kinship in the
Men’s Rights Movement 137
Srimati Basu
5.  Marital Status Discrimination in India: Prospects and
Possibilities 159
Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
6.  Familial Crisis and Marriage: The ‘Navigational Capacity
for Aspiration’ 187
Rama Srinivasan
viii Contents
PA RT I I I . T RUST, BET R AYA L , A N D
SH I F T I N G R EL AT I O NS
7. L
 ocating Friendship in Family: A Study of Indian Elites 211
Parul Bhandari
8. 
Spilt Blood: Kinship and Friendship in a Regime
of Violence 231
Soibam Haripriya
9. 
Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents
in Australia 251
Supriya Singh

PA RT I V. N EW PR A C T I C E S: FA M I LI A L A N D
M ET H O D O L O GI C A L
10. 
Digital Mothering in Middle-​Class Families 275
Shriram Venkatraman
11. 
Displaying the ‘Family’ Online: Reflections on Syrian
Christian Visual Life 297
Nidhin Donald
12. 
‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 327
Suryanandini Narain

Index 351
 Figures

10.1 The mediating role of the mother Source: Graphic visualization

created by the author. 283
11.1 Modern nuclear family and the tharavadu Source: Author, 2022. 298
11.2 Impression of a family website homepage Source: Author, 2022. 304
11.3 The Kudumbayogam dais and the launch of the Family History.
(Translation of the Malayalam Text in the Image: 67th Annual
Meeting of Tharavadi Kudumbayogam) Source: Author, 2022. 307
11.4 Formal introduction of a family branch in a Kudumbayogam.
(Translation of the Malayalam Text in the Image: 67th Annual
Meeting of Tharavadi Kudumbayogam) Source: Author, 2022. 308
11.5 The Kudumbayogam Arch-​gate. (Translation of the Malayalam in the
Image: 67th Tharavadi Kudumbayogam. Felicitation (swikaranam)
of elected representatives of Tharavadi Family) Source: Author, 2022. 309
11.6 Kudumbayogam photo Source: Author, 2022. 312
11.7 Impression of studio photo of a newly-​wed couple Source: Author, 2022. 314
11.8 Impression of studio photo of an engineered couple Source: Author, 2022.314
11.9 Impressions of modern ancestors Source: Author, 2022. 317
11.10 Imaging a legendary ancestor Source: Author, 2022. 317
11.11 Impression of a middle-​aged couple posing with the installation
Source: Author, 2022. 319
12.1 ‘The Hindu Marriage Ceremony’ from Bourne and Shepherd,
‘The Wedding Album of Sri Tikka Paramjit Singh of Kapurthala
with Princess Brinda of Jubbal’, Platinum Print, 2 February 1911,
175 × 308 mm, ACP: 98.57.0001(8) Source: The Alkazi Collection of
Photography, New Delhi. 332
x Figures
12.2 ‘The Wedding Procession (The Bride and Bridegroom’s Carriage)’
from Bourne and Shepherd, ‘The Wedding Album of Sri Tikka
Paramjit Singh of Kapurthala with Princess Brinda of Jubbal’,
Platinum Print, 2 February 1911, 183 × 303 mm, ACP: 98.57.0001(11)
Source: The Alkazi Collection of Photography, New Delhi. 332
12.3 Wedding photograph of Vinodini and S. C. Srivastava; c. 1970s,
Lucknow Source: Author’s private collection. 334
12.4 Wedding photograph of Vinodini and S. C. Srivastava; c. 1970s,
Lucknow Source: Author’s private collection. 334
12.5 Wedding photograph of Mala and Sandeep Guleria; 2003,
New Delhi Source: Author’s private collection. 338
12.6 Wedding photograph of Mala and Sandeep Guleria; 2003,
New Delhi Source: Author’s private collection. 339
12.7 Rizwanur Rahman and Priyanka Todi at their civil wedding
Source: Published in The Times of India, 13 November 2008. 343
 Tables

1.1 Comparing definitions emphasizing self-​sufficiency and

interdependence 63
9.1 Migration of persons born in India to Australia, 1911–​2021 254
9.2 Household formation of parent-​migrants by gender (n =​29)
(twenty-​six families) 264
 Brief Biographies of Contributors

Anuja Agrawal is Professor and Head at the Department of Sociology, Delhi School
of Economics, University of Delhi where she has been teaching since 2005. She has
previously taught at the Lady Shri College for Women and was a Commonwealth
Scholar in 2000–​01. Apart from many research papers and articles, she is the author
of Chaste Wives and Prostitute Sisters: Patriarchy and Prostitution among the Bedias of
India (Routledge, 2008) and editor of Migrant Women and Work (Sage Publications,
2006). She has written on a wide range of issues in the fields of family, kinship, mar-
riage, and gender studies. Her research interests also include Denotified communi-
ties, sex work, and migration.

Srimati Basu is Professor of Gender and Women’s Studies and Anthropology at the
University of Kentucky. She has widely written on gender, marriage, law, property
rights, and many other issues. She is the author of the monographs The Trouble with
Marriage: Feminists Confront Law and Violence in India (University of California
Press, 2015) and She Comes to Take Her Rights: Indian Women, Property and Propriety
(SUNY Press, 1999), editor of Dowry and Inheritance (Women Unlimited, 2005), and
co-​editor (with Lucinda Ramberg) of Conjugality Unbound: Sexual Economy and the
Marital Form in India (Women Unlimited, 2014).

Parul Bhandari is Director of Studies for Human, Social, and Political Sciences
(HSPS), Associate Tutor, and Bye-​Fellow at St Edmund’s College, University of
Cambridge. Prior to this, she was Associate Professor of Sociology at the O P Jindal
Global University, and Post-​Doctoral Fellow at the Centre de Sciences Humaines
(Centre for Social Sciences and Humanities), New Delhi. She was also Book Reviews
Editor, Contributions to Indian Sociology. She completed her PhD from the University
of Cambridge and is the author/​editor of four books: Dissent with Love: Ambiguity,
Affect and Transformation in South Asia (ed.) (Routledge, 2024); Matchmaking in
Middle Class India: Beyond Arranged and Love Marriage (Springer, 2020); Money,
Culture, Class: Elite Women as Modern Subjects (Routledge, 2019); and Exploring
Indian Modernities: Ideas and Practices (co-​edited) (Springer, 2018).

Nidhin Donald is currently a Swiss Government Excellence Post-​Doctoral Researcher

and Lecturer at the Department of Social and Cultural Anthropology, University of
Lucerne. Previously, he was a Postdoctoral Fellow in Sociology at IIT Bombay. He
completed his MPhil and PhD from the Centre for the Study in Social Exclusion and
Inclusive Policy, Jawaharlal Nehru University, Delhi. His research interests revolve
xiv Brief Biographies of Contributors
around family, household, health, digital cultural productions, and South Asian
Christianity. Nidhin is also an illustrator and artist.

Arijeet Ghosh is currently Associate Professor at Jindal Global Law School (JGLS),
O.P. Jindal Global University, India. He is a graduate of the Gujarat National Law
University (GNLU) and University College London (UCL). Prior to joining JGLS,
Arijeet worked with the Law Commission of India, policy think tanks such as Vidhi
Centre for Legal Policy and NGOs like Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative.
Arijeet has persistently worked in the area of human rights (with a focus on prison
conditions, rights of prisoners, gender and sexuality) and teaches courses on
Constitutional Law, International Human Rights Law, and Carcerality and Abolition.

Soibam Haripriya is Assistant Professor at the Department of Social Sciences and

Humanities, Indraprastha Institute of Information Technology, Delhi, prior to
which she was a FulBright-​Nehru Postdoctoral Fellow at the University of Texas at
Austin; an FWO postdoctoral fellow at the Department of Conflict and Development
Studies, Ghent University, Belgium; and a Fellow at Indian Institute of Advanced
Studies (IIAS), Shimla. She has also taught at the Centre for Sociology and Social
Anthropology, Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), Guwahati, and as part of the
Gender Studies Programme, Ambedkar University. Her present research examines
the scope of using poetry in social anthropology, especially in the context of writing
ethnography in violent times.

Suryanandini Narain is Assistant Professor of Visual Studies at the School of Arts and
Aesthetics, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Her doctoral thesis addressed
the feminine figure in family photographs from Delhi. She has written on photog-
raphy in India, especially around themes of women, family, home, and studio photog-
raphy. She has recently co-​edited a book on family photographs in India for Zubaan
books (2024). At the School of Arts and Aesthetics, Jawaharlal Nehru University, she
teaches courses on Indian visual culture, photography, aesthetic theory, and critical
writing.

Kumkum Sangari is the William F. Vilas Research Professor of English and the
Humanities at the University of Wisconsin-​Milwaukee. She has been a Professorial
Fellow at the Centre for Contemporary Studies, New Delhi; a Visiting Fellow at Yale
University, Delhi University and Jadavpur University; and a Visiting Professor at
University of Chicago, Central European University, University of London (SOAS),
University of Erfurt, and Ambedkar University. She has published extensively on
British, American, and Indian literature, the gendering of South Asian medieval de-
votional traditions, nationalist figures, Bombay cinema, televisual memory, feminist
art practice, and several contemporary gender issues such as personal law, widow
immolation, domestic labour, the beauty industry, son selection, commercial sur-
rogacy, and gendered violence. She is the author of Solid Liquid: A (Trans)national
Reproductive Formation (2015) and Politics of the Possible: Essays on Gender, History,
Narratives, Colonial English (1999). She has co-​edited several books including
 Brief Biographies of Contributors xv
Recasting Women, From Myths to Markets and, most recently, has edited Arc Silt
Dive: The Works of Sheba Chhachhi (2016) and Trace Retrace: Paintings, Nilima
Sheikh (2013). Her writing has been translated into French, Hungarian, Turkish,
Hindi, and other Indian languages.

Diksha Sanyal is currently pursuing her MPhil/​PhD at the University College

London. Prior to this, she was Assistant Professor of Legal Practice at Jindal Global
Law School (JGLS), O.P. Jindal Global University, India. She is a graduate of West
Bengal National University of Juridical Sciences and completed her Master’s in law
from School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in London. Before her Masters,
she worked with several established think tanks such as Centre for Law and Policy
Research, Bangalore and Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy. Her area of interest includes
Feminist and Queer Theory.

Supriya Singh is a writer and a sociologist of money and migration. She is Adjunct
Professor with the Department of Social Inquiry at La Trobe University, Melbourne.
Her research has focused on money, family, gender, and migration connecting with
social issues around marriage and banking, migration, remittances and the trans-
national family, gender, and economic abuse. Her recent book Domestic Economic
Abuse: The Violence of Money (Routledge, 2021) examines how money used without
morality leads to domestic economic abuse among Anglo-​Celtic and Indian women
in Australia. She is also author of Money, Migration and Family: India to Australia
(Palgrave Macmillan, 2016) and Globalization and Money: A Global South Perspective
(Rowman & Littlefield, 2013). Marriage Money: The Social Shaping of Money in
Marriage & Banking (Allen & Unwin, 1997) draws on her PhD thesis at La Trobe
University, and was awarded the Jean Martin Prize for the best Sociology thesis in
Australia, 1993–​95.

Rama Srinivasan is an Anthropologist who was until recently Marie Sklodowska-​

Curie Postdoctoral Fellow Ca’ Foscari University of Venice working on the EC-​f unded
project: Spousal Reunification and Integration Laws in Europe. She completed her
PhD in Anthropology from Brown University in May 2017 and her book, Courting
Desire: Litigating for Love in North India, was published by the Rutgers University
Press in January 2020. She has contributed to several academic journals and main-
stream media platforms.

Sylvia Vatuk is currently Professor Emerita of Anthropology at the University of

Illinois-​Chicago. Her doctoral research in Meerut, UP, was published in 1972 by the
University of California Press as Kinship and Urbanization: White Collar Migrants
in North India. It was re-​issued by the Press in 2021. She has carried out fieldwork
in north and south India on marriage, family, and kinship organization among both
Hindus and Muslims, publishing her findings in academic journals and edited vol-
umes. More recently she has been examining legal-​anthropological questions related
to Muslim Personal Law, as it is administered in India’s family and criminal courts
and by Islamic clerical functionaries. A collection of previously published articles on
newgenprepdf

xvi Brief Biographies of Contributors

these topics appeared in late 2017: Marriage and Its Discontents: Women, Islam and
the Law in India (New Delhi: Women Unlimited).

Shriram Venkatraman is an Assistant Professor at the Department of Business and

Management and a Fellow at the Danish Institute for Advanced Study, University of
Southern Denmark, Odense, Denmark. He also holds Adjunct Professorship posi-
tions at IIIT-​Delhi and IIM, Kozhikode. Besides several peer-​reviewed journal art-
icles, he is also the author of a monograph titled Social Media in South India (UCL
Press) and has co-​authored a comparative book, How the World Changed Social
Media (also UCL Press). He is also a trained professional statistician and has held
leadership positions at Walmart, USA.

Penny Vera-​Sanso is Reader Emerita in Development Studies and Social

Anthropology, Birkbeck, University of London. She holds BA (Hons) and PhD de-
grees from the University of London. She has researched gender, household, and
intergenerational relations in India’s urban informal and rural, mostly Dalit, settle-
ments since 1989 and has widely published on these issues. Her 2013 documen-
tary The Forgotten Generation is available at https://​vimeo.com/​98760​213. She also
writes on ageist concepts underpinning United Nations policies and demography as
a discipline. She has published on masculinity and the later life of Lesotho’s former
migrant labourers, who worked in South Africa’s mines. Her current research is on
intergenerational relations over the life course in Sierre Leone. In 2019 she founded
the British Society of Gerontology’s Special Interest Group on Ageing in Africa, Asia,
and Latin America.
 Introduction
Anuja Agrawal

Family/​Families?

The intimate familial domain is a most ordinary, unremarkable, seem-

ingly even ‘natural’ aspect of our lives. Although each of us has our own
unique families, family is ubiquitous. As a primary location of birth of
human beings, their socialization, coming of age, and formation of exten-
sive kinship and marital ties, families remain central to individual and so-
cial existence. They mediate our entry into biological, personal, and social
life; shape our life chances and trajectories in critical ways; and provide
the contexts in which we form our most significant relationships. Some
of the family relationships, like those with parents and siblings, appear to
be given even if how we live them may be open for us to choose. Others,
like the ones with spouses and children, may be more actively crafted, but
yet again are subject to constraints. There is no one definition of family
that can be accepted for all purposes. At one extreme there are juridical
notions of family which are often quite narrow. At the other end there
are significant others with whom our lives are entangled in myriad ways
and who are ‘like family’ even if they do not fit into any juridical or even
socially normative understandings of family. The lived reality of most
families lies somewhere between these two extremes. It is therefore mis-
leading to think of ‘family’ in the singular, as the term encompasses com-
plex and varied aspects of our individual and social existence.
Family forms not only vary depending upon one’s social location
and capacity to craft relations of choice; who counts as one’s family it-
self undergoes changes over an individual’s life course. Though founda-
tional to normatively defined family relations, neither are the content and
meaning of ties of descent, marriage, and siblinghood fixed, nor is the

Anuja Agrawal, Introduction In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press.
© Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0001
2 Anuja Agrawal
manner of their imbrication in larger social structures invariable across
times. While families continue to prevail in their multiple manifestations,
fears about the demise of family can be seen as a reflection of anxieties
about waning of family forms that are dominant and socially and pol-
itically idealized. Such fears are indeed another indication of the lack of
permanence of specific family constellations and the mutability of their
boundaries and meanings.
As the primary site of social reproduction, family, in its normative as
well as non-​normative forms, is a source of care, nurturance, and affec-
tion as well as considerable violence and inequity. Its centrality to social
reproduction as well as economic and political entitlements is also the
reason why family life and family formation are contested locations of
relations subject to multiple forms of constraints and control, material,
and non-​material. There are different stakes that shape the degrees of
valuation and legitimacy that varied family configurations enjoy. The
overriding significance that the normative family often comes to have in
society also derives from its being the most fundamental category of so-
cial belonging which mediates inclusion in (and exclusion from) a host
of larger social entities and identities, such as caste, class, religion, ethnic
groups, and even the nation. Family as an ideal is regenerated, reinvig-
orated, and regulated, not just in service of such groupings but also for
myriad other political and economic purposes. ‘Families’ are thus a site of
complex, dense ties and deep emotions, while ‘family’ is a part and parcel
of political projects, ideological currents, and imagined realities.1
How should we go about understanding such a significant aspect of
our lives? Indeed, what should ‘Family Studies’ look like as we enter the
second quarter of the twenty-​first century? What follows is a consider-
ation of these questions from the point of view of an Indian social sci-
entist located within Indian academia making a case for strengthening
Family Studies in India.2

Family Studies: Looking Backward(s)?

Despite its ubiquity, or perhaps because of it, denaturalizing and critic-

ally examining family was a relatively late concern that remained mar-
ginal to other loftier endeavours in social sciences. In the period between
 Introduction 3
mid-​nineteenth to early twentieth century, anthropology, Marxism and
Freudian psychoanalytic theory introduced a sense of history and con-
tingency into how intimate lives are structured, regulated, and repro-
duced. While anthropology took the first steps towards denaturalizing
particular family forms and kinship structures (Trautmann, 1987),
Marxism built upon these anthropological writings to argue for close
links between modes of production and reproduction (Engels, 1884), a
contention with significant and lasting implications. Freudian psycho-
analysis, on the other hand, emphasized the paramount significance of
intimate relations in shaping our individual and even social and political
selves.
The interest generated by the anthropological ‘discovery’ and ‘inven-
tion’ of kinship in mid nineteenth century (Trautmann, 1987) carried
over well into the middle of the twentieth century. Moving beyond the
earlier preoccupation with kinship terminologies, the discipline be-
came interested in how the principle of descent structured not just the
personal but even the political domain in non-​Western contexts (Fortes,
1969; Radcliffe-​Brown and Forde, 1950).3 An important redirection in
the field came with the centrality Levi-​Strauss’ work attributed to mar-
riage and alliance (Lévi-​Strauss, 1969). The latter emphasized the signifi-
cance of the social and the cultural in what were construed as domains
of the natural and the biological. First descent and then alliance there-
fore became the two structuring principles that provided a scaffolding
that has continued to frame studies of family, kinship, and marriage in
many non-​Western contexts including India (Dumont, 2006; Parkin and
Stone, 2004; Uberoi, 1993a). While these anthropological trends played
a major role in underscoring the varieties of kinship and marriage sys-
tems and the ways in which they are implicated in social, political, and
economic structures across many different geographical regions, the idea
that kinship and marriage are underpinned by biological birth and het-
erosexuality remained implicit in these approaches, to be challenged in
the second half of the twentieth century.
If we turn our attention to the discipline of sociology, we can say that
its engagement with the familial domain was somewhat muted, at least to
begin with, and we find the ‘founding fathers’ of sociology to have inter-
ested themselves with it only in a limited manner. Despite Engels’ sig-
nificant contribution and concern with social reproduction, the Marxist
4 Anuja Agrawal
tradition was not occupied with the domain of the domestic/​personal/​
familial in any significant way (Hensman, 2005). It is hard to come by a
Weberian understanding of family although traditional authority, patri-
archy, and patrimony, each of which are concerned with familial ties in
some way, were very important concerns in Weber’s writings (see Collins,
1986, Ch. 11). Durkheim, on the other hand, might be seen as having
more closely concerned himself with kinship and family. However, his
book, which was meant to be specifically about family, was never written
and later scholars have regarded his sociology of family as having re-
mained invisible (Lamanna, 2002). Having originated as a by-​product of
the emerging industrial society, mid-​twentieth sociology occupied itself
with the socializing functions of the family (see Parsons and Bales, 1954).
Murdock’s Social Structure (1949) was a cross-​cultural, multidisciplinary
engagement with family and kinship, which continues to find a place in
syllabi on family in Indian universities. In having assumed kinship and
family as characteristic of ‘traditional’ societies, sociology in the West was
centrally occupied with the question of how a fast-​changing world was
transforming the family (see Goode, 1963).4
It is only to be expected that the valence placed on family in the study
of Indian society has a distinctive stamp of not only how Western soci-
ology and anthropology have looked at family but also how societies such
as those found in the Indian subcontinent were perceived within these
social scientific discourses and how scholars responded to these per-
ceptions. Thus, much more so than in modern Western society, in the
Indian context, the emerging disciplines of sociology and social anthro-
pology focused upon the resilient structures of family, kinship, and mar-
riage, which were seen as defining features of pre-​industrial societies, a
view which was bolstered by the initial reliance upon Indological sources
to construe a picture of Indian society not only by Western but also
Indian scholars. Even as the discipline of sociology took root in India,
it remained primarily concerned with the traditional basis of Indian
(primarily Hindu) society of which family, kinship, and marriage were
treated as the defining features.
Ghurye, for instance, who was quite influential in setting the tone of
sociological research in India, saw family and kinship, alongside caste and
religion, as foundational to Indian society (Palriwala, 2020; Upadhya,
2008, 243). That the dominant concern remained with these ‘traditional’
 Introduction 5
though also considerably diverse aspects of Indian society is also quite
evident in the writings of Karve (1953) and Kapadia (1955), two among
the early Indian sociologists who focused on these themes. Scholars such
as Upadhya (2008) have argued that this led to an overemphasis on these
institutions and a concomitant downplaying of economic and political
institutions in the study of Indian society (2008, 244). But, as we will see,
the range of questions related to family that early sociology opened up
remained fairly narrow. Upadhya suggests that research papers on the
themes of family, kinship, and marriage were most numerous in the first
fifteen years of Sociological Bulletin, a journal started by Ghurye in 1952
(2008, 240). But the same cannot be said of later years of this flagship
journal.
Despite the early enthusiasm for these areas of research, Ganesh
(2008) observes that there are very few Departments of Sociology in
India, let alone those devoted to other social sciences, where family or
even kinship are subjects of full-​length papers (Ganesh, 2013). There are
also no specialized journals devoted to its study and there are certainly
no centres devoted to research about Indian family. While there are other
ways in which family has remained in scholarly focus, it is hard to deny
that there has been a lack of sustained engagement with family in Indian
sociology. It would also be seriously amiss not to add here that, with a few
notable exceptions, the study of family in India, right from its early days,
has had a marked upper-​caste Hindu bias with studies among other reli-
gious groups5 and among those treated as lower down in the social hier-
archy6 being minimal. The research with religious minorities, Dalits, and
other marginal communities continues to remain lacking in sustained
focus on family and this is a lacuna that future research must address.
At this point we need to draw attention to the kind of attention that
family, as distinguished from the broader concept of kinship, received
in the early phase of sociology. Much like their Western counterparts,
Indian sociologists were also to a great extent preoccupied with the ques-
tion of changing family forms, even though their questions were different
from those asked by the former. Thus, if the alleged demise of the family
and marriage were the preoccupations of mid-​twentieth-​century Western
sociology, the analogous question in Indian context concerned the much-​
lamented decline of the extended joint family/​household (Kaur, 2019).
Indeed, such a concern also arose from Western assumptions about the
6 Anuja Agrawal
prevalence of patriarchal family structures in non-​Western societies like
India. Given the absence of empirical evidence in support of the assump-
tions about widespread existence of a large, extended household, ex-
plaining such a ‘discrepancy’ became a major preoccupation for Western
scholar-​administrators such as Henry Maine and was resolved by pos-
iting a decline in the traditional ‘joint family’ in the direction of a modern
nuclear family, a view in sync with the modernization thesis. Some
scholars see this as the root of anxieties that persist to date in the form of
laments regarding the breakdown of ‘joint-​family’ in India (Shah, 1998).
Indian sociologists have questioned the premises of such a project de-
rived from Western concerns and subsequently South Asian historians
have also challenged the implications about pre-​history of family that
Western sociological theories entailed (Chatterjee, 2004; Mantena, 2010).
But a focus upon the structure and composition of the family remained
a major preoccupation of family sociologists. An early review of soci-
ology of the family, for instance, found that the studies in this area were
almost entirely focused upon the question of family composition (Dube,
1974). An analysis of several such studies, however, revealed marked
variations in family forms along caste and regional lines (Kolenda, 1987).
Byproducts of this debate were the recognition of the need to make a dis-
tinction between family and household, the latter representing only one
‘dimension’ of family (Shah, 1973) as well as appreciation of the signifi-
cance of the developmental cycle of domestic group (see Goody, 1973)
which draws our attention to the many stages that a household unit goes
through marked by entries and exits owing to birth, death, marriage, and
migration (see Patel, 2020). This process, incidentally, also explains the
necessary co-​existence of multiple family/​household forms at any given
time, regardless of the normative ideals. Though scholars have increas-
ingly been exasperated with a somewhat ‘sterile’ debate on decline of
joint family (see Raja, 2013; Uberoi, 2003), sociological critiques of such
ideas have yet to percolate into popular imagination. It is noteworthy that
such debates on Indian family are not confined to the academia and con-
tinue to have much popular and even political currency.
Another aspect of how Indian family has been studied pertains to the
closeness between sociology and social anthropology in Indian context.
These symbiotically related disciplines seem to have reserved far more
attention for caste, and to some extent for the more specialized field of
 Introduction 7
kinship, than for family. Therefore, apart from a number of early studies
focusing upon ‘caste and kinship’,7 the focus on principles of descent and
alliance provided the major framework for study of family in India, in
line with the broader trend in social anthropology mentioned earlier.8
A consequence of such an approach was that family remained ensconced
within the triad ‘family, kinship, and marriage’ and the desirability of
this has been repeatedly reiterated.9 Undoubtedly, these are indispens-
able contexts to understand the pressures to which family life is subject or
even the more extensive significance of family in Indian society. It could,
however, be argued that the anthropological moorings of kinship studies
and the place of pride it occupies therein tend to delimit the framework
in which family is predominantly located and consign family to a sec-
ondary, if not tertiary, position.10
No serious attempt has been made or perhaps can even be legitimately
made to evaluate the differential degrees and kinds of attention received
by family, kinship, and marriage as separate aspects of a single complex.
But it may not be far-​fetched to suggest that while marriage pertains to a
significant aspect of both—​kinship as well as family—​the latter two are
related as well as separable objects of study. This seems to be why a survey
of kinship studies in India, commissioned by Indian Council of Social
Science Research, devoted a separate chapter to ‘Sociology of the Family’
given that ‘a separate survey of literature on the sociology of family had
not been commissioned’ (Dube, 1974, v).
Uberoi gives us another insight into the reasons for the kind of atten-
tion family has received in Indian sociology when she makes a distinc-
tion between studies of kinship and family in her introduction to Family,
Kinship and Marriage (Uberoi, 1993b). She suggests that while kinship
is treated as a difficult, technical, and esoteric anthropological subject,
family is perceived as a soft and easy topic which easily fades off into
common sense (p. 2). This may account for why family did not really be-
come a ‘hot’ topic in Indian social sciences although in early years it at-
tracted a lot of attention. This kind of differential valuation of kinship
and family may also account for the absence of courses teaching kin-
ship in sociology departments in India other than those strongly com-
mitted to combine sociology and anthropology, as is the case with the
Department of Sociology at the University of Delhi. On the other hand,
courses on family, where in existence, remain devoted to narrow and
8 Anuja Agrawal
limited concerns. Indeed, the treatment of family as a soft and easy topic
of discussion is also something that scholars who study family have to
deal with in their encounters with those lacking any social scientific im-
agination or even their colleagues engaged with more ‘serious’ subject
matters: ‘is there anything to study about the family? Don’t we all know
what it is anyway?’ Uberoi, 1993b sees the general unease with dwelling
deeply into questions about family life as stemming from the difficulties
of touching a subject, which, far from being simple and insignificant,
is in fact, too significant and therefore very sensitive. She suggests: ‘it is
as though critical interrogation of the family might constitute an intru-
sion into that private domain where the nation’s most cherished cultural
values are nurtured and reproduced, as though the very fabric of society
would be undone if the family was in any way questioned or reshaped’
(Uberoi, 1993b, 2).
It can therefore be argued that in remaining preoccupied with the
question of breakdown of joint family, in being focused upon contexts
of descent and marriage as the primary scaffoldings of family, in having
an upper-​caste Hindu bias and in seeing family as a soft and common
sensical theme, a sustained focus on the study of family/​families across
the social spectrum in changing economic, political, and even techno-
logical contexts did not really take off, at least up until the fourth quarter
of twentieth-​century Indian sociology.

Family Studies: Forward Looking?

A number of developments in the last quarter of the twentieth century,

however, created conditions for a resurgence of interest in family in a
more contemporary context. One major shift in orientation of kinship
studies came with American anthropologist David Schneider’s work,
which laid bare Eurocentric assumptions at the heart of kinship studies
(see Schneider, 1984) and challenged the biologistic assumptions under-
pinning them. With this, studies of kinship and marriage in social an-
thropology took a ‘cultural turn’ and it even became difficult to speak of
kinship without carrying over the biological assumptions underlying the
concept. This led to efforts to seek after new terms in which what had
been previously defined as kinship could be recast, ‘relatedness’ being
 Introduction 9
a prominent contender (see Carsten, 2000). This found a reflection in
studies of kinship in India as well. As in the Western context, we observe
a post-​Schneiderian search for alternatives to the use of the term ‘kin-
ship’ evident in collections of writings such as the one edited by Östör,
Fruzzetti, and Barnett (1982) and others in the same vein (see Fruzzetti,
1982). Despite its significant value in enhancing the understanding of the
cultural and symbolic dimensions of the personal domain, it is arguable
that in the Indian context this turn further muted a focus upon family
and even kinship in mainstream social anthropology.11 If, so far, socio-
logical studies of family in India had been overpowered by a focus upon
kinship, now kinship studies had also lost their sheen, although as we will
see underneath, they did remain alive in new ways.
Meanwhile, in the Western context, the growing salience of Assisted
Reproductive Technologies, which significantly unsettled the assump-
tion about ‘nature’ underlying kinship, played a major role in redirecting
Western anthropologists to turn to a study of kinship in their own soci-
eties (see Franklin and Mackinnon, 2001; Strathern, 1992, for instance).
The increasing influence of the feminist movement and the queer critique
of family were on the other hand significant in giving a critical edge to en-
gagements with family (see Peletz, 1995; Thorne and Yalom, 1992). The
high rates of divorce and non-​marital cohabitation in Western societies
also set in motion complex patterns of parenting which, alongside newly
emergent family forms, sometimes described as ‘unclear family’, became
abiding sociological concerns (see Beck-​Gernsheim, 2002; Simpson,
1998; Stacey, 1998). Concomitantly, the question of changing character of
marriage and intimacy in the wake of the feminist and queer struggles, as
well as women’s increasing control over biological reproduction, also re-
ceived significant attention from sociologists (Giddens, 1992; Jamieson,
1999), as did the emergence of non-​normative gender and sexual rela-
tions (Stacey, 2012; Weston, 1991). The work of sociologist Janet Finch
has been quite pathbreaking in showing how changing family obligations
are structured and negotiated in modern societies (Finch, 1989; Finch
and Mason, 1993). The study of family, not as a structure but as a practice
(Morgan, 2011), as an aspect of ‘personal life’ (Smart, 2007), and even
as a form of ‘display’ (Finch, 2007), are other significant new directions
of research. Further, we must note in the passing that the development
of interdisciplinary research centres within sociology departments; for
10 Anuja Agrawal
example, the Morgan Centre for Research into Everyday Life12 at the
University of Manchester, UK, have contributed a significant body of re-
search on new patterns and implications of intimate relationships, which
also indicate some degree of convergence of anthropology and sociology
in the research on family in Western societies. Not all these trends have
been influential in the study of Indian family, though many could provide
useful new directions.
Instead, in assessing the state of family studies in India, we need to
take into account the paramount significance of what may be described
as women/​gender/​sexuality studies in not only training a critical eye
on family but also in keeping family alive as an object of social science
research in India. If we take a sweeping view of the last 150 years, right
from the colonial period till now, one or the other aspects of the family
life has been a subject of social and political controversy and interven-
tion. Unlike in the West, where the feminist critique of anthropology was
not very closely tied to the feminist movement (Ganesh, 2013, 304), the
strong ties that women/​gender studies in India had with social and pol-
itical movements as well as law/​policy making, have contributed signifi-
cantly to broadening the field of family studies and brought many such
issues under social scientific if not also public scrutiny.
While legal as well as a broader social scientific scholarship in India
has long concerned itself with ‘family law’,13 a renewed and critical atten-
tion to the salience that questions of women, marriage, and family had in
the Indian social reform movements during the colonial period has also
produced an enriching range of historical research on sati, widow remar-
riage, devadasi dedication, age of consent, child marriage, among many
other themes.14 The attention to these issues within women’s movement
also seem to have drawn mainstream academics towards such questions.
For example, while questions about dowry had been asked by sociologists
and anthropologists (see Goody and Tambiah, 1973), there was a new
impetus to its study due to the attention it received from Indian women’s
movement in the 1980s. Srinivas’s piece on dowry (1984) is indicative of
the role of the women’s movement in directing the attention of prominent
sociologists as well as academia at large to unaddressed questions about
family and marriage. The same could be said of many other issues such as
those related to property and inheritance, domestic violence, and more
recently also the so-​called ‘honour’ crimes.15 We should also note here
 Introduction 11
that, during the 1980s and ’90s, the study of kinship and family within the
disciplines of sociology and anthropology also began to bear signs of the
growing significance of women/​gender studies.16
A related but separate context of focus on family arose in the post 1990s
HIV/​AIDS pandemic and the legal battles around section 377 of IPC
(and most recently around same-​sex marriage). These have contributed
to the ascendance of issues surrounding marginal, non-​heteronormative
sexualities and non-​binary gender identities (Shah, 2005). Such concerns
underscored problems with an exclusive focus upon heteronormative
marriage and family that even gender studies have been susceptible to.17
Finding a strong indigenous social and cultural foundation for alterna-
tive sexualities, studies focusing on sexual minorities and transgender
communities of India have thus become another context in which mar-
riage and family are found to be of considerable significance and also in-
terrogated.18 It must also be added here that, despite being immensely
valuable in occupying itself with the central role played by normative
family forms in shaping, constraining, and disciplining gendered as well
as sexual subjectivities, the critical emphasis of gender/​sexuality studies
can overlook the continued resilience of family relationships even in the
lives of the non-​conforming. The need for critical engagement with the
‘alternative’ forms of family and the question as to whether and how they
overcome the constraints of normative families also need to be reiterated.
Questions such as whether the problem lies with hegemonic family forms
or whether family in all forms are necessarily oppressive (see Hensman,
2005) also continue to beg discussion. Given that the rights of marginal
groups to different forms of family and marriage ties are far from settled
even now points towards the continued social and political significance
of social scientific involvement with these issues.19
Finally, we need to add here that the complexity of the postcolonial
Indian socio-​legal reality, which consists of a regime of ‘personal’ laws,
has also provided a fertile ground for feminist, historical, and legal re-
searchers. Divorce, often construed in Indian context as a result of
Western influence, is an issue which has drawn a lot of attention of
scholars in the recent past, particularly as part of discussions on religious
personal laws as well as the vexed question of customary law.20 Indeed,
in the recent past, the questions around triple talaq that attracted much
public and political interest following Shayara Bano v. Union of India
12 Anuja Agrawal
(see Khurshid, 2018; Salam, 2018) are comparable to what happened
following Mohd. Ahmed Khan v. Shah Bano Begum, better known as the
Shah Bano case, in 1985. The need to engage with family law has acquired
further urgency in light of the recent moves to enact a Uniform Civil
Code, an extremely fraught issue. Civil society activists including fem-
inists are already expressing apprehensions about the lack of sufficient
debate on this issue (see Haksar, 2023) even as some states within the
Indian union have already implemented such a Code.21 These historical
and contemporary issues thus provide a significant context for continued
social scientific engagement with family in its material as well as idealized
forms across the divisions of caste, class, and religion.
Women/​ Gender/​ Sexuality studies in combination with anthro-
pology, history, economics, and legal studies have nevertheless created
a lot of room for bringing the underlying inequality in marriage and
conjugal relations, heteronormative biases as well as the domain of per-
sonal laws into critical focus. Thus, unlike the ‘sterility’ of the debate
on family/​household in India, there has been a fairly robust discussion
on changing forms and practices of marriage in India, one which also
has a close relationship with the maintenance of normative family and
patriarchal structures given the numerous controls on marriage within
the overarching framework of caste endogamy (Chakravarti, 2006;
Chowdhry, 2007). The themes of romance and marriage also draw a
lot of popular attention (Dwyer, 2000; Orsini, 2007; Uberoi, 2006) and
the question of the continuing prevalence or declining significance of
the ‘arranged’ marriage system as well as the emergence of new forms of
conjugal and non-​conjugal relationships: chosen, non-​marital, and non-​
heteronormative; relationships enjoying as well as being denied social
acceptance and legitimacy have all attracted considerable scholarship.22
Even the practices of close-​kin marriages in south India have been found
to be changing (Clark-​Deces, 2014). Interest in singlehood (Lamb, 2022;
Sharma, 2019) pre-​marital relations of sexuality and non-​marital co-
habitation (Agrawal, 2012; Bhandari, 2017; Titzmann, 2017) and even
‘Living-​Apart-​Together’ (Gangopadhyay, 2023) is growing. The last two
decades have thus seen a rather large number of works on marriage,
matchmaking, conjugality, intimacy, and love by, primarily but not only,
sociologists, anthropologists, and legal scholars and there is impressive
 Introduction 13
number of special issues of edited collections and journals devoted to a
range of questions surrounding marriage in India.23
But, while the proliferation of research which received impetus from
women/​gender/​sexuality studies has given a new lease of life to the study
of conjugal/​marital/​non-​marital relations, it can be argued that such a
development did not allow family to become a central focus of inquiry in
all its varied aspects and manifestations. It is notable that women/​gender
studies establishments have resisted a strong association with family
studies, and for good reasons. When an unseemly attempt was made by
the University Grants Commission, an apex regulator of higher educa-
tion bodies in India, to rename the Women’s Studies Centres in India as
Women and Family Studies Centres in the early 2000s, it was met with
righteous indignation and protests from the Women’s Studies establish-
ments and their advocates (see Bagchi, 2003). One can easily imagine
that this would have had the impact of confining women’s questions to
the domain of the family which reeks of the longstanding association
of women with the ‘private’ domestic domain and additionally has the
danger of blunting the feminist critique of family. Further, the studies
of family influenced by the feminist approaches have also generally not
been classified as a part family studies and are more likely to be clubbed
under gender studies,24 such classifications being important to construc-
tion and perception of disciplinary fields and their constituents and in
perpetuating the idea that family studies in India are stuck with some out-
dated issues.
There is thus a strong case for family studies maintaining both, a strong
tie with women/​gender/​sexuality studies without being altogether sub-
sumed within them. But although these studies have contributed signifi-
cantly to a critical focus on many aspects of family including, as discussed
above, marriage and conjugality, these thrust areas are not exhaustive of
relationships which exist within the ambit of family (see Kannabiran,
2006). Intergenerational relationships and sibling ties as well as other
intra-​generational non-​marital relations in Indian society are also strong
contenders for scholarly attention, which has not so far been forthcoming
in a manner commensurate with their significance and many new devel-
opments in research on family/​families across the world hold important
lessons for the future directions in study of family in India (see Devi
Prasad, 2020).
14 Anuja Agrawal
But we must now turn our attention towards some of the other con-
texts of engagement with family.

Family Studies: Looking Sideways?

There are a number of additional social and disciplinary contexts in

which family/​families have been an object of attention, although the
same have either not been taken forward, have remained insulated, or
have much unexplored potential. For instance, we need to acknowledge
that even though, with notable exceptions,25 mainstream social sciences
have been somewhat neglectful of child rearing and parenting practices,
fields which are concerned with individual and community development
such as psychology, education, and social work, and are often also inter-
ventionist in their approach, have been more attentive to this aspect of
family life. Such approaches have found institutional tethering in inter-​
disciplinary contexts such as Human Development Studies, Community
Development, Home Science, Social Work, and so on. Academics along
with activists, NGOs, counsellors, and so on, associated with such fields
have engaged in family interventions/​studies in one form or another (see
Misra, Sriram, and Bharat, 2003; Raman, 2000). Drawing from multiple
disciplines, such contexts have produced studies which focus, among
other things, on parenting practices, childhood, as well as youth.26 An
important site for understanding childhood and socialization prac-
tices in India has also been studies informed by psychoanalytic ap-
proaches. Though no longer a very popular perspective, it can be seen
as a longstanding interdisciplinary field in India, which has had much
to say about Indian family and particularly its role in socialization and
shaping of the ‘Indian personality’.27 There is a need for more critical
cross-​fertilization of family research across such disciplinary silos.
We may also add here that mothering and motherhood have been
subjects of interest across Indian social sciences and a number of signifi-
cant studies have engaged with them (see Bagchi, 2017; Donner, 2008;
Ram and Jolly, 1998). Relatively new concerns in this context have been
with the anomalous position of childless women (Nandy, 2017) and fem-
inist mothering (Phadke, 2013). Similar concern with fatherhood and
child rearing practices in general is, however, less evident. Scholars have
 Introduction 15
argued that this inattention is in part owing to an uncritical and exclusive
attention on motherhood in literature on child care and child-​rearing
practices and even in women’s studies (Chopra, 2001). This research has
also shown how gender ideals are constraining not just for women but
also for men and how this is something that produces multiple cultural
and context specific notions of masculinity which play out very signifi-
cantly in the familial context (see Chopra, 2008; Osella and Osella, 2006).
Another important site for continued engagement with family in
Indian context has to do with how in the post-​colonial period, India’s
large and growing population became a significant source of the demo-
graphic anxieties of the West. India being a major location of apprehen-
sions around population ‘explosion’, ‘Family Planning’ became Indian
state’s major preoccupation and reproductive lives of Indians came under
unprecedented scrutiny. The anti-​natal population policies have had a
significant relation with how the Indian State intervenes in intimate lives
and reproductive practices of Indian men and women (Hodges, 2004;
Sreenivas, 2021). Although not nearly as coercive as such policies have
been in neighbouring countries such as China, the Indian family plan-
ning programme was coercive in its own ways and continues to be a
major point of interface between families and the state apparatus. Apart
from participating in population policy making, the state also contrib-
utes to ideologies of and discourses on Indian family (Chatterjee and
Riley, 2001).
The large-​ scale though highly uneven demographic shifts in the
country, which are a combined result of socio-​economic changes, state
interventions, and development policies, are thus a major context that
shapes family realities in contemporary Indian society. The framework
provided by demographic transition theory—​which suggests that the
single most important transition in population dynamics globally con-
sists of the move from high fertility, high mortality regimes to low fertility,
and low mortality regimes, which drastically reconfigure not just the size
but also the relationship patterns within the family—​has been much dis-
cussed by demographers (see Caldwell, 1978, for example). Used critic-
ally and in combination with other political-​economic and socio-​cultural
frameworks, it provides a useful model to think about differences and
changes in families and has produced some interesting analyses (see
Mamdani, 1972; Patel, 1994, for instance). In fact, some researchers in
16 Anuja Agrawal
demography have drawn upon anthropological and sociological insights
into kinship and marriage to provide broader frameworks to think about
gender issues as manifested in patterns of family making (see Dyson and
Moore, 1983) and anthropologists have also engaged with implications
of such perspectives and their applicability to micro-​level contexts (see
Jeffery and Jeffery, 1997).
It may also be pointed out here that despite much promising research,
in India research on family has not systematically developed in sync with
demographic research. Here it may also be useful for us to consider how
family studies have evolved in other post-​colonial societies and how this
is related to the colonial contexts in which their social institutions like
family, kinship, and marriage were first approached. While a compre-
hensive overview of how family studies have developed across different
regions of the world would require a more detailed undertaking, which
is beyond the purview of this Introduction,28 the research on family
in the South East Asian and East Asian contexts is particularly worth
mentioning here. Not only does the geographical proximity with Indian
subcontinent make such a consideration relevant, the more sustained en-
gagement with family that we see in these contexts holds many lessons.29
It is significant that studies of transnational family and questions related
to fertility decline and aging population have been most prolific in the
South East Asian region. It may also be added here that the primarily
demographically oriented approach to family studies taken in the East
Asian and South East Asian contexts—​well represented in the research
which has been done by the ‘Reconstruction of the Intimate and Public
Spheres in 21st Century Asia’, Kyoto University based Global Centre of
Excellence,30 and the Research Cluster ‘Changing Family in Asia’ at the
Asia Research Institute at the Singapore National University31—​are quite
at variance with the anthropologically oriented approach in Indian con-
text and it would seem that this is a fit case for us to take some lessons
from these very contemporary non-​Western contexts in which family re-
search has flourished.
Thus, in India, even the preoccupation with household structures that
we noted earlier did not develop in a robust relationship with demo-
graphic research and theories. The engagement with demographic cor-
relates of changing family structures has barely been adequate, leading
one recent article on this theme to suggest that ‘The main impediment to
 Introduction 17
the study of family demography and related research in India is first the
lack of a comprehensive conceptual framework and second lack of reli-
able data’ (Chakravorty et al., 2021, 14).32 Penny Vera-​Sanso’s chapter in
this volume engages with the limitations of studying the household and
family relations purely within demographic frameworks, which usually
tend to be rather uncritical in their use of concepts such as the household.
While the needs for reliable databases can hardly be understated, there
is a strong case for some cross-​fertilization of ideas across sociology and
demography in this area.
There are many other demographic issues, research on which is pro-
ductive for an understanding of Indian family. The emphasis on small
families (with fewer children) is a major theme which is of paramount
significance for making sense of the changing Indian family and gender
roles (Basu and Desai, 2016; John et al., 2008). Child neglect, infanticide,
and, more recently, sex selective abortions and assisted reproductive tech-
nologies are other significant issues that need to be attended to by social
scientists and indeed a considerable body of literature has contributed to
making sense of the causes and consequences of declining sex ratios in
many parts of India.33 There is also a significant amount of literature fo-
cusing upon maternity, childbirth, and birth control.34 The complicated
social as well as legal questions which arise in the context of surrogate
mothering and increasing commercialization of Assisted Reproductive
Technologies, alongside emergence of commercial surrogacy hubs in
India, have drawn the attention of many scholars and a number of valu-
able studies have been published in recent years.35 The persistence of
son-​preference and gender inequity within the family in a context where
Assisted Reproductive Technologies as well as diagnostic tools are com-
mercially available creates a highly complex scenario, leading to an inter-
play between families, state, and market, to which Kumkum Sangari’s
nuanced chapter in this volume draws attention.
The changing age structure of the population is another critical issue
arising as a consequence of demographic transition. Questions have been
raised regarding the possibilities of India reaping a ‘demographic divi-
dend’ with changing dependency ratios given the gendered family struc-
tures and low levels of female labour force participation (Basu, 2011;
Desai, 2015). Additionally, the increasing salience of the elderly and the
concomitant questions of gendered division of care work, the emergence
18 Anuja Agrawal
of old age homes and issues of long-​distance care and support36 are
also intimately intertwined with the demographic shifts. That in India
the family is the primary site of care for all and especially those whose
needs are more than ordinary is also now widely accepted in social sci-
ence literature. This is something that has received attention in recent
work on chronically ill and disabled; specific attention has been directed
at families dealing with autism, mental illness, Alzheimer’s disease and
dementia.37 Issues of care deficit and ‘stratified familialism’ which refer to
highly differentiated access to formal and informal care services have also
been addressed in this context (Palriwala and Neetha, 2011). The wide-
spread engagement of paid domestic workers in the middle and upper-​
class homes alongside questions of gender, caste, class, and migration,
which are salient in such work, is also another arena of research relevant
in this context.38 Studies which have dug deeper into history have also
shown how non-​kin, even domestic slaves, were an integral part of the
indigenous elite households (see Chatterjee, 2004) and this is a line of
inquiry which needs to be further pursued. The questions of familial div-
ision of labour and unpaid and paid domestic and care work will only
grow in significance in a context where family remains the primary sup-
port structure for the aging, the ill, and those with special needs.
The significance of migration, especially from rural to urban areas,
owing to an increasing ‘separation of production and social reproduc-
tion’ (Vasavi, 2019) is something that has barely been touched in Indian
context. The Covid-​19 pandemic induced lockdown in 2020 not only
viscerally exposed the scale of such migration, it also highlighted how
family is the only bulwark of social security in an increasingly tenuous
world. Despite this, we really do not have systematic understanding of
the links between migration and family life. Some recent work has, how-
ever, given attention to the implications of declining sex ratios for mar-
riage practices, including long-​distance migration of brides.39 On the
other hand, studies of family and kinship among international migrant
communities and even of the emerging forms of transnational families is
an area of research that has received much attention globally40 although,
despite the large Indian diaspora, studies on South Asian population
are relatively fewer.41 Studying Indian families in the context of both
internal and international migration (and transnationalism) therefore
 Introduction 19
remains a critical direction for future research. The increasing signifi-
cance of such research cannot be overstated as the persistence and even
strengthening of family ties in the process of migration challenges the
notions of regional, culture bound family that are often characteristic of
sociology of family. It also adds to the relevance of interdisciplinarity in
the study of family. Western sociologists are now themselves lamenting
the ‘Western-​bias’ of family sociology (Edgar, 2004) and calling for
studies of non-​Western contexts to correct the individualistic focus of
Western sociology.
A final context of studies of family that needs our attention is related
to the use of communication and new media technologies in fostering/​
recreating family relationships. This is a relatively under-​researched and
upcoming area of research, although researchers in India have used myth-
ology, film and media representations, and popular culture as well as litera-
ture to seek insights into the Indian family (Raja, 2013). Given that such
sources often allow an intimate peep into an otherwise somewhat insular
domain, some literary scholars have even considered themselves as having
a privileged location in studying family (Dasgupta and Lal, 2007) and the
same could be said of those who study popular cinema and other popular
artefacts such as calendar art (Uberoi, 2006). Needless to say, women/​
gender studies have also informed such works for a while now (see Tyagi
Singh and Uberoi, 1994; Vishvanathan and Sen, 1996). A lot of existing re-
search on such mass media and technologies has thus focused upon gender
relations, marriage, and intimate relations but again, not so much on inter-
generational relationships. Titzmann (2017) and Schneider and Titzmann
(2020) are more recent innovative attempts that use such sources to ad-
dress issues of new reproductive technologies, fatherhood, and live-​in
relationships. Such texts are therefore a fertile source of studying family
already being used, although studies of abundant family memoirs are ar-
guably a rich source which seems underutilized. Additionally, the spread
of new technologies of photography and videography are themselves im-
plicated in family practices (see Abraham, 2010). This is a direction of re-
search which needs to be further strengthened in light of the phenomenal
growth of mobile telephony, digital technologies, and social media which
has barely been addressed so far (see Doron, 2012). The chapters in the last
part of this volume are directed to this end.
20 Anuja Agrawal
Family Studies: New Directions?

It is almost a cliché to say that family is one of the major pillars of Indian
society alongside religion, caste, as also the village. In being treated as
having a ‘collectivist’ as opposed to ‘individualist’ orientation, Indians,
even those away from India, are treated as being especially ‘family-​
oriented’. It is not at all unusual for ordinary Indians to express pride in
the resilience of ‘Indian family’ and treat this as a cultural marker. This
centrality of family in the construction of an ‘Indian’ identity should be
sufficient as the raison d’être for a volume devoted to family studies. But
this is not the only reason for strengthening Family Studies in India, as
should be obvious by now.
The question then is, how do we go about revitalizing ‘Family Studies’
in order to meet the challenges of grasping the significance of this key in-
stitution in contemporary Indian society? The above discussion makes
it obvious that the gaps in the study of family/​families in India, with
all their complexity, cannot be filled without, both, the attention of di-
verse social sciences with their varied disciplinary and methodological
strengths as well as dialogues across these diversities. Given the multiple
sites, impetus, and trajectories that have shaped the study of family in
India, the present volume is a collection of chapters which are products
of these very diverse trajectories but also seek to move beyond them. The
volume brings together twelve chapters by scholars from different dis-
ciplinary backgrounds. The chapters are divided into four parts which
reflect the main argument of this volume that a critically reoriented study
of family should move forward by challenging the normative definitions
of family and marriage at the same time as it continuously engages with
the hold these have in the lives of people. The volume also suggests that
family studies need to further stretch their boundaries analytically, em-
pirically, and methodologically by bringing into their ambit a wider set
of intimate relations, as well as more actively engaging with new political,
economic, social, and technological dynamics that ‘family’ is implicated
in and in which ‘families’ find themselves immersed.
Part I of the volume is titled ‘Critical Reorientations’ and includes two
chapters that provide an analysis of the problems with how family and
households in India have been conceptualized as well as how we need
to move forward. Both chapters challenge bounded notions of family
 Introduction 21
and engage, in very different ways, with how family relationships and
household forms experience new crises which are negotiated in the con-
text of economic, political, and technological shifts in society. The first in
this part, Penny Vera-​Sanso’s chapter titled ‘Misconceiving “The Indian
Family”: The Politics of Family-​Based Discourse’, engages with the pre-
occupation of public discourse as well as family scholarship with ideal-
ized and de-​contextualized notions of family. As discussed previously
in this Introduction, the construal of the Indian family as one which has
quintessentially been ‘joint’ or extended, and the lamentations regarding
its ongoing demise, is one such preoccupation which not only has a so-
cial purchase but also finds significant resonances in academic and policy
debates. Vera-​Sanso demonstrates how culturalist definitions of Indian
family obscure the socio-​economic foundations of family structures and
instead treat families which depart from an idealized norm as undesir-
able and dysfunctional. Such discourses, which often underpin public
policy-​making, allow the state to take on the role of ‘family norm en-
forcer’ instead of being an ‘upholder of rights’, she argues. Drawing upon
three decades of research in both urban and rural Tamil Nadu, Vera-​
Sanso shows how self-​definitions of households are extremely variable
and that household boundaries are quite fluid and shift in response to
the need for interdependence as well as that for separation of household
budgets under conditions of precarity. Vera-​Sanso argues that the heavy
reliance upon unfounded definitions of family should be seen as part of
the ‘structural violence toolkit’.
In the second chapter, ‘The Insides and Outsides of Families: Social
Reproduction in Neoliberal Times’, Kumkum Sangari provides a much-​
needed critical framework that challenges the idea that family is an au-
tonomous entity having clearly demarcated boundaries. She shows how,
as a highly gendered as well as caste differentiated locus of ‘extended so-
cial reproduction’, family/​families in India are deeply implicated with the
patriarchal logics of the market and the state. While remaining particu-
larly attentive to the diverse forms families take, this chapter allows us to
see how, as a form of regulation of labour, family is a node manifesting the
convergence of multiple caste and class-​structured hierarchies that create
familial dispositions and crisis, which acquire specific inflections in the
neoliberal context. Sangari provides a nuanced analysis of how some
of the recent legislative moves, such as the Maintenance and Welfare of
22 Anuja Agrawal
Parents and Senior Citizens Act of 2007 and the Surrogacy Regulation
Bills (2016, 2019),42 are redefining the ‘contracts’ that structure relations
of marriage and procreation and how this instantiates the declining cap-
acity of family to absorb risk. Vera Sanso’s specific attention to household
dynamics and Sangari’s analysis of the neoliberal forces that are at work
in shaping family in India thus together provide very valuable frame-
works that should orient future critical analysis of family and should be
read as most important contributions to this volume.
Following on from the first part, the second part of this volume, titled
‘Beyond the “Normative” Family’, directs our critical attention to the in-
stitution of marriage, the other significant pillar which is as idealized as
the joint family/​household and on which the ‘Indian family’ is seen as
resting. While retaining the overall focus on the economic and political
aspects of family which this volume seeks to place special emphasis upon,
the chapters in Part II turn our focus towards how, contrary to its ideal-
ised positioning, the normative discourse on marriage remains overpow-
ering while also being subject to challenge at several levels. Here we also
direct our attention to the shifts in legal and property regimes, that are
both very significant arenas in which contestations around family, and es-
pecially marriage, take place. As a crucial site for securing women’s rights
within the family in the existing regime of personal laws and the ongoing
attempts to bring about a uniform civil code, and as a continued source
of significant exclusions of the socially non-​conforming relationships,
the legal domain is a very crucial context for a discussion of family re-
lationships in contemporary contexts. Similarly, shifts in distribution of
resources, particularly the increasing lack of employment opportunities,
the changing agrarian landscape, as well as growing social insecurities,
are important contexts for examining the response of social actors in dif-
ferent familial settings. Significantly, focusing upon these contexts brings
back the spotlight on family as a significant arena in which individual
claims to valued resources are established, challenged, and renegotiated.
In Part II, the first chapter by Sylvia Vatuk, Chapter 3, titled ‘ “To
Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life”: Restitution of Conjugal
Rights in Indian Law and Practice’, engages with a prevalent form of
marital litigation, which is more than a century old and persists despite
its original source in British laws that have since been repealed. It is not
a surprise that the law around ‘restitution of conjugal rights’, one that is
 Introduction 23
largely used by men to reinforce their marital privileges, should have
such staying power despite the numerous legal challenges it has faced.
Interestingly, even though there is no provision of restitution of conjugal
rights in the Muslim personal law, cases involving Muslim couples are
brought to the courts, again with disproportionate frequency, by men
and not women. Vatuk takes us through the vicissitudes of such cases and
how they are largely adjudicated within a framework which privileges the
sanctity of marriage over the rights of women. Significantly, she points
out that neither the broader Indian women’s movement nor Muslim
women’s movements, both of which have significantly invested in legal
reform otherwise, have taken an issue with the use of this provision in
courts, often to the detriment of women. That such provisions which de-
rive their efficacy from extant and questionable notions of marriage can
continue to operate both from within and from outside the provisions
of a personal law regime is something towards which we need to be very
alert in light of the recent moves which favour promulgation of a uniform
civil code. That such issues have also escaped the Indian women’s move-
ment is a pointer to the need for sustained academic attention to a wider
array of issues instead of just being led by the politically exigent issues in
the public eye.
As noted above, the Indian women’s movement has seen legal reform
as a major tool for addressing issues of gender inequality. Yet, the varied
consequences of legal interventions, intended or unintended, made in
the name of women’s rights often go unexamined.43 Indeed, examining
how relations within the family shift in light of new legal provisions,
whether they relate to inheritance, dowry, or to domestic violence, re-
mains a task for both family as well as feminist scholarship to continue to
engage with. As a move forward in this direction, Srimati Basu’s chapter
(Chapter 4), titled ‘Making Families without Wives: Kinship in the Men’s
Rights Movement’, deals with a significant challenge to women-​centric
laws enacted by the post-​colonial Indian legislature and the ways in
which the latter have been mobilized in Indian courts. Basu draws atten-
tion to the emergence of ‘Men’s Rights Movements’ in India which are
precisely galvanized by the resentment against provisions such as Section
498A of the Indian Penal Code and the provisions of the Protection of
Women from Domestic Violence Act, 2005 which are perceived as dis-
criminatory towards men and destructive of the ‘Indian family’, a highly
24 Anuja Agrawal
gendered construct. Her chapter provides a nuanced analysis of the dif-
ferent ways in which men, who see themselves as victims of the new legal
instruments in the hands of women, construe their victimization and
craft their post-​divorce lives. Such research which focuses upon the spill-​
out of legislative moves that realign the power equations in the family is
thus a direction in research that needs to be taken much further in future
research.
A third chapter in this part deals with how the privileging of hetero-
sexual, monogamous, marriage in the Indian legal system and policy
frameworks creates systematic exclusions of those who do not conform to
this hegemonic norm. In their chapter (Chapter 5) titled ‘Marital Status
Discrimination in India: Prospects and Possibilities’, Arijeet Ghosh and
Diksha Sanyal provide an extensive overview of provisions cutting across
different family laws, provisions in policies related to labour and welfare,
health, housing, and citizenship to show how these are based on a narrow
understanding of family, once again highlighting the power of idealized
notions to disrupt lives of those who are single, in a same-​sex or other
non-​normative relationship. Since the anti-​discrimination provisions of
Indian constitution and statutory law so far do not include provisions re-
garding discrimination based on ‘marital-​status’, these laws and policies
can defy legal challenges. Ghosh and Sanyal, therefore, try to analyse
whether a case for legal recognition of marital status discrimination can
be made in the Indian context. This is also being advocated by civil so-
ciety groups in India in recent times and is also already accepted in some
other parts of the world. This chapter thus provides palpable evidence of
how idealization of a particular form of heterosexual marital norm has
real life consequences for people, a discussion that is particularly signifi-
cant in the context of ongoing debates regarding legal recognition for
same-​sex marriage in India.
In Part II’s final chapter (Chapter 6), titled ‘Familial Crisis and
Marriage: The “Navigational Capacity for Aspiration” ’, Rama Srinivasan
provides an ethnographically grounded analysis of how the long-​
standing gendered patterns of rural North Indian families are giving
way in the context of changing property relations within the agricul-
tural context. In Haryana and Punjab, the prime locations of the ‘Green
Revolution’, land ownership which was once a source of family pride
and prosperity for male members is decreasingly a source of steady
 Introduction 25
income and local dominance. The stresses within such contexts be-
came quite palpable during the farmers’ agitation in response to Central
Government’s attempt to promulgate new farm laws in 2020–​21. Building
upon her previous work (2020) in one such rural context where she has
traced the effects of the loss of land on masculinity and the aspirations
of millennials, particularly women, Srinivasan focuses upon the aspir-
ations of young married women who she finds dwelling in ‘disjointed
ethnoscapes’ in such a ‘post-​agrarian’ scenario that does not mandate
women’s unrecognized labour in family-​held land for the enrichment
of their male relatives. These aspirations are also reflected in shifting
priorities as far as marriage and marital partners are concerned. Non-​
normative and even inter-​caste marriages, as well as women’s pursuit of
educational and career aspirations after marriage, have become a possi-
bility in recent times in contexts of declining size of land-​holdings in such
contexts. This chapter thus highlights how post-​agrarian India creates
new crisis as well as opportunities. Family relationships in such a context
have remained largely uncharted.
Part III, titled ‘Trust, Betrayal, and Shifting Relations’, focuses upon
some of the less explored aspects and contexts of family relationships. It
includes three chapters, each from very different contexts, one ridden with
political violence, a second from a privileged elite setting, and a third from
a transnational context. Each of the chapters focuses upon how relation-
ships of trust and dependence, which are treated as characteristic of family,
shift in response to internal as well as external pressures. Parul Bhandari’s
chapter (Chapter 7), titled ‘Locating Friendship in Family: A Study of
Indian Elites’, focuses upon how relationships couched in the idiom of
friendship are forged by young married women in families of Delhi’s busi-
ness elite. Even though these relations are modelled on friendship, it is
interesting that who can be a friend in this context is closely tied with the
conflicting interests within a property holding group and conversely such
relationships also suffer when the conflicting interests become overpow-
ering. The prevalence of the idiom of friendship in some of the relation-
ships within the extended family and the oft-​experienced betrayal of trust
in such relationships yet again brings forth the contradictory sentiments
which structure relationships among family members. Much work needs
to be done to understand the minutiae of the changing forms of relation-
ships within the family, which go beyond the ones between husband and
26 Anuja Agrawal
wife or parent and child. Bhandari’s ethnographic account provides us a
window into one such instance, which also highlights the importance of
bringing relationships of friendship within the ambit of family studies.
The chapter also gives us a good insight into how the overarching prop-
erty relationships that structure families shape the possibility of relation-
ships of trust and intimacy among family members.
Soibam Haripriya’s chapter (Chapter 8), ‘Spilt Blood: Kinship and
Friendship in a Regime of Violence’, focuses upon another context that
brings the basic premises of family relationships under stress, now a pol-
itically fraught one. Soibam looks at how prolonged political violence in
North Eastern States like Manipur that have been subject to tyrannical
laws such as the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA), 1958, im-
pair relationships of family and friendship. Using fiction and anecdotes
in order to grasp at this disturbing reality, she shows how intimate rela-
tions based on trust and loyalty come under duress owing to the constant
surveillance and scrutiny by both state and non-​state militarized groups
given the dire repercussions of being identified as a collaborator or sym-
pathizer by virtue of such relationships. This chapter may be seen as an
addition to research in a largely uncharted territory, that is, family rela-
tionships in contexts of political turmoil and violence.44
Supriya Singh’s chapter (Chapter 9), titled ‘Household Formation of
Indian Migrant Parents in Australia’, which can also be read along with
Vera-​Sanso’s chapter in Part I, provides us with a discussion of the pres-
sures that shape household formation, now under conditions of inter-
national migration. As discussed above, the implications of long-​distance
migration on family relations remain under-​researched in Indian context
and we need a lot more empirical research to appreciate the impact that
both migration itself as well as the policies of the host and sending soci-
eties have on family formation in host societies as well as on maintenance
of relations with family members back home. On the basis of her long-​
term research with Indian migrants in Australia, Singh is able to show
how household formation ideals among Indian migrants who have aged
in Australia are different from that of parent-​migrants who have migrated
following their children. The varied kinds of households which these dif-
ferent sets of migrants aspire towards or are able to achieve are an out-
come of how migration policies, which increasingly entail a significant
economic payout in the form of Visa-​Fees, turn around the direction of
 Introduction 27
intergenerational economic dependence generating fears about abuse
and neglect. Thus, as already discussed above, studying family in rela-
tion to migration is a very important context to re-​examine our under-
standing of family life.
The final part of this volume, Part IV, titled ‘New Practices: Familial
and Methodological’, deals with the significance that visual as well as
digital technologies have acquired in shaping and representing family
lives, which were discussed at the end of the previous section of this
introduction. It consists of a set of three methodologically innovative
chapters. In the first chapter (Chapter 10), we turn to an ethnographic
foray into a conundrum being experienced by many: the entry of digital
technologies and social media into our family lives, the impact of which
we have very little understanding. In his chapter titled ‘Digital Mothering
in Middle-​Class Families’, Shriram Venkatraman, offers us a composite
ethnographic account from Chennai that shows how digital technology
has become integral to middle-​class parenting practices, especially when
it comes to mothers in full-​time paid employment. Parenting, it seems, is
still primarily a woman’s responsibility and in middle-​class families this
now also entails regulating children’s usage of technology in a context
where it is becoming ubiquitous. Venkatraman brings forth how digital
technologies raise new questions about work and play. For the resolution
and reassurance regarding new conundrums that thus arise, women
increasingly turn to their own peers, again using digitally mediated so-
cial media platforms. Interestingly, this account of digital parenting/​
mothering spans across the period prior to the Covid-​19 pandemic in-
duced lockdown period to the phase, during which families were con-
fined to their homes and were subjected to ‘work (and study) from home’
regimens. This chapter thus not only provides us an intimate peep into
how digital technologies are both, used as a means to parent as well as a
source of anxiety and doubt among mothers of school-​going children,
but it also provides a foray into what work-​from-​home looks like from
the point of view of both parents and children. Yet again, this chapter can
be seen as opening up a whole new area of research into how digital tech-
nologies bring new issues into the familial domain, which are not only
confined to parenting but also relate to new forms of digitally mediated
intimacies and interfaces that are a source of many new familial anxieties
and unresolved conflicts.
28 Anuja Agrawal
The two remaining chapters in Part IV engage with the use of new
digital and visual technologies in the idealized constructions of family.
Nidhin Donald’s chapter (Chapter 11) titled ‘Displaying the “Family”
Online: Reflections on Syrian Christian Visual Life’, focuses upon how
the websites of the Syrian Christian family associations document and
represent the activities and images of their family lives and association
activities. The visual displays on these websites act as pedagogic tools,
argues Donald, in representing idealized versions of Syrian Christian
family and its embeddedness in extended kin and community networks.
This chapter also brings into focus the activities of extended family net-
works as distinct from caste and religion-​based networks and the dis-
tinctive role they play in people’s lives. This also remains an exceedingly
under-​explored dimension of family life in India. Donald’s chapter is also
very innovative in using his own artistic renditions of the visual repre-
sentation on these websites and opens new possibilities of engaging with
and showcasing visual data. Suryanandini Narain’s chapter (Chapter 12),
titled ‘ “Seeing” Family through Wedding Albums’, is the final one in the
book and deals with a genre of visual representations which has a some-
what longer trajectory but has not been sufficiently engaged with in the
study of family. Narain looks at the changing forms that wedding pho-
tography has taken in north Indian context and examines the potential
of reading the particularities of family life and its representations into
this widespread practice. All three chapter in Part IV provide us with
instances of innovative methods of eliciting practices that engage in the
construction of family life and dealing with new challenges that families
face with increasing frequency.
The volume therefore provides a collection of chapters which should
be seen as forging new links across disciplinary boundaries to provide
a new critically oriented field of Family Studies. The collection makes
no claim to comprehensiveness in its coverage of all issues, nor does it
pretend to be equally representative of families located in different social
positions. Not only would such comprehensiveness be beyond the scope
of this, or indeed, any single volume on family/​families, one also needs
to acknowledge the limitations posed by the gaps in the existing state of
the field on the composition of this volume itself. In this context, the need
for extensive research on families on the margins of the social, economic,
and political order cannot be overemphasized. That even this volume
 Introduction 29
does not do justice to such a need is a testimony to this gaping hole in
family studies in India. On the other hand, this volume should also be
read as making a case for treating family as not merely a unit subsumed
within larger (caste, class, ethnic, religious, or national) entities but as
one which lies at the intersection of a multiplicity of forces with which its
members engage and negotiate and by which they are constrained and
controlled in varying degrees. In so arguing, we cannot overstress the
limitations of perspectives which idealize any one form or structure of
family. It is hoped that this volume has been successful in making a case
for dismantling such extant notions about Indian families in particular
and family in general.

Notes
1. In the rest of this Introduction, I use the term ‘family’ in both these senses.
2. The discussion of prior research in the following sections of this Introduction, al-
though extensive, is by no means exhaustive and should only be read as indicative
of the broad trends in this vast field.
3. Please note: all multiple citations in this book are listed in chronological order by
year of publication.
4. See Devi Prasad (2020) for a discussion of development of family studies in
Western as well as Indian contexts.
5. Dube (1969) and Ahmed (1976) are early exceptions to the trend. Research on
Muslim family law (see Vatuk, 2017) and demographically oriented research
have also partly compensated for this gap (see Jeffery and Jeffery, 1997). But such
studies are revealing of the narrow though significant contexts that have brought
attention to family among religious minorities.
6. Kolenda (1987) is among the earlier few who provided important insights on mar-
riage among the ‘untouchable’ communities. Also see Agrawal (2008); Chakravarti
(2006); Chowdhry (2007); Grover (2011); Hinchy (2020); Still (2014).
7. See Mayer (1960); Parry (1979) as examples of this focus. That this framework still
retains its significance is attested by an essay on ‘Caste and Kinship’ (Abraham,
2023), in a recently edited volume. Notably, the volume has no separate discussion
on caste and family. A significant older essay which had, however, focused atten-
tion on family in relation with caste is Béteille (1991).
8. Madan (1966) and Ahmed (1976) are just a few examples of this widespread trend.
9. Palriwala (2020), for instance, reiterates the desirability of a close connection be-
tween family and kinship studies.
30 Anuja Agrawal
10. The title of the volume Family, Kinship and Marriage in India (Uberoi, 1993a)
begins with ‘Family’ although the writings specifically focusing on family are the
fewest in number and relegated to the last section of the volume titled ‘Family,
Household and Social Change’.
11. In the Encyclopaedia of Sociology and Social Anthropology edited by Das
(2003) essays on kinship, marriage, and family were grouped as ‘The personal
sphere and its articulation’. A volume brought out as part of the celebration of
Contributions to Indian Sociology’s fiftieth anniversary (Srivastava et al., 2019)
only had one article on intimacy (Mody, 2019) and another on marital dissol-
ution (Grover, 2019).
12. The Centre is named after the British family sociologist David H. J. Morgan. See
https://​www.soc​ials​cien​ces.man​ches​ter.ac.uk/​mor​gan-​cen​tre/​about-​us/​ (last ac-
cessed on 18 February 2024).
13. See Agnes (2011, 2012); Menski (2001); Parashar and Dhanda (2008); Uberoi
(2009) for more recent exegesis.
14. See Chandra (1998); John (2005); Pande (2020); Sangari and Vaid (1989); Sarkar
and Sarkar (2007); Sinha (2006).
15. See Agarwal (1994); Basu (2001, 2005); Bhattacharya (2004); Chowdhry (2007);
Deshmukh-Ranadive (2008); Gangoli and Rew (2011); Oldenburg (2002); Rao
(2018); Welchman and Hossain (2005).
16. A testimony to this trend is the five volumes brought out in the late 1980s and
early 1990s in the series Women and Household in Asia (see Agarwal, 1988; Dube
and Palriwala, 1990; Krishnaraj and Chanana, 1989; Saradamoni, 1992; Singh
and Kelles-​Viitanen, 1987). Also see Derne (1995); Dube (1997); Jeffery (1979);
Jeffery and Jeffery (1996); Kapadia (1995); Nishimura (1998); Nongbri (1988);
Palriwala (1994); Palriwala and Risseeuw (1996); Raheja and Gold (1994).
17. See Bhan and Narrain (2005); Kumar (2020); Menon (2007); Narrain and Gupta
(2011); Rinchin (2005).
18. See Pattanaik (2014); Vanita (2005). Also see Agrawal (2008); Ghosh (2008);
Hinchy (2019); Kumar (2020); Ramberg (2014); Ranade et al. (2020); Reddy
(2006); Rinchin (2005); Shah (2005).
19. The relevance of studying conceptualizations of family and marriage within con-
temporary social and political movements also needs to be emphasized here. See
Roy (2006) and Samant (2016).
20. See Agnes (2001); Basu (2015); Grover (2019); Holden (2008); Lemons (2019);
Lobo and Bharati (2019); Newbigin (2013); Sinha (2012); Solanki (2011);
Sturman (2017); Subramanian (2014); Vatuk (2017).
21. The Uniform Civil Code of Uttarakhand was passed in February 2024. See
https://​www.live​law.in/​pdf​_​upl​oad/​civil-​code-​bill-​engl​ish0​001-​520​761.pdf (last
accessed on 22 February 2024).
22. See Bhandari (2020); Fruzzetti (2013); Fuller and Narsimhan (2008); Grover
(2011); Mody (2008); Parry (2001); Srinivasan (2020).
 Introduction 31
23. See Basu and Ramberg (2015); Kaur and Palriwala (2014); Lobo and Bharati
(2019); Sen et al. (2011); also see Economic and Political Weekly, 2005, 40 (8);
2012, 47 (43); Modern Asian Studies, 2016, 50 (4).
24. As part of the Sociological Bulletin series Themes in Indian Sociology, two vol-
umes were brought out. While Rege (2003) included essays on family informed
by gender, Patel (2005) excluded such essays.
25. The Six Cultures study by Whiting (1963) had one whole section and Minturn
and Hitchcock (1966) also dealt with child-​rearing practices in India. Also see
Minturn and Lambert (1964) and Seymour (1990).
26. See Behera (2007); Khalakdina (2017); Pathak-Shelet and Bhatia (2021);
Saraswathi et al. (2018); Tuli (2012).
27. See, for example, Carstairs (1957); Kakar (1978); Kumar et al. (2018); Kurtz
(1992); Sharma (2003).
28. But see Marks and Rathbone (1983) and Sooryamoorthy and Chetty (2015) for
overviews of discussion on family in Africa and Esteve et al. (2022) for an over-
view of research on Family in Latin America.
29. Interestingly, attempts to consider South Asian family alongside the broader
Asian or South-​East Asian contexts have already been undertaken (see Ochiai
and Uberoi, 2021; Yeung et al., 2018).
30. The series titled The Intimate and the Public in Asian and Global Perspectives is
a product of the work done by this centre. See https://​brill.com/​disp​lay/​ser​ial/​
IPAP?langu​age =​en (last accessed on 18 February 2024).
31. This cluster closed in December 2021. See https://​ari.nus.edu.sg/​clust​ers/​previ​
ous-​clust​ers/​ (last accessed on 18 February 2024).
32. Also see Breton (2019).
33. See Croll (2002); Das Gupta (1987); Larsen and Kaur (2013); Miller (1997);
Patel (2007); Sen (1990).
34. See Devika (2008); Pinto (2012); Saavala (2001); Unnithan-​Kumar (2004); Van
Hollen (2003).
35. See Deomampo (2016); Majumdar (2017); Pande (2014); Rudrappa (2015);
Sangari (2015).
36. See Lamb (2009); Brosius and Mandoki (2020). Even in the later decades of the
twentieth century, there were a lot of scholarly discussions on aging. See Vatuk
(1990) for instance.
37. See Addlakha (2008, 2020); Brijnath (2014); Chakravarti (2008); Cohen (1998);
Mehrotra (2006); Sen (2018); Vaidya (2016).
38. See, for instance, Dickey (2000); Grover (2017, 2018); Grover et al. (2018); Ray
and Qayum (2010).
39. See Chaudhry (2021); Kaur (2010, 2012, 2014); Mishra (2013).
40. The literature on migration and transnationalism in relation to family and mar-
riage is too vast to be mentioned here. But see Baldassar and Merla, 2014 and
Bryceson and Vuorela (2002).
32 Anuja Agrawal
41. See Aguiar (2018); Ballard (2004); Nayar (2004); Palriwala and Uberoi (2008);
Shaw (2000); Singh (2016); Sooryamoorthy (2012).
42. The text of these Bills can be found at https://​prsin​dia.org/​billtr​ack/​the-​surrog​
acy-​reg​ulat​ion-​bill-​2016 and https://​prsin​dia.org/​billtr​ack/​the-​surrog​acy-​reg​
ulat​ion-​bill-​2019 (last accessed on 1 July 2024).
43. However, see Basu (2001); Chowdhry (1997).
44. Das (1995) is one of the few studies that have engaged with such a question. The
context of India–​Pakistan partition explored in her work was, however, very dif-
ferent from the one that characterizes conditions of prolonged militarization
that is the subject matter of this chapter. There are some more studies looking
at the implications of cross-​border intimacies as well as family in conflict zones.
See Smith (2020) and essays by Faheem (2020) and Sen (2020) on Kashmir and
Central Indian conflict zone. Other new and contested sites where family is being
used as a means to secure belonging are the National Register of Citizens and the
Citizenship Amendment Act of 2019 (see Roy, 2022).

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 PART I
CR ITIC A L R EOR I EN TATIONS
 1
Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family’
The Politics of Family-​Based Discourse

Penny Vera-​Sanso*

The idea of ‘the family’ or ‘the household’ as having fixed, clear bound-
aries and functions is a figment of the imagination. After over a century
of family research in India the central sociological question that needs
addressing is not what are the trends in family and household forma-
tion but what functions do definitions of family and household serve?
Whose interests are advanced by particular definitions? What erasures
are required to set a definition and what are their effects on public dis-
course, public policy and individual rights to and within households
and families? Most importantly, do household definitions stigmatize and
constrain lives while pulling the determinants of family and household
relations out of the frame of analysis? If the answer is yes, then should
definitions of family and household be seen as a key tool in the structural
violence toolkit? At the heart of the issue raised here is the failure to ac-
knowledge that definitions are cultural and cultures are political. Rather
than being long-​established ways of being and thinking, cultures are a
contingent negotiation, navigation, and manufacturing of ideas under-
pinned by unequal power relations.
This chapter makes an innovative contribution to family studies by
examining the consequences of family definitions found in public and
private discourse in India. This may be of interest to people studying
family relations in societies that are thought to be transitioning from

* Many thanks are due to the numerous people who have supported my research over the
years with their time, thoughts, encouragement, and patience. In relation to this chapter, I would
like to thank Anuja Agrawal, Patricia Uberoi, and Srimati Basu.

Penny Vera-​Sanso, Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family’ In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal,
Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0002
48 Penny Vera-Sanso
‘traditional’ to ‘modern’. It will point to the way public discourse, which
circulates in the fields of academia, politics, and old and new media, mar-
shals decontextualized definitions of family values to explain away social
ills as family failings. This not only sets socio-​economic determinants
outside the explanatory framework but allocates to government the role
of family norm enforcer, rather than rights upholder and social protec-
tion floor provider. The chapter draws on three decades of research in
urban and rural Tamil Nadu, India, to demonstrate how an analysis that
centres on socio-​economic context can explain shifting family patterns
without resorting to ‘dysfunctional families’, ‘changing values’, or ‘cultural
erosion’. It will demonstrate that family definitions are deployed to shape
relations and resource access at the micro level, as they are at the macro.

Mobilizing the Disintegrating Joint Family Discourse

Family form and values are frequently invoked as the explanatory variable
when considering later life support and care. Rapid population ageing in
Low and Middle Income Countries (hereafter LMICs), where over 70
per cent of the world’s over-​sixty-​five population lives (United Nations,
2019b), has led to a resurgence of discourse on family and household re-
lations. Public, political, and scholarly discourses on intergenerational
relations in LMICs overwhelmingly lament a decline in family values,
a decline of joint and extended families, and a rise in nuclear families.
These are erroneously attributed to modernization and industrialization.
Far from reflecting an empirical reality, discourses on changing family
values are the product of wider political agendas.
Although declining joint family numbers are posited as recent in
public, political, and scholarly discourse, this is erroneous. Rather the
Censuses of 1820–​30 (Shah, 1968) and 1867–​1951 (Orenstein, 1961)
show no decline in the average family size of 4–​5 people, which remains
the family average in India’s contemporary censuses and is the standard
used in government policies. Despite the lack of evidence in Census
data for the disintegration argument, joint family decline was being la-
mented in India for at least the past century (Chatterji, 1921; Hill, 1933).
Not everyone, however, saw it as a loss. The 1911 Census identification
of the similarity of family size in India and in European nuclear families
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 49
(4.9 persons) was claimed as the colonial government’s achievement. At
that time it was supported by social reformers in India as joint families
were thought to be a hindrance to productivity, progress, and women’s
rights (Denault, 2009).
Rather than being the dominant family form, historical research finds
that the ‘Hindu joint family’ as a property-​holding social category came
into existence in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century as the
colonial state constructed its relationship with its landowning subjects
through codification and juridical practices that enabled the develop-
ment of land markets (Denault, 2009). Through this process the joint
family was established as a property-​holding group with defined statuses
and relations: family consisted of sons, brothers, and grandsons, and
their female relatives who had conditional rights to support but not to
property, all under the control of the senior male.
While the joint family model held juridical sway, spawning a great
deal of research into how disparate interests could be subsumed within
a patriarchal order that disadvantaged younger men and all women, it
distracted attention from other co-​existing family forms (Patel, 2005).
Not only did this generate a discourse trumpeting joint family values of
keeping property and family together, it denigrated its other on which
the joint family is predicated: family separation. Joint families can only
exist within cycles of family growth and dispersal that include a range
of family types. Were it not so, families would be five generations deep.
It is worth taking some time to think the model through. Taking a gen-
erational cohort as lasting twenty years and counting each generation as
starting from eighty year olds through to new-​borns, families would con-
tain all the surviving male descendants of a patriarch located five gener-
ations above the youngest male: potentially hundreds of people with at
least three generations not at peak working age (two older and one young
generation). This degree of jointness is not envisioned in the model and is
rarely found. Instead, the model assumes (1) that a joint family will break
up and (2) that joint households comprise three generations. In prac-
tice, families process through a variety of arrangements in response to
demographic and economic circumstances (Shah, 1988). Far from being
numerically dominant, joint families can only be one stage in a diverse
pattern of family forms. This raises a question: why do public, political
and scholarly discourses persist with what Shah (1996, 537) described
50 Penny Vera-Sanso
as a ‘cliché repeated ad nauseum in newspapers and popular maga-
zines and on the radio, television and on public platforms’ of a supposed
disintegrating joint family system being replaced by the nuclear family.

Family Discourse Is Political Discourse

Discourses on families are the quintessential political instrument. They

can be marshalled to explain away oppression, obscure the rights of
large swathes of the population, justify the distribution of resources and
duties, stigmatize families, and legitimate punitive measures against in-
dividuals. As a political instrument they are integral to discourses cir-
culating between the international and local scales. The key discursive
tactics are decontextualization and generalizing from the experience of
vocal, privileged minorities under the pretence that it is possible for all
to attain their privileged positions. We can see these decontextualizing
and generalizing strategies in the way British administrators and jurists
characterized progressive societies as ones in which social organization
based on blood ties had given way to a strong state–​individual relation-
ship in which the state protects individual enterprise and rights and is
marked by nuclear families (Denault, 2009). Whereas societies based on
joint families were described as stagnant, ‘producing drones instead of
workers’ (2009, 34). We can see these strategies in the Truman Doctrine
that underpinned decades of national and international development
policies, positing that capitalist development could be universalized if
newly independent, underdeveloped countries replicated the social and
economic patterns of advanced economies. Smaller, nuclear families
were positioned as central to achieving high mass consumption with the
goal of ‘single family houses’ (Rostow, 1960, 77). This led to decades of
population control policies aimed most stridently at the Global South,
particularly at people located lower down the socio-​economic scale
(Wilson, 2017). Economic modernization theory had its correlate in
family studies. Goode’s influential World Revolution and Family Patterns
(1963) posited that industrialization leads to the breaking of kinship ties
in favour of the conjugal/​nuclear family as this fulfils both the needs of
an industrialized economy and younger people’s desire for advancement
and freedom from parental control. With widespread industrialization,
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 51
Goode predicted a convergence of family form towards what was thought
to be the ‘traditional’ form in the United States and Europe. Yet, the evi-
dence of a tradition of nuclear family in Europe and its relationship to
industrialization are hotly debated (Kertzer, 1991).
In contrast to the ‘follow the Western model of modernization’ dis-
course, the right to self-​determination discourse increasingly became
the ground on which international relations were fought during the
twentieth century (Weitz, 2015). It underpinned the United Nations’
Charter (1948), providing legal grounds for claiming self-​determination
as ‘a people’. With no definitions of what constitutes ‘a people’, interest
in nineteenth-​century German Romanticists’ concept of primordialism
was reinvigorated in the pursuit of national identities that could be said to
be fixed and ancient despite the pre-​colonial fluidity of group boundaries
and the colonial imposition of territorial borders. Not only was the con-
cept of the Hindu joint family created in the colonial encounter, where co-
lonial legal practices had been constructing Hindu and Muslim identities
as fixed and immutable (Anderson, 1993), but its nominal slippage into
the ‘Indian joint family’ was central to India’s end of Empire mobiliza-
tion (Uberoi, 2005). Indologists, including those working in or with the
colonial administration (Denault, 2009), mined classical Sanskritic texts
from the Vedic period (1500–​800 bce) to generate a model of the Hindu
joint family (Karve, 1939; Prabhu, 1940) that was claimed to be the uni-
fying source of India’s joint family traditions (Karve, 1953). It is notable
that Karve’s traditional ‘Indian’ joint family did not include Muslims.
Rather they were cited as outsiders who, along with the British, were posi-
tioned as seeking to ‘modify the structure of this most ancient institution
of India’ (Karve, 1953 [1965, 8]). This work has been roundly challenged
since the 1960s for its selectivity, its obscuring of other ancient traditions
and its lack of fit with historical and contemporary evidence (D’Cruz and
Bharat, 2001; Patel, 2005), yet it remains pervasive in public and political
discourse as an ‘important ingredient in national self-​imaging as the so-
cial institution that uniquely expresses and represents the valued aspects
of Indian culture and tradition’ (Uberoi, 2005, 363).
Despite the ideological significance of the joint family to India’s na-
tional identity, scholars and the various arms of government do not
follow a common definition. Karve identified cohabitation as central to
joint families, including eating food cooked at one hearth and holding
52 Penny Vera-Sanso
property in common. Cohabitation is the criterion used by the Census
of India to define the household, defined as having one front door and
one hearth. By contrast Gupta (1994) dropped the need for co-​habitation
in favour of mutual obligations, yet Thomas (1995) argued that the fam-
ilies Gupta considered joint were more correctly classed as nuclear. Desai
(1964) states that the incidence of nuclear families can vary from 32 to
85 percent depending on the definition utilized, clearly demonstrating
that what is at stake is a representational politics. Desai (1964) and Khatri
(1975) moved the debate on by raising the question of the degree of
jointness, pointing to the flow of people, material and decision-​making
across multiple households. The Census of India, is caught in a fudge be-
tween endorsing normative values and the inevitable range of living ar-
rangements that families engage in due to spousal death, comparatively
high adult mortality rates and temporary migration for work and educa-
tion.1 By emphasizing the co-​habitation and common hearth criteria, not
only can the Census not capture degrees of jointness but joint families in
which a senior person has died are redefined as ‘broken extended house-
holds’ despite no change in family arrangements. Using this method-
ology the Census masks a politically informed discourse that chooses to
emphasize isolation over connection, thereby driving a public discourse
of failing family values when mortality, availability, and conditions of
work, housing, and healthcare are the determining factors shaping living
arrangements.

The Political Work of Family Discourse

Post-​Independence

Since Independence the Government of India has a history of refusing

to address later life subsistence and wellbeing on the basis that every
contingency could not be addressed and that young people had the first
claim on State resources (Sivaramakrishnan, 2014). This can be seen in
the Constitution, in Nehru’s statements and in the work of B. P. Adarkar
who led the government-​appointed investigation committee in prepar-
ation for India’s first social insurance act. The committee excluded pen-
sion provision as Adarkar claimed that factory workers could fall back
on village-​based extended family support once they stopped working at
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 53
age fifty-​five. This set the tone for the Government of India’s approach to
later life: a stingy pension introduced in 1995 for destitute older people
(Vera-​Sanso, 2016). The pension has a cap on numbers of pensions per
household, irrespective of the number of older people in the household,
and a cap on the number of pensions allocated to a district, irrespective
of the numbers of people who qualify. Even where individual States and
Union Territories raised the pension rate over a decade ago, the failure to
index for inflation has allowed the pension value to wither on the vine.
Under pressure from the United Nations the Government of India for-
mulated a National Policy on Older Persons (NPOP), which stated that
the ‘family is (the) most cherished social institution in India and the most
vital non-​formal social security for the old’ (Government of India, 1999,
para. 80). The policy set out inducements for younger people to support
older people, including tax concessions on health insurance for people
able to afford such. The NPOP centrepiece was the Maintenance and
Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act, 2007 (hereafter ‘Maintenance
and Welfare Act’), which, despite claims that this Act was a radical step
forward, merely drew together provisions scattered over a number of
Acts, including the Hindu Adoptions and Maintenance Act, 1956, and
Section 125 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1973, but did so without
their nuance. The Act dropped the proviso of ‘if any person having suf-
ficient means neglects or refuses to maintain’ a parent ‘unable to main-
tain himself or herself ’ (Code of Criminal Procedure, Chapter IX, 125).
What was new was local Maintenance Tribunals. While the Act allowed
people to take their adult children and those that will inherit from them
to a Maintenance Tribunal in order to claim a monthly allowance, no
central government funding was provided for implementation. The Act
played into the ‘negligent children/​bad family’ discourse by appearing
to force adult children, and people who will inherit, to maintain older
people. While the Act’s material impacts varied, depending on local im-
plementation and willingness of older people to use Tribunals, its signifi-
cance lay in its response to international pressure on the Government of
India as duty bearer for ensuring older people’s rights. Taking the pos-
ition that Adarkar took in 1944, the Act stated that where older people
were unable to maintain themselves they should fall back on their ex-
tended family. It also provided for the return of pre-​mortem inheritance
if older people in need were not being maintained. By not addressing
54 Penny Vera-Sanso
two key factors determining the support of older people, the capacity
of younger people to maintain older people and the consequences for
people who had nothing to pass to the next generation, the Act pulled
socio-​economic status out of the frame; it positioned the lack of support
as a moral failing, not a political economy issue requiring significant gov-
ernment intervention.
In support of the prevailing discourse of changing cultural values and
disintegrating joint family, contemporary researchers spin evidence that
goes further than the Maintenance and Welfare Act by heightening aban-
donment and abuse discourses (e.g., Khan and Bhat, 2018).2 For example,
according to the 2011 Census of India, only 4.8 per cent of people aged
over sixty live alone and a further 9.8 per cent live with one other person
aged over sixty, a figure that tells us nothing about the extent of financial
maintenance non-​co-​resident older people receive from younger people,
should they need it, which is the limit of the Act’s concern for financial
support. Further, the category ‘live alone’ tells us nothing about spatial
proximity and intergenerational support. Irrespective of these limita-
tions, even in its own terms the Census figures suggest that 85 per cent
of people aged over sixty live with people aged under sixty, yet scholarly
discourse proceeds as though abandonment is widespread. Nor does the
discourse recognize that it is the State that is the main duty bearer in re-
lation to older people’s rights—​a duty that includes either direct support
of older people or ensuring that older people’s families have the means
to maintain them. Similarly, a study of a cross-​section of older people
in Chennai presents figures as low as 14 per cent of participants experi-
enced one or more forms of ‘mistreatment’ (verbal, financial, physical)
as support of the ‘degenerating traditional values and weakened family
system’ discourse (Raj and Galhotra, 2019). It is notable that the authors
chose against using the study to point to the strength of a family system in
which 86 per cent of older people do not report abuse. Similarly, yet com-
pletely contrary to the logic of failing support, is a discourse that posi-
tions older people’s economic dependence on family support as evidence
of their vulnerability despite dependence being assumed under the joint
family system. Once again, the framing of the evidence is set within the
discourse of culture change and erosion of family values. Here high levels
of filial dependence such as the 2016 figure of 65 per cent of older people
depend on others for their daily maintenance (Government of India,
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 55
2016) are marshalled to indicate high levels of vulnerability, not high
levels of support (e.g., Issac et al., 2021). While later life poverty, lack of
physical help, isolation, abuse, and economic dependence are concerns,
interpreting the data as evidence of failing family values is both illogical
and diverts attention away from their cause and potential solutions.
India’s economy, which traps over 90 per cent of India’s working popu-
lation in the precarious, pension-​less informal economy (Mehrotra,
2019), speaks much more to large-​scale economic dependence and
vulnerability than failing family values. The shortage of work in rural
areas, the lack of work opportunities for highly skilled people, and the
constraint on finding housing in urban areas, including the clearance
of informal settlements, better explain the small percentages of older
people living alone than does a recourse to failing family values. Rather
than pointing to widespread failing family values the data points to per-
sistent, even resilient, family values. By framing the circumstances of a
small proportion of older people as evidence of culture change, schol-
arly discourse is feeding a public and political discourse that, far from
stimulating government action, creates a climate in which negligible-​cost
exercises, such as the Maintenance and Welfare Act, can be passed off as
‘upholding older people’s rights’. Whereas it merely stigmatizes families
caught in global market pressures on wages, inflation, escalating land/​
property values and the mismatch between educational achievement and
job supply.
Since enactment, the Courts have expanded the scope of the
Maintenance and Welfare Act. The Delhi High Court’s interpretation en-
ables older people to evict son, daughter or legal heir from family prop-
erty irrespective of whether the older person is being maintained and
whether the property is ancestral or self-​acquired (Kumar and Moti,
2020). It allows for widowed daughters-​in-​law to be evicted. The Act and
its interpretation, justified on the grounds of disintegrating joint family
values, rewrite Hindu joint family relations by shifting joint family prop-
erty into the personal domain of an elder, generally a man. This funda-
mentally changes the head of family role from husbanding joint family
resources for the benefit of current and future generations to one of an
individualizing entitlement to use and dispose. In the name of preventing
disintegrating joint families, the Act and Courts are firstly, undermining
the material basis of joint families, that is property held in common and,
56 Penny Vera-Sanso
secondly, redefining intergenerational support as an economic transac-
tion, not a ‘cultural’ or moral duty.

Culture Is a Contingent Negotiation

The fundamental issue with the changing cultural values thesis is a mis-
understanding of what culture is. Culture is not a thing, it is a contingent
negotiation, an endless unfinished becoming. Values, or principles, give
guidance for practice. They do not determine practice. This is partly be-
cause context varies and because individual cultural values are not iso-
lates but must be accommodated with an eye on other values. Hence,
practice can vary while values and beliefs are retained; often practice
must vary in order to uphold the culture (values and beliefs). For ex-
ample, in the Indian context sons should ‘look after’ their parents, mar-
ried daughters belong to their husband’s household, daughters-​in-​law do
their parents-​in-​law’s care-​work, adult masculinity requires that men set
up their own household and fathers should give their children a good
start in life. What does that mean in practice if there are no surviving
sons, if sons are impoverished with young and unmarried children, if
parents are better off than sons, if there is no daughter-​in-​law, if parents
can care for themselves, if either parent is widowed? The permutations of
what would be considered culturally appropriate practice widens when
local labour markets, infrastructural services, and parental preferences
are added to the equation. This contingent negotiation of cultural prin-
ciples and culturally appropriate practice engages everyone because, at
every moment, each family must decide what they should do in their
circumstances. These circumstances are shaped by the means available
to them, most significantly by their socio-​economic position and demo-
graphic context. With competing cultural demands and widely varying
contexts, the action or behaviour chosen is also interpreted, justified,
and legitimated, or not, by those directly involved and by commentators
stretching from the wider kin group and community through to scholars,
policy-​makers, journalists, and politicians. Some will read the behaviour
as conforming to ‘the culture’ given the circumstances, others will be in-
tolerant, considering the behaviour an affront to culture, or as signifying
changing values.
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 57
In terms of family research, the variance in interpretation is partly def-
initional; people operate with different understandings of ‘looking after’,
‘living with’, ‘family’, ‘household’, ‘nuclear’, and ‘joint’. The obsession with
the nuclear/​joint binary has blinded researchers to the way families ac-
commodate women’s relatives in households as ‘paying guests’. This is a
means of following the cultural norm that households are formed around
a man and his blood relatives while also providing long-​term shelter to
in-​laws whose access to a more culturally appropriate household is not
realizable (Vera-​Sanso, 1997). The nuclear/​joint binary and tight defin-
ition of what constitutes a household has obscured the fluidity of house-
hold and kin relations among spatially proximate families (Vatuk, 1989;
Vera-​Sanso, 1997). Central to the reading off of intergenerational rela-
tions from household structure is an ageist dualism that equates young
and prime age adults with capacity and older adults with frailty and
dependence. Again, this is a decontextualized approach, one that gives
priority to chronological age over socio-​economic conditions. A closer
inspection of intergenerational relations reveals that it is often younger
people who rely on older people for housing, providing or helping out
with livelihoods, contributing to the household budget, sourcing credit,
and providing childcare and chaperonage for young women.

The Politics of Local Level Family-​Based Discourse

The remainder of the chapter will examine these negotiations and ac-
commodations of cultural values in order to demonstrate how family-​
based discourse is operationalized at the local level to define rights to and
within households. It will draw on mixed methods research I have under-
taken across three decades to set out how people mobilize family-​based
discourses to define relations across generations. These discourses are
used to control access to resources: not solely to restrict access but also
to open up access to people who would normally, according to cultural
norms, not have access. The analysis is based on research undertaken
with 110 households in two of Chennai’s informal settlements between
November 1990 and March 1992; nine months of research in 2000
involving caste Hindus and older Dalits and their families in two villages
in western Tamil Nadu; and research into 800 households located in five
58 Penny Vera-Sanso
informal settlements in Chennai between 2007 and 2013, including up-
dating the two studied in 1990–​92. The main theme discussed will be
definitional politics and its relation to rights in families, including intra-​
household disagreements regarding household boundaries and the mar-
shalling of boundaries to constrain demands on household resources
while also embracing people without viable households. Far from being
a failure of family or cultural values, it is wider economic conditions that
shape a household’s social and economic capacity to meet their com-
peting familial responsibilities.

1. Defining the Household Boundary

Qualitative research demonstrates that the household boundary is not as

clear-​cut as is the boundary of the building in which people live. Rather,
household and family boundaries are contextually understood by family
members (Vatuk, 1989) and can be fluid and contested (Vera-​Sanso,
1997). Further, contextual factors determine how buildings are used, ex-
posing the limitations of the Census’s one-​hearth model.
Starting with research in rural Tamil Nadu in 2000, where housing
pressure is less severe than it is in urban areas, we can see that contrary
to the failing family values discourse that positions older people as vic-
tims, older people actively determine household boundaries in response
to their family’s socio-​economic circumstances. This is evident from a
comparison of Caste Hindu and Dalit household formation and division.
People in the studied villages with medium-​sized farms and businesses
that regularly employed up to four people had diverse ideas of what a
joint family is. For one man heading a three-​generation household reliant
on their family business, his family was no longer joint because one of
his married sons had moved away. For him, jointness was a measure of
family unity. In another family of married brothers, the head of the family
had legally transferred his property to his sons before his death in order to
prevent married daughters inheriting. These brothers insisted that they
were nuclear families despite earning their living from the same undiv-
ided business, being co-​resident and co-​owners of the family property,
sharing a common kitchen, front door and family room and jointly con-
tributing to their widowed mother’s maintenance. Their mother lived in
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 59
the family home. She looked after anyone who was sick and helped each
son’s family with childcare and domestic work when wives were not avail-
able. For this family of brothers, the key criterion was separate budgeting
which foreclosed the expectation of mutual support, and enabled each
family to determine how they would meet their obligations to set their
children up in life with a good education and arranged marriages.
While all the brothers in this family agreed that their families were nu-
clear, in another family some of the members considered themselves to
be a joint family while others did not. In this family the head of the family
had informally divided the land between his three sons in order to reduce
conflict between the brothers’ families and to keep the natal family to-
gether. An unmarried son was allocated half the property to cover joint
family expenses, including the support of the elderly parents and family-​
based ritual expenses. Two brothers’ families lived in their own build-
ings. This division enabled each brother’s family to live, farm, and budget
according to their capacities and ambitions for their children. Some
members of the family insisted that the family was joint as the land had
not been legally divided while others felt it was not joint as the support
implied by a joint family had ended, leaving some people more vulner-
able than others due to uneven mortality, fertility, and education across
the brothers’ marital families.
Comparing these households, what is striking here is, first, the lack of
agreement as to what is the critical feature of jointness: a moral condition
of family unity, pooled incomes, the legal status of family property. The
second striking point is that families classing themselves as nuclear or
joint can operate in the same manner in relation to the older generation.
How would the door-​to-​door Census surveyors log these families? The
first family example would be classed as joint on the basis of who is nor-
mally resident, despite the head of the family not considering it joint. The
second example, might be classed as nuclear families and a widow living
alone in a single person household, thereby entirely misrepresenting this
family’s intergenerational relations of support. Alternatively, the Census
takers might over-​ride the family’s definitions and class them as joint on
the basis of normally resident and taking their meals from a common kit-
chen, despite not sharing food or pooling income. In the final example,
the Census record would depend on who is asked—​the family could be
recorded as one joint household or three nuclear households. The third
60 Penny Vera-Sanso
striking point is that family arrangements are not necessarily imposed
on older generations—​in two out of the three examples it was the older
generation who established separate budgeting in order to keep families
together. These families exemplify this chapter’s argument that culture is
not a thing that takes specified forms, but a manoeuvring within specific
contexts in order to secure one or more of many culturally favoured, and
potentially competing, outcomes.
The need to navigate competing objectives in tightly constrained cir-
cumstances is particularly evident for families whose only productive
asset is selling their physical labour in harsh working conditions within
the context of chronically poor health, food insecurity, precarious or sea-
sonal work and inadequate state responses to work shortage, working
conditions and poverty. Poverty is coercive, it demands the distress sale
of labour at unsustainably low values. It compels families to realign living
arrangements to form the smallest feasible budgeting unit in order to
force every potential worker to take on as much work as possible, irre-
spective of age, capacity, or how weak or unwell they feel. For this reason,
in rural Dalit villages and urban low-​income settlements, soon after mar-
riage young couples form a separate budgeting household; a separation
that can be initiated by either generation if they feel that the other side is
not pulling their weight. Even though the process of separating is delicate
and can cause an initial fallout, the point of setting up separate budgeting
is not to cut off ties between families but to cast support between house-
holds as not to be expected on a regular basis. In this context we can see
that the disintegrating joint family and changing cultural values dis-
course provides a cover for the structural violence that is inherent in an
economy that accepts high levels of poverty, as is demonstrated by the
Global Hunger Index where India’s GHI score is considered ‘serious’,
having the highest child wasting rate of the 135 countries covered by the
Index (Global Hunger Index, 2022).
Contrary to the Census expectation that household relations can be
read off from hearth sharing, it is constraints on housing that determines
hearth sharing. In the two Dalit villages studied in 2000, there was little
constraint on housing as the Government of Tamil Nadu had provided
land plots to married sons in order to alleviate congested conditions in
Dalit settlements. In these circumstances separation could be achieved
by building a lean-​to against the family home, which the Census would
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 61
see as two nuclear households. Yet this misconstrues the relationship be-
tween households that would provide mutual support in difficult periods
arising from sickness, widowhood, and negligible work availability. Such
intergenerational support could go in either direction. Most often it hap-
pened between women, with older women helping their daughters and
daughters-​in-​law by taking care of children to enable younger women to
work or by sourcing food for a few days via other means, including beg-
ging. This mutual support happened both within families living adjacent
to each other and families living within walking distance. Some older
people did not belong to any one household. Instead, they actively main-
tained interests in a number of households, including sleeping, storing
their belongings, eating different meals and helping out in several house-
holds belonging to sons and daughters. This diurnal peripateticism en-
abled older people to respond to the needs and capacities of a number of
households. It did require the survival of a number of children, which is
not a given among the poorest sections of society. It is unlikely that peri-
patetic parents would be included in Census data as none were reported
in the door-​to-​door survey a member of the community undertook at
the beginning of the research. This highlights another limitation of the
Census as a source of information on family and intergenerational re-
lations. It assumes that every person has one identified home and that
everyone agrees who lives there.
In urban Tamil Nadu, household boundaries in low-​income settle-
ments reflect both the pressure on housing, the value of the property
and the cultural norm that a household comprises a man’s relatives, not
his affines. Between 1990 and 1992, household structure depended on
whether families were in rented, owned, or squatted housing. Rented
housing, including rented tenements and those being bought through
a higher-​purchase scheme, were never subdivided. ‘Owned’ housing on
government allotted land or squatted land could be subdivided, either
by subdividing the property on the horizontal plane or building another
floor to an existing building. The flexibility of owned housing kept fam-
ilies together, not as joint households but as what I call compound house-
holds, comprising separately budgeting, related households, living on the
same property. In seeking to uphold the discourse that households are
self-​supporting, families do not present themselves as forming a com-
pound household. Instead, they set the household boundary on the basis
62 Penny Vera-Sanso
of income pooling. This household self-​sufficiency discourse puts brakes
on demands that outsiders can place on a household’s resources. It is a
fiction particularly supported by male heads of households claiming sole
recognition for household provisioning; they underplay the significance
of inter-​household support. It is a fiction upheld by women choosing
against spousal oversight of how they address the quotidian contingen-
cies of precarious living and working conditions in a family network.
Undertaking research between 1990 and 1992 with 110 households
(according to my classification of households, 156 according to inform-
ants’ definitions) revealed both the level of support between house-
holds, in terms of physical and financial support, but also the fluidity
of household boundaries over the seventeen months of field research.
Inter-​household support enabled families to get by. Women in com-
pound households fetched drinking water together at 2 a.m., which was
when the Chennai Metropolitan Water Supply and Sewerage Board
released drinking water to the settlements. They helped out when an-
other woman needed to leave the house, was ill or had a young child that
needed watching. Financial support, as loans, usually went through an
older woman (mother or mother-​in-​law), rather than as direct transfers
across sibling households. When husbands were away, younger women
and their children were temporarily absorbed into another household or
an older woman joined the younger woman’s household until the hus-
band returned. In instances where older women had refused to join a
son’s household, often signalling rejection of a love marriage, ill-​health
of the older woman necessitated the breakdown of the household div-
ision which was re-​established by the older woman once her health was
restored. Most of these forms of support were classed as exceptional no
matter how regularly they happened. The denial of their regularity and
their importance to daily survival not only maintained the fiction that
households are independent but built in a hesitancy for constant de-
mands for help from people classed as outside the budgeting boundary.
The difference between my classification of household structure that
emphasized household interdependence and the 1990–​92 low-​income
research participants’ classification of their household boundary, which
emphasized self-​sufficiency, can be seen in Table 1.1.
Definitions of household boundaries that emphasize self-​sufficiency
identify nearly 50 per cent more households in the study than do
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 63
Table 1.1 Comparing definitions emphasizing self-​sufficiency
and interdependence

Household type Self-​sufficiency Interdependence

Nuclear 105 47
Joint 16 15
Extended 15 14
Compound -​ 26
Couple 9 4
Single person 11 4
Total households 156 110
Source: Created by author.

definitions emphasizing interdependence. The self-​sufficiency definition

more than doubled the number of households described as nuclear
or couple, and nearly trebled the number of single person households,
giving the impression of a high degree of isolation or abandonment.
However, far from being isolated or abandoned, the majority of couples,
single person and female-​headed nuclear households (nine out of seven-
teen female headed households) were incorporated into compound
households that provided a support network in times of difficulty, while
curtailing the expectation of regular support between people living in
precarious circumstances.
When household interdependence is correlated with housing tenure,
it becomes clear that housing seen by research participants as ‘owned’
encourages compound households and discourages nuclear households.
In 1990–​92 there were over three times as many compound households
in ‘owned’ housing than in rented housing and more than four times
as many nuclear households in rented housing compared to owned
housing. Family living arrangements change in response to family mat-
uration and the morbidity and mortality consequences of lives lived in
precarious conditions. Compound households in owned housing was
the household form and tenure most capable of absorbing shifting family
circumstances. Rented housing, being indivisible, was unable to ac-
commodate the separate budgeting that impoverished families needed
to sustain a high worker:dependant ratio. Being reliant on relatives and
64 Penny Vera-Sanso
known people for contacts for rental housing, work, and loans, and for
day-​to-​day help, young families generally rented near their natal family.
In owned property younger families built a lean-​to or put up a dividing
wall, forming a compound household.
Fifteen years later, in 2007, after India had opened itself up to the
global market, the pressure on land and housing intensified. Tamil
Nadu Slum Clearance Board (TNSCB) tenements were now owned by
their occupants and beginning to be extended and subdivided. Owned
buildings in low-​income settlements underwent repeated subdivision,
producing tiny living spaces for related families’ use or for letting at sub-
stantial sums comparative to incomes. The economic pressure to be in
residence on property that now had significant value created a densifi-
cation that belied the assumed clarity of Census definitions. In TNSCB
homes, two to three separately budgeting families were squeezing into
20m2 dwellings, with everyone using the same kitchen/​hearth and front
door. How would the Census categorize these families—​as nuclear or
joint? By 2007 families were caught in two economic vices, one forcing a
division into separate budgeting households, in order to maintain a high
worker:dependant ratio, and the other forcing people to remain in or re-
turn to parental housing despite the lack of space and privacy. The system
of forming smaller separate budgeting households in response to poorly
paid, precarious livelihoods would inevitably hit an upper ceiling as each
generation married and formed a new household. In the early 1990s
households could subdivide or young families could rent, or possibly
buy, near their parents. By 2007 the congestion and hikes in land values,
even on squatted land, made all three strategies increasingly impossible.
National and State government policy to entice foreign investment
with city beautification alongside national and international pres-
sure on land values has resulted in a policy of state-​led clearances of
low-​income settlements, forcing people into unfinished, mass ‘resettle-
ment’ sites thirty kilometres outside the city, such as Kannagi Nagar and
Semmenchery. These evictions deepen precarity directly through the
destruction of property and possessions, and the loss of livelihood, edu-
cational, and work opportunities. The random allocation of dwellings
shatters familial support networks dependent on close proximity, strip-
ping households of the everyday help precarity demands. For example,
mothers in Kannagi Nagar, who are no longer able to leave their young
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 65
daughters under the watchful eye of relatives, are taking young daugh-
ters to work, causing girls to drop out of education and triggering earlier
marriages (HLRN, 2014). What we see here is not failing family values/​
changing culture but, as we also saw with the Maintenance and Welfare
Act, the imposition of one cultural norm by government agencies at the
expense of another. In this instance, imposing the norm that households
are self-​sufficient bounded units while crushing the financial means and
physical proximity needed to make family interdependence possible.

2. Fudging the Household Boundary

Public discourse’s assumption that everyone has entitled access to a func-

tioning household denies the impact of socio-​economic inequality on
morbidity and mortality (Marmot, 2005). It is not failing family values
or changing culture that leaves people without a household to which they
have clear rights. Fertility decline, child mortality, the excess deaths of
men in particular, as well as other economic, societal, and relational con-
tingencies, can leave people without the means to either establish or join
a viable household.3 In these circumstances people may be given access
to others’ households but not as an equal. This goes beyond the distinc-
tion identified since the 1980s of gender inequalities within households
(Agarwal, 1990; Whitehead, 1984). These people have yet more con-
tingent access to household resources. Within the hierarchy of rights in
households, relatives of a male household head rank higher than affines,
including his wife’s relatives and daughter’s marital family. This cultural
norm is not solely about the male household head’s attitude to affines.
In a class where reputation determines access to work, housing, credit,
support in conflicts, and spouses for children, sustaining approval across
several social networks is a critical economic strategy. At the same time,
the contingencies of a life time of precarious circumstances means that
families often have relatives unable to form viable households whom, at
least, some in a household wish to shelter. This is achieved by fudging the
household boundary.
People may be classed as ‘visitors’, or as looking after children during
the day and hence fed but not staying. The latter was the way working
married women could provide some support to their mothers without
66 Penny Vera-Sanso
their mothers appearing to be living off their son-​in-​law. People staying
and being fed for a not necessarily specified period of time are ‘guests’.
This signified that the arrangement is temporary—​it enabled families to
help out relatives, including daughters whose marriages were in crisis,
without incurring social opprobrium. The category ‘paying guest’ was
used to fudge household boundaries in the longer term for affines. I came
across families with paying guests that had been present for 10–​15 years
with no plans to move on and ones where older men and women were
hoping to stay till death. Despite the permanency of these arrangements,
paying guests have no right to call on the household’s resources and,
equally, the household has no right to call on theirs, beyond the agreed
contribution to the household budget. The objective is that the head of
the household should not be seen as funding the ‘paying guest’ whether,
in fact, the paying guest meets all their expenses or not. Nor should the
paying guest be seen as supporting the family.
These paying guest arrangements worked reasonably well for men,
particularly for young and prime age men, as the city provided, and con-
tinues to provide, more non-​domestic space to men for work, leisure, and
socializing, allowing them to be out all day, thereby reducing the pressure
on domestic space, affording the host household long periods of privacy
and making the paying guest more tolerable. For women the situation was
quite different. The city is especially hostile to poorer women, providing
negligible non-​domestic space when not working. In these circumstances
women spent much more of their time in the host household’s already
cramped one-​room dwelling. They were acutely aware of the impact of
their presence on domestic space, privacy, and domestic relations, which
they tried to mitigate through helping with domestic work and childcare,
earning an income and keeping quiet and out of the way as much as pos-
sible when the male household head, an affine, was present. While in
some households everyone was agreed as to the status of the paying guest,
this was not the case in others. In some, women considered their relative
as part of the household but were well aware that their husband would
not accept them once their capacity to pay for their expenses declined.
This meant that without an adequate pension, which few people living
in low-​income settlements have, later life can be a particularly uncer-
tain prospect. Government pension policy fails to bolster these people’s
circumstances.
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 67
Classifying people as visitors, child-​ minders, guests, and paying
guests is the means by which family members attempt to fudge house-
hold boundaries in order to help out or shelter people who could not
form or access a more culturally appropriate household. These people
rarely appear in household surveys. Not only does this fudging demon-
strate the difficulties of Census data collection to usefully map household
boundaries, it demonstrates that family values are not disintegrating,
that people are attempting to extend support while also addressing their
other competing family commitments undertaken in precarious circum-
stances. In this complex, multilayered situation some people do better
than others, reflecting their better positioning in the labour market, ad-
equacy of pension and their marital family’s history of fertility, morbidity,
and mortality. Generally, men do better than women and younger people
better than older people, leaving women and older people in more ex-
posed circumstances facing uncertain futures even when sheltered by a
relative to whose household they have no automatic right.

Conclusion

Debates about family relations have never been politically neutral.

Rather, they are a key tool in the structural violence handbook. At the
time of independence, and to this day, the concept of the Indian Joint
Family has been used to legitimate a hands-​off approach to social welfare,
using culture change as the explanation for social ills. This blame-​the-​
victim’s-​family discourse not only frees government of a meaningful role
in ensuring social wellbeing and individual rights, it takes the structural
violence of socio-​economic positioning, created or permitted by govern-
ment, out of the explanatory frame. The Census of India, via its rigidity in
defining household type and its inability to map patterns of familial rela-
tions, generates and generalizes a bureaucratic model that takes building
form (common hearth, common front door) as the measure of familial
relations. Despite this fundamentally erroneous methodology, Census
data is deemed to be scientific/​objective evidence, allowing it to be spun
to prove failing family values, despite the lack of evidence for decline.
The Census is a key tool in the structural violence handbook, yet it also
provides one of the best means by which scholars can challenge public
68 Penny Vera-Sanso
discourse on disintegrating family values by demonstrating that even in
its own terms Census data does not support the argument.
We need to go further. We need a more nuanced understanding of
culture as contextualized practice navigating competing social values in
complex and contingent circumstances. This demands an investigation
into how upholding family values varies by setting (class, urban-​rural,
dwelling type and tenure, income source), by social gradients in fertility,
morbidity, and mortality rates and by the consequences of State policies.
At both inter-​household and intra-​household levels defining household
type is not about failing family values but setting parameters for everyday
relations, particularly around demands on resources. These arrange-
ments flex in response to changing family circumstances. In contexts
where social, economic, and demographic forces work against them and
where reputation opens, or closes, the door to work, credit, housing, and
spouses in an arranged marriage market, how household relations are
viewed by outsiders is critical to people’s life chances. In these circum-
stances, household boundaries are fudged in order to shelter people who
are unable to form or access a viable household. This arises from the fer-
tility, morbidity, and mortality consequences of excess exposure to the
risks on which India’s current political economy is predicated.
From a theoretical and methodological perspective, the Census does
not provide reliable information either on family relations or on house-
hold type. Rather, it is a census of housing stock and, by classifying
households according to property characteristics, it echoes the colonial
project of controlling people through legally defining family and prop-
erty relations. A better way of mapping and protecting intra-​generational
and intergenerational relations would be to focus on interdependence
between related households. This requires the recognition of relations
being defined by both the dispensation of income (which may include
non-​residents, who may be part of several households) and shared re-
productive work, including the everyday small loans, that families rely
on to get by in difficult circumstances. This is eminently doable and, im-
portantly, it would prevent the implementation of policies that break the
family networks on which all generations depend.
 Misconceiving the ‘Indian Family ’ 69
Notes
1. India had an average adult mortality rate (for ages 15–​60) of 179 per 1000 between
2015 and 2020, giving it the third worst rank in South Asia, above Afghanistan and
Bhutan (United Nations, 2019a).
2. Numerous articles take this approach. The selection here demonstrates the con-
tinuing currency of the failing family values discourse.
3. In 1976 adult male mortality (between ages 15–​60) in India began rising to a 2010
high of 56 per cent excess male mortality compared to female adult mortality.
In 2015 that excess adult male mortality dropped just below 40 per cent higher
than female adult mortality—​which is where it currently remains (World Bank
Group, 2024).

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 2
The Insides and Outsides of Families
Social Reproduction in Neoliberal Times

Kumkum Sangari

For several decades now, feminism has uncovered the complexity and
contradictions of families in capitalist formations. In my understanding,
families exist within gendered familial, state, and market regimes, and so-
cial reproduction in India is governed by these patriarchal regimes. This
chapter is organized around waged and non-​waged social reproduction
which can make the borders between the insides and outsides of families
somewhat illusory.
I begin with defining these regimes and the inescapabilty of social re-
production, which is global and has a specific character in India. The
relation between waged and non-​waged labour is especially significant
since the labour market regime and what I term extended social repro-
duction winds through the family. This creates segregated caste and
gender-​specific labour markets, which interlock with the labour of so-
cial reproduction inside families. The neoliberal economy has aggravated
the class distance between points of survival and points of accumula-
tion and has jeopardized social reproduction in a number of ways. The
economies of survival and economies of accumulation are connected
by extended social reproduction. The concrete and customary tasks of
gender-​and caste-​identified labour have to some extent reassembled in
the low-​waged service sector in the form of extended social reproduc-
tion in staggered and region-​specific ways. Older caste hierarchies can
appear in new forms and sites of paid work even as capitalism becomes
the dominant form. As I will discuss, this is a labour issue that cuts across
the market and families. The resulting interlocking of points of survival

Kumkum Sangari, The Insides and Outsides of Families In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal,
Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0003
74 Kumkum Sangari
and points of accumulation blurs or blends the insides and outsides of
families.
The state regime is pockmarked with a neoliberal form of
retraditionalization. Some recent retraditionalizing laws, which alter the
terms or ‘contracts’ of social reproduction in relation to marriage, pro-
creation, and intergenerational care, reveal the neoliberal character of
the state. The laws on old age care and commercial surrogacy push the
responsibility for social reproduction onto families. As it supervises the
transition to neoliberal capitalism, the state too can cling to familial re-
gimes and reconfigure the links between the family/​household and non-​
waged labour.
Heteropatriarchal families too are invested in maintaining the unpaid
tasks of social reproduction, as is evident in the increasing investment in
practices such as son selection and regulatory marriage. Finally, as the
neoliberal milieu determines the social circulation of risk, violence, and
misogyny, it erodes the very idea of the bordered family.

Diverse Family Forms and Gender Regimes

Families in India are complex and contradictory entities that vary on oc-
cupational, regional, class, caste, rural, and urban lines. They are always
socially located and responsive to wider changes. ‘The family’ can be a
misleading term because of the diversity in family forms, class locations
that range from mere subsistence to the propertied, as well as differing
residential modes of (dis)aggregation between those tied to land/​place
and those dispersed through migration. There is no tidy match among
families as living social entities, familial ideologies, and the organization
of households.
I use the plural ‘families’ to point to such concrete diversity and ‘the
family’ to indicate a degree of structuration across differences. At every
class and caste level, the family form is a node between the social, eco-
nomic, legal, political, and patriarchal. These multiple determinations
are of course absorbed and enacted situationally in class and location
specific ways. Broadly speaking, the family coheres around the essential
labour of social reproduction. The family has been a labour form in every
phase of capitalism and the neoliberal is not an exception.
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 75
Given the coexistence of residual, dominant, and emergent family
forms—​for example, tribal, matrilineal, and patrilineal systems, mul-
tiple personal laws, stranger and affinal marriage, customary practices
that can be prescribed by caste or community—​it would be artificial to
propose a single familial regime. Rather, as I have shown elsewhere, the
term multiple patriarchies can help to understand differences, as well as
the abstract unity of core distributive structures which may not all exist
simultaneously—​the sexual division of labour, regulation of sexuality and
procreation, unequal access to social and economic resources, property
and public space, gendered violence, and ideological rationales. These
are not static and they change by overlap and reformulation (Sangari,
2015a, 268–​70; 2015b, 12; Sangari and Vaid, 1989, 5).
The familial regime I describe here is dominant, spreading, and
coevolved at many levels with other systemic inequalities. Indeed, it de-
pends on other forms of inequality, especially those anchored in social
divisions of labour. I hesitate to single out either religions or `the Dalit’
family which are differentiated by rural–​urban, regional, occupational,
and class locations and the degree of their implication in the dominant
familial regime. Yet it is crucial to reflect on the forms of manual and
menial labour that remain ‘caste-​identified’ and have not been general-
ized across castes. Differentiated on lines of caste and class, within this
familial regime, the patriarchal institution of regulatory marriage is seen
as foundational for control of mobility, sexuality, and procreation; it has a
disposition for practices of dowry, son preference, gendered hierarchies,
patrilineal transmission, as well as control over both, the distribution of
resources and non-​waged domestic labour. For the affluent, the family is
also an institution for the accumulation and transfer of private property.
In sum, this familial regime tends to be regulatory and controls the redis-
tribution of assets.
State-​led gender regimes define matrimonial, parental, and filial status
and obligation. They persist through control of legal descent (birth, adop-
tion, inheritance), citizenship, marriage and divorce, normative family
forms and functions (including old-​age care), sexuality (privileging
heterosexuality), size (demographic policy), and domestic economy
(budgets, taxes), as well as the conditionality attached to benefits, wel-
fare schemes, subsidies, and so on. Thus, family formation falls within
the purview of the state; its economic policies and legal instruments
76 Kumkum Sangari
shape the familial domain, and hence the sphere of social reproduction
whether through constructive intervention or malign neglect.1
At present familial, state and market regimes are not outside capit-
alism, but with the deregulation underway from the 1990s they interact
at a more accelerated pace than they did in earlier phases of capitalism in
which this interaction depended on the degree of penetration by capital,
its inherent unevenness, staggered transitions in modes of production,
and the nature of state policies. In a contemporary market-​led patriarchal
regime, there is a greater market absorption of the services, work, and
relationships hitherto supervised in the family; the family is more deeply
and explicitly contractualized, while the market facilitates, determines or
even governs the exchanges that create or sustain marriage, procreation,
parenthood, care of old and young, and domestic labour. The market–​
media complex competes with or can exceed family authority.2 It can
erode as well as recompose the material basis of existing gender and caste
regimes. The labour market governs the informal low-​waged service
sector that provides extended social reproduction; the relays of gender-​
and caste-​appropriate jobs are mediated by the nature (polluted or clean)
and customary lineage of particular types of labour. Caste-​based divi-
sions have not disappeared in paid work in the service sector. For many
Dalits and lower castes, the transfer of some tasks of social reproduction
to the market signals both, a carryover of caste-​based occupations and
labour segmentation. This, as I will discuss, sharpens the contradictions
and parallels between waged and unwaged labour.
There are confluences and disjunctures between state and market.
Neoliberal capitalism mutates the character of the state and its institu-
tions. Together they expand the necessity and power of competitive cal-
culation which individuals and families are compelled to internalize.3
This reshapes the strategies and rationales for escaping or negotiating
economic and legal risks. The relationship between state, market, and
family becomes volatile.

The Expanse of Social Reproduction

The contradictions between capital accumulation and maintaining stable

conditions for social reproduction are restructuring family, market, and
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 77
state. The most significant aspects of thinking through social reproduc-
tion are non-​waged work as a part of capital accumulation, the integra-
tive relation between waged and unwaged work, and their linkage with
household instability as well as other forms of inequality.
The non-​waged tasks of social reproduction are not new and have an
old history; they include more than domestic labour and perform more
work than is commonly recognized. These tasks involve sustaining people
on a daily as well as intergenerational basis. They reproduce the condi-
tions that maintain life, indeed liveability itself. Socially reproductive la-
bour consists of activities of sustenance: purchasing and preparing food,
grinding, cooking, cleaning, dishwashing, dusting, sweeping, mop-
ping, cleaning toilets, sanitation, laundering, folding, ironing, spinning,
weaving, stitching, altering and mending clothes, garbage and waste re-
moval, maintaining households, petty shopping, fetching fuel and water,
foraging, producing food for household consumption in kitchen gardens,
rearing livestock, and subsistence-​oriented artisanal work. It is anchored
in procreation, birthing, breast feeding, postnatal care, socializing and
educating children, fetching and dropping kids to schools, training them
for the job market as well as care of elders, children, and the sick. It par-
ticipates in making or preserving kin and community ties or connections
(festivals, rituals, marriages, etc.). Familial social reproduction involves
affective labour—​love and necessity are entangled in emotional support.
The family is usually seen as the foundation of social reproduction;
which is why it meshes production and reproduction, and thus integrates
household labour and wage labour.4 As feminist scholarship shows the
primitive accumulation of capital from its inception relies on social re-
production and the surplus value it produces in context-​specific forms of
social division and oppression, reconstitutes multiple forms of inequality,
and generates multiple ‘classes’ of labour. Martha Gimenez argues that
the subordination of reproduction to production that structures gender
inequality is an aspect of capitalist social formations, and these relations
establish the material conditions for the effectivity of precapitalist, cap-
italist, and new ideologies (2019, 357). Feminist scholarship has also
established that families and households are structured by the relation
between waged and unwaged work (Bhattacharya, 2017, 3–​5; Ferguson,
2020, 107). As I have argued, domestic labour subsidizes wage labour and
is ‘part of the dependable social relations in which the market is and will
78 Kumkum Sangari
continue to be embedded’ (Sangari, 2015a, 277). Paid work and the pro-
ductive economy cannot function in isolation from unpaid homebound
labour (Rege, 2005). Non-​waged work is necessary for waged work.
The destabilization of social reproduction in lower-​class households
is evident wherever there is a retraction of state welfare. Focusing on
working-​class women, Gimenez writes: ‘Worldwide, the reproduction
of labour power today takes place in unstable households; because of
changes in the division of labour, the fragmentation of production, and
the decline in demand for skilled labour, the majority of global labour
force is female, engaged in low-​paid, temporary and precarious work,
often migrating across the globe to find employment. In these conditions,
the formation of stable households is impossible’ (2019, 286). The so-
cial reproduction of labour power is especially oppressive when done in
unstable economic conditions with insufficient resources when women
work part-​or full-​time outside the home. The level of income determines
the degree of oppression; some can hire and exploit poorer women to do
the work (2019, 301).
Social reproduction is structural and conjunctural. It is a global phe-
nomenon that has a particular character in India: the implication of a
patriarchal familial regime in guaranteeing social reproduction. The
conditions of social reproduction, performed largely by women, depend
on this regime and its recourse to domestic violence as well as on the
state’s welfare policies and the wider economy. Families perform and dis-
tribute socially reproductive tasks either as non-​waged work to women
and children according to ideas of female dependence on male bread-
winners or as a triple burden to women in waged work, or parcelled to
hired domestic workers in class–​caste specific ways. Work can be redis-
tributed and adapted to situations. Women and men can occupy shifting
positions. Women’s tasks can alter as daughters, daughters-​ in-​law,
mothers, mothers-​in-​law, grandmothers. This labour can be enforced by
older women as they acquire a delegated patriarchal power over younger
women revealing the graded hierarchies within families which seem to
parallel the graded hierarchies of caste-​based labour. Men can take on
some tasks when they are unemployed, retired, dependent on others, or
when wives work outside the home, are absent, or sick. Some men care
and share, others can refuse to share when masculinity is threatened by
unemployment or feminized occupations. Conflicts can be less acute in
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 79
class positions that have the ability to hire/​purchase labour for repro-
ductive tasks.
Yet, families are not only a site of power, oppression, and labour extrac-
tion but also that of intense bonding, affection, and solidarity. They can
support impoverished, low, or sporadic income earners; the property less
and unemployed can rely on the wages of the employed via kinship and
marriage. The elderly may take on the tasks of domestic work and child-
care to release younger women into the workforce. Families can still be a
site of entitlements (haq) and the conventional place to obtain or claim
them. This aspect of families as well as the distance between social repro-
duction at points of survival and points of accumulation became stark
during the pandemic-​induced lockdowns in 2020 when thousands of mi-
grant factory, construction, and domestic workers left uncaring cities and
trekked to their village homes. Their departure signalled the breakdown
of extended social reproduction for middle-​class families, reduced their
supervisory role and increased their physical labour, and at the same
time reaffirmed albeit disprivileged family and kin networks as a pro-
tective resource for migrant workers. The massive return to villages was
both a symptom and a diagnosis of structural and infrastructural deficits
of material support and health care. The low-​paid service sector of the
informal economy constitutes the logic of subsistence for one section and
fulfils the demand for extended social reproduction for the other.

Marriage, Dowry, Son Selection, and Labour

The perceived threats to social reproduction are whatever can desta-

bilize regulatory marriage and familial obligations. These are usually the
economic individuation, independence of women and inheritance for
women, dissoluble marriage, and choice marriage.
Marriage systems are the complex outcomes of many class, caste, fa-
milial, state, and market considerations and not a division of social and
sexual labour alone. As a point of the reproduction of primordial iden-
tities, the institution of regulatory marriage bridges class processes of
survival, mobility, or consolidation as well as economic, apparently
non-​economic, and identitarian compulsions. Village exogamy, jati en-
dogamy, distance or stranger marriage, and patrivirilocal residence are
80 Kumkum Sangari
a characteristic of higher caste marriage practices in many regions, espe-
cially north India, and are spreading among lower castes; in part, this is a
labour practice depending on class levels and ability to hire labour. It re-
veals the familial regime to be a part of existing labour conditions. More
significantly, this is a process of disembedment that creates maximal vul-
nerability and intensified familial control of women, and cheapens and
insecuritizes their paid labour. These effects parallel migratory labour
practices and show that exogamic marriage can be structurally analo-
gous to paid migrant labour (e.g., domestic workers and sex workers).
Together they compose what I have termed the ‘exogamic ensemble’, an
ensemble of displacement, spatial dislocation, isolation, cohabitation
with, and enforced labour for ‘strangers’, and a denial of natal property to
daughters (Sangari, 2015b, 38–​41). Among sections where close kin mar-
riage preferences (marriage with uncles or cousins) are customary, the
distribution of labour may be less punishing and intrafamilial relations
may vary, but the tasks of social reproduction remain.
A common solution to the crisis of socially reproductive labour
is obtaining the free labour of daughters-​ in-​law. Samita Sen and
Anindita Ghosh outline the harsh labour arrangements for new brides
in contemporary Bengal because of early marriage, village exogamy,
patrivirilocality, generational structures, and female authority. For mid-
dling to poor rural women, this functions as ‘a labour-​net mobilized
through wifehood’ (2021, 167). Daughters are pulled into domestic la-
bour and care. Women are engaged in household work, petty produc-
tion, home-​based piece-​rated artisanal, as well as agricultural work. The
maintenance of non-​earning, unemployed wives, the substitution of
their labour by hired labour, are always a mark of upper class and higher
caste status (2021, 187).
Looking at a global context where gender is a key apparatus of
biopolitical control of the population that constitutes the international
and sexual division of labour, Eric Alliez and Maurizio Lazzarato see het-
erosexuality itself as an apparatus of power (2016, 372). In India, there
has been an intensification of women’s labour for global capital, and some
are locked into transnational divisions of labour (e.g., in home-​based
piecework, commercial surrogacy, domestic and care work in the trans-
national service sector). Are these facilitated by a heteropatriarchal fa-
milial regime? Precarious conjugality, curtailed intimacy, and recurring
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 81
violence are entangled with marriage conceived as a guarantor of social
reproduction. Though not all families devalue daughters, among son-​
selecting, daughter-​disinheriting, dowry-​giving and -​receiving families,
heterosexual marriage and its regulatory practices can function as an
apparatus of power, a power maintained by several forms of gendered
violence.
In a strange complementarity between natal and marital families,
dowry has morphed and the extractive and recurring marriage demand
by marital families is based on a calculated knowledge of a daughter’s
right to inheritance and the unlikeliness of its implementation. Both fam-
ilies are shaped by a mediatized and commercialized marriage industry;
marriage consumption can be aspirational, a way of being ‘included’. Son
selection is both caused by and propels dowry, a practice in which natal
and marital families can be complicit, and which plays a crucial role in
class-​based social reproduction.5
Son preference is governed by the lure of becoming dowry receivers,
the spectre of old-​age dependency, widowhood, impoverishment or in-
firmity, and the expectation of elder-​care. The son can be a sign of the ac-
cumulation and concentration of property, a magnet for marriage-​related
acquisition and a daughter-​in-​law’s labour.
Yet the son is a risky investment in imagined futures in which fam-
ilies are galvanized by both probability and uncertainty in the present
context of insecuritization of agricultural work, jobs, savings, pensions,
and stocks by neoliberal capitalism. As a potential carer, an insurance
or pension substitute, an embodiment of future security, the son and/​or
daughter-​in-​law can be unreliable, or themselves subject to an uncertain
risky future.6 Now that daughters can be legal heirs, sons-​in-​law too can
be seen as untrustworthy by the propertied.
In son selection, a pre-​emptive violence, the son becomes a mark of
parental choice and an avoided daughter. The imaginary of son prefer-
ence and son selection invests in the perpetuation of a patriarchal familial
regime. Son selection is an attempt to guarantee the implicit intergenera-
tional familial compact by narrowing it to sons through a self-​destructive
misogyny. It enacts a microsovereignty by families that are in command
of the creation of life but who are actually part of larger structures over
which they have little control.
82 Kumkum Sangari
Extended Social Reproduction

Feminist scholarship has shown that the relation between so-​called un-
productive work and productive work is structured not only by sexism
but also racism, ageism, class, and other forms of social oppression and
exploitation. In India, this tends to draw on sedimented inequalities
in social relations structured by casteism. Both caste and gender hier-
archies create the historical and contemporary terrain of the most ne-
cessary and most devalued work. Low-​waged domestic work and other
gender-​identified tasks of social reproduction usually follow class, caste,
and regional hierarchies. The labour of impoverished or dispossessed
Dalit, Adivasi, and rural men and women who migrate to the cities for
domestic and other feminized jobs, does not necessarily release them
from the clutch of patriarchal devaluation. Intra-​familial relations in turn
can be market mediated. The distinct connection of women’s non-​waged
labour to their personal vulnerability and subordination in regulatory
marriage—​as well as the gender segmentation and disadvantage in la-
bour markets that contribute to inequality within the family—​is widely
established.7 The repositioning of customary labour as waged work can
continue to devalue gender-​identified and caste-​ascribed work. Dalits
and some lower castes already carry the historical burden of appropriated
and beholden labour, humiliation, privation, servitude, and complex cul-
tivations of control and interdependence, which secure only higher caste
privileges. Waste removal, lifting human and animal excrement, animal
carcasses, and cremation ground tasks are usually confined to Dalits.
There is a high concentration of rural Dalit women in manual labour,
subsistence work, cleaning, waste-​related jobs, garbage collecting, and
shoe cleaning (Khan and Thorat, 2020, 197). Many tasks largely remain
caste-​identified: birthing, midwifery, wet nursing, childcare, semi-​skilled
nursing, in care homes, nurseries, crèches, schools, hospitals; sanitation
work in these as well as other sites such as beauty parlours, malls, hotels,
restaurants, canteens, hostels, offices, railway stations, crematoriums,
and public places have been folded into the service sector in combin-
ations of market, state, municipal, and other institutional employment
which can often be subcontracted. Placement agencies for domestic work
can be controlling and corrupt (Sen, 2019).
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 83
The growth of the low-​waged service sector, a part of the huge informal
sector, signals market entry into familial social reproduction. This sector
is crucial to the purchase, delegation, and supervision of many intimate
tasks especially domestic labour, childcare, elder-​care, and health care.
The necessity of two wages in the middle-​class sections has gone hand
in hand with the dramatic expansion of the market for domestic serv-
ices in the past three decades.8 Regardless of generous, affectionate em-
ployers and variations in wages, loans, and gifts, the absence of contract
for paid domestic workers is an ‘informality’ that positions them at a cusp
between the market and flexible customary labour.
Households serviced by live-​in or part-​time domestic workers are
often internally reshaped by surveillance, distrust, and casteist discrim-
inations about food and utensils. Despite a shared dependency families
perform boundary work within their households—​divide space, put
utilities out of bounds, reproduces class-​caste divisions. The higher the
class–​caste status, the more tasks can be delegated. On the other hand,
those who cannot hire others or have no family members to help—​at least
half the women/​families in India—​are caught in the double crisis of sub-
sistence and social reproduction. In lower income groups with working
women who cannot purchase labour, the tasks devolve on young girls
and aged women. If they are hired as domestic workers, the daily oscilla-
tion between performing the same work twice, one on market terms and
the other for free at home creates tension, friction, and contradictions
(Sangari, 1999, 282–​5). Live-​out workers, especially, must also attend to
the demands of husbands, sons, in-​laws, and the safety and educational
needs of their children.
This low-​waged service sector which performs extended social repro-
duction and non-​waged social reproductive labour inside families cannot
be thought of separately. The family as a labour form, whether serviced
or servicing, is predicated on labour forms aligned to social hierarchies.
The monetization of social-​reproductive tasks creates a class-​specific
continuum between non-​waged work within the family and hired or pur-
chased labour. Social reproduction within relatively affluent households
depends on nonfamilial others—​caste aliens, migrants, and refugees, to
perform essential labour. In an inverted mirroring of domesticity, do-
mestic workers undertake familial reproduction in their own homes and
extended social reproduction for employers. The low-​waged feminized
84 Kumkum Sangari
area of the informal service sector is the indispensable outside, which me-
diates or determines the inside of a serviced family. It loosens the border
between the familial to and the nonfamilial, while the relations of inter-
dependence interlock points of survival and points of accumulation.
Both familial and extended social reproduction are often mired in dom-
ination and resistance.9
Extended social reproduction is thus not merely about its purchase by
those who can pay for it, but about how the labour pool is assembled,
those who provide the services absorb its cost to themselves and struggle
to survive, and how unwaged labour inside families governs some of the
nature and conditions of waged work. David Harvey argues that ‘so-
cial reproduction is for capital a large and convenient sphere in which
real costs are externalized to households and other communal entities’
(2014, 189–​90). I would add that there is another level of externalization
at work in jobs perceived as low status or degraded; the incorporation of
workers into segregated market systems, rests in part on the social div-
ision of labourers (in Ambedkar’s famous formulation) by caste, gender,
and community. Yet the cost of their social reproduction remains invis-
ible, unremunerated, and subsidizes the social reproduction of relatively
affluent classes. Extended social reproduction is, paradoxically, at once
necessary and indispensable, while those who provide it are usually de-
valued, underpaid, fungible, and socially marginalized.
Neoliberalism is seen to accelerate the production of forms of un-
freedom (Mezzadri, 2017, 193). Unfree labour is generated through pro-
cesses of proletarianization, dispossession from the means of production,
and the domain of social reproduction where social inequalities are re-
produced. Despite women in labour markets being at differing levels,
social-​reproductive work has not been subject to redundancy but re-
mains essential labour whether part purchased or non-​waged. Familial
social-​reproductive labour is the bridge between family life and paid la-
bour, while extended social reproduction relies on existing social divi-
sions of labour in urban and rural areas. Non-​migrant Dalit women are
still forced to perform unpaid labour in upper-​caste homes and fields in
rural Uttar Pradesh and Karnataka or take on tied/​unfree labour and the
most stigmatized jobs when men migrate or take up non-​agricultural
jobs (Kapadia, 2017, 9, 29; Mehrotra, 2017, 246–​51). Ishita Mehrotra
shows that these unfree labour relations are built on rural survival cum
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 85
dependency relations and the burden is disproportionately borne by
women workers. The ideology of the male breadwinner legitimizes
inserting Dalit women as main tied labour while many of their tasks
are ‘women’s’ tasks—​washing and drying grain, tending to livestock,
cleaning courtyards, and so on (2017, 260).
The family as a labour form is contradictory or more accurately, the
site of contradictions. It can be instrumental in producing cheap la-
bour, itself exploit multiple forms of labour (child, female, Dalit, tribal)
or be exploited, depending on class–​caste location. The dispensable or
disembedded daughter can shade into the low-​waged female worker
or resemble the domestic worker who remains an outsider within the
household. The general devaluation of feminized tasks along with the
paradoxes of extended social reproduction can blend the ‘insides’ and
‘outsides’ of both serviced and servicing families.

State, Retraditionalization, and Contract

Nirmala Banerjee has noted that the tasks, content, and boundaries of
social reproduction are left to the household, the Indian state does not
intervene, and the lives of women are thus subject to ‘private control’ of
‘household authority’; consequently, the state obtains the social security
it cannot provide through the family (2011). This remains broadly ap-
plicable. Even though the state can at times mediate between capital ac-
cumulation and social reproduction, it continues to rely on conventional
domestic affects, ideologies, and tasks (Sangari, 2015b, 67). Customary
practices or ‘traditions’ still compose a useful and solid bedrock, and the
state can also intervene to ensure these.
For instance, the state maintains such practices through many
meagrely remunerated in government Anganwadi, midday meal, and
health-​related schemes which are linked to domestic care work (Hemlata,
2020). Though these essential tasks of extended social reproduction are
reclassified as ‘volunteer’ work, they are institutionalized, carry over fa-
milial tasks and like them are devalued, and always held on the brink of
privatization.
The character of the state is changing with the dominance of global
finance capital, the promotion of conditions that enable concentration
86 Kumkum Sangari
of wealth, growth of monopolies, and deregulation. A neoliberal state
minimizing social welfare now returns the entitlement of the elderly
to maintenance and care to their children and in the process at once
contractualizes and selectively retraditionalizes family relations (Sangari,
2015b, 55). It no longer sees the care of elders by sons and daughters-​in-​
law as guaranteed.
The Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act of
2007 (hereinafter 2007 Act)10 expanded some earlier laws in CrPC 125
and the Hindu Adoption and Maintenance Act. This made it a legal
obligation for adult sons, daughters, daughters-​ in-​
law, sons-​in-​law,
grandsons, granddaughters, and relatives (any de facto or prospective
heir of childless senior citizens) to provide maintenance for needy eld-
erly parents (biological, adoptive, step) or relatives unable to maintain
themselves from their own income or through property owned by them.
This tacitly includes senior citizens who own petty property with insuf-
ficient incomes or liquid assets. The obligation in the Act extends to all
citizens irrespective of religion or residence and includes Indian citizens
who reside abroad. The Amendments proposed in 2019 (still pending
Bill, hereinafter referred to as 2019 Amendment Bill)11 expand the def-
inition of senior citizens to include grandparents and parents-​in-​law, as
well as the definition of children to include step-​and adoptive children,
children-​in-​law, and legal guardians of minors. They cast a wider net over
natal, marital, and affinal families.
The 2007 Act asks state governments to ensure better medical care in
government hospitals and provide residential facilities or old-​age homes
for indigent senior citizens. However, it does not mandate or provide
funds for these. The 2019 Amendment Bill asks all hospitals to provide
facilities but expects the states to finance old age homes, implement the
Bill, and ensure medical care.
The main reason given for the 2007 Act was the decline of the joint
family. This repeated the cross-​class discourse, more common among
rural landed and urban middle-​class families, of decreasing filiality in
which sons become unsupportive, uncaring, aggressive, and extractive
after marriage. The 2019 Amendment Bill addresses the visible reality
of extractive children/​relatives who abuse or abandon elderly parents
and relatives and is more ameliorative. It outlines rights to free legal aid,
healthcare, dignity, equality, and individual autonomy for senior citizens,
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 87
and promises central government funds for providing free and life-​saving
medicines, financial security for widows, and minimal interest loans for
repair and purchase of homes. The 2019 Amendment Bill seems to have
been catalysed by government and nongovernment surveys and reports
which found that two-​thirds of the elderly were going through financial
crises, four-​fifths or 65 per cent were dependent on the family or others
for daily maintenance; and over 40 per cent reported elder abuse by the
family (Issac et al., 2021). According to the National Crime Records
Bureau, there was a 48 per cent increase in reported crimes against senior
citizens between 2014 and 2019.
It is significant that in 2007 Act, the state sought to make its own re-
sponsibility to the elderly optional even as it returned this obligation to
the family in the same Act. This enlargement of citizen responsibility
seems to be an attempt to compensate for the state’s own existing and
impending deficits. The 2007 Act has provisions for setting up fast-​paced
tribunals that have the powers of a civil court, at sub-​divisional levels in
each district, to settle the grievances of the elderly against their children/​
heirs; they are given the power to take suo moto action against children
who do not take proper care of their elderly parents, and punish them
with imprisonment or fines if they fail to maintain or abandon their
parents. It also allows elderly parents and childless senior citizens to re-
voke a transfer of property (as gift or otherwise) to their children or heirs
if it was made under the condition of maintenance and the condition was
not met. Property is defined as moveable, immoveable, ancestral, self-​
acquired, tangible, intangible, and includes rights and interests in such
property. The 2019 Amendment Bill increases punishment of children
for abandonment and abuse.
In legalizing the obligation of children and other inheriting relatives,
the 2007 Act and the 2019 Amendment Bill move the family out of a ‘nat-
ural’ and ‘traditional’ locus of customary expectation/​obligation or a
naturalized site of affective care work, to one where obligations cannot
be taken for granted and have to be enforced; even gift deeds have to be
conditional. In this law, an unwritten familial practice is legalized by the
state. By turning tacit (albeit unreliable) intergenerational familial com-
pacts into legal and enforceable contracts, it contractualizes, even mon-
etizes, familial relations. It makes a correlation between inheritance by
children and relatives and the duty to maintain old parents/​relatives,
88 Kumkum Sangari
makes maintenance proportionate to the means and/​or property to be
inherited, and makes inheritance of property conditional to such main-
tenance. It does not consider the routine social and legal obstacles to
daughters’ inheritance who are forced to renounce their rights to natal
property or cannot go through the fraught process of claiming them, or
the means possessed by de facto disinherited daughters.12
The option for senior citizens to evict undutiful children and relatives
is available in some states. This does not take note of the other remedial
laws which seek to ensure the right of married women and daughters-​in-​
law to residence in the marital home.13 In the 2007 Act, the state calculates
its own risk-​benefit and tries to configure the family in a way that is con-
sonant with neoliberal privatization. Citizens must take responsibility
for conditions that they may not have created and an unpredictable fu-
ture. It iterates a familiar neoconservative position: families should look
after their own and state policies should ensure that they do so since the
(unprotected?) family is the building block of the new economic order.
As is now commonly understood, neoliberal capitalism is interested in
maintaining or reestablishing the private family as the foundation of its
own security and an alternative to the welfare state not only in India but
in many countries. The state is not averse to the commodification of care
and the already proliferating for-​profit elder-​care organizations. In fact,
the 2019 Amendment Bill asks for the regulation of private care homes
and home care services.
Paradoxically, legal and punitive enforcement seems to become
the underbelly of the supposedly tradition/​culture-​embedded Indian
family—​even sons have to be reminded of their obligation. It seeks to re-
store the caring family by asking women to be like men in obeying the
legality of elder-​care without asking them to return to the home or even
to older familial ideologies which govern the affective labour of social re-
production. However, the pre-​emptive off-​loading of what could be per-
ceived and claimed as the state’s obligation to the elderly can accelerate
familial control of daughters-​in-​law and regulatory marriage as a ‘private’
resource for service and care.
Evidently, as the material base of familial patriarchal regimes is
patchily eroded or recomposed by state or market interventions, there
are concurrent moves to defamilialize and refamilialize, and power oscil-
lates between familial, state, and market gender regimes.14
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 89
An Imaginary of Noncontractual Families

Foucault described the family as an ‘imaginary landscape and real so-

cial structure’ (2001, 240). The imaginary and the reality of the family
as a cohesive caring unit is clearly under stress and can dictate contrary
state policies. In the 2007 Act and 2019 Amendment Bill, the state ac-
cepts the ‘real’ instability of the family at its extremes of abuse, asset-​
stripping, and extraction from the elderly, the neglect and abandonment
of parents and grandparents. The care and maintenance of senior citi-
zens becomes a scene of legally enforceable contract. However, in the
Surrogacy (Regulation) Bill 2016 (hereinafter 2016 Bill)15 to ban com-
mercial surrogacy, which was revised and presented in the Lok Sabha in
2019 (hereinafter 2019 Bill)16, the state evokes an imaginary of the ideal-​
cultural family anchored in noncontractual obligation. Ironically, here
too retraditionalization depends on introducing contract. The social
and familial imaginary of the 2016 Bill is also significant in its culturalist
move to nationalize the surrogate mother’s womb and refamilialize sur-
rogacy in an attempt to control heterogeneity, retrieve segments of social
patriarchal control that are patchily moving out of the family and being
reconstituted by the market, and to (re)produce a divisive nationalism.
Since the 2019 Bill did little to change this, I will refer to it only for signifi-
cant differences.
Commercial surrogacy in India, which I have analysed and critiqued
in Solid:Liquid: A (Trans)national Reproductive Formation (Sangari,
2015b), is a transnational and post-​Fordist practice, egregiously used for
son selection. Like son selection, commercial surrogacy is a point of crisis
in reproductive choices and the meaning of motherhood. Surrogates are
drawn from a survival-​oriented labour market where women may be pri-
mary wage earners; their choice is circumscribed by their menialization,
indebtedness, and distress recast as a voluntary exchange governed by
written or unwritten contracts and spousal consent. The labour pool for
commercial surrogacy is class specific, temporary (a woman can only act
as a surrogate a few times), and largely overlaps with sex work and paid
domestic service. This procreative service is arguably the most intimate
part of extended social reproduction. As is well understood, capitalism
can displace or reassemble social norms, replicate or reformulate gen-
dered regimes, while care and labour markets can maintain, reinstate,
90 Kumkum Sangari
or exploit class, caste, ethnic, religious, racial, and other coercive hier-
archies that downgrade and segment labour and depend on gendered
subordination. Commercial surrogacy is itself a remarkable site for the
production of deliberated and circumstantial heterogeneity that caters to
various hierarchized preferences—​sex, race, colour, caste, religion, class,
nationality, and assembles varieties of gametes, embryos, surrogates, cli-
ents, clinical providers in different geographical locations of the produc-
tion chain.
Banned in many countries and legal or unregulated in a few, commer-
cial surrogacy is a shifting transnational formation, a mobile practice in
search of countries without regulation that finds new trade routes in an
undulating race to the bottom. In 2002, commercial surrogacy became
a neoliberal development strategy in India. From 2012, the central gov-
ernment redirected commercial surrogacy towards heteronormativity
by barring single persons, unmarried and homosexual couples but made
it easier for diasporic married couples of Indian origin who could fly
in without a visa. In the 2016 Bill the current government debarred all
foreigners and declared its intent to allow only altruistic surrogacy, pro-
hibit and penalize commercial surrogacy ‘to protect the dignity of Indian
womanhood’, and prevent trafficking and sale of children (Nair, 2015).
In response to the impending regulations, the market along with doctors
and surrogates moved from India to Nepal, then to Thailand, Mexico,
and Cambodia and has been successively banned in each country.
Subsequently, Laos and Ukraine became centres for surrogacy proced-
ures. Each new site ‘benefits’ from the closing of a previous one, yet each
ban has its own specific context and implications.
Commercial surrogacy was said to be ‘against our ethos’ and a ‘com-
modification of motherhood’.17 In the Indian 2016 Bill, a ‘surrogate
mother’ is to receive no monetary incentive or compensation except
medical expenses and insurance (Section 2.b). The egg donor or surro-
gate mother must be young and fertile (between the ages of 23 and 35),
an ‘ever married woman’ with a child of her own, and a ‘close relative of
the intending couple’ (Section 4.iii). The 2016 Bill indicates that homo-
sexuals, single/​unmarried persons or those in live-​in relationships, for-
eigners, the Indian diaspora (PIOs, NRIs, OCIs), fertile couples, older
couples past the age of reproduction, or couples with adopted and bio-
logical children, are ineligible to be intending parents while NRIs are
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 91
ineligible to be altruistic surrogates. Though the 2016 Bill does not de-
fine the term ‘ever married’, its conceptual thrust suggests that an altru-
istic surrogate should be a not-​divorced, still-​married, not-​widowed
woman; a pregnant widow or divorcee would produce social difficulties.
Prohibiting the import of gametes and embryos (Section 35.f ) suggests
that the genetic mixing of nationalities and production of ‘foreign’ chil-
dren will stop, and the heterogeneity produced by capital will be limited
to a national repository of unmixed ‘Indian’ genetic lines.
The 2016 Bill was opposed by potential clients and medical lobbies on
the ground that the ban on foreigners killed three-​fourths of the industry,
reduced medical tourism, and lost foreign currency; and by surrogates
who stood to lose their livelihood and demanded alternative employ-
ment, housing, and jobs for their husbands.18
Curiously, this renationalizing Bill sets the stage for a refamilialization
by going against the grain of neoliberal policies and downsizing the fer-
tility tourism industry. It promises to resolve the contradiction between
capital accumulation and social reproduction by confining surrogacy
within a familial gender regime. As the state conscripted by finance cap-
ital supervises the neoliberal transition and also retracts from social wel-
fare, it acquires a higher stake in allowing familial regimes to continue
and returning tasks of social reproduction to a refoundationalized family.
The practice of commercial surrogacy splits conception from gestation
and restructures maternalism. By asserting the regulatory power of the
state in the constitution of the legal family and pulling surrogate mother-
hood out of a monetized terrain, the 2016 Bill can bundle and reject so-​
called nontraditional lifestyles and families. At the same time, the 2016
Bill and official explanations polarize the heteronormative family. The
family of the commercial surrogate is seen as always potentially coercive,
while the intending couple and the altruistic surrogate are presented as
belonging to a cooperative and idyllic family. The 2019 Bill states that in
a case of commercial surrogacy ‘it will assume compulsion by husband,
intending couple or any other relative’ (Section 39). Conversely, doctors
and other supporters of commercial surrogacy set up the commercial
surrogate as a free agent unconstrained by her family and claimed that
this new altruistic surrogate was vulnerable to familial coercion, emo-
tional blackmail, or stigmatization since traditional families will not ac-
cept surrogacy.
92 Kumkum Sangari
According to the Health Minister, the 2016 Bill proposes close rela-
tives only to ensure that ‘the surrogate mother is not exploited and that
it is truly altruistic . . . she will be part of the larger family, and will go for
surrogacy out of concern and goodwill’.19 The stated reason for excluding
the Indian diaspora (OCI, PIO, NRI), otherwise hailed as members of a
‘global Indian family’ is that ‘divorces are very common in foreign coun-
tries’.20 In a double optic of condemning and retaining kin control, the
family is coded as bad if it is eager for financial gain and pushes surrogate
mothers into the market economy, unreliable if it is divorce prone like
the Indian diaspora, noncoercive and impelled by goodwill if the altru-
istic surrogate mother is a close relative. Evidently the family has to be
restored as an altruistic unit to counter the encroachment of a market
regime in which it is losing its conventional monopoly on the initiation of
lifelong bonds and sacrificial, servicing, altruistic affects as market trans-
actions mediate the creation of conjugal attachment and parenthood. In
fact, familial regimes press equally on commercial surrogates and wives
who cannot be mothers of sons/​children, and altruistic surrogates would
be no exception.
Ironically, the altruistic surrogate conjured in the 2016 Bill has de-
mystified the idealized kin relations it proposes as well as unravelling
altruism both as an ‘ideology of unequal exchange’ and an industrial
apparatus (Sangari, 2015b, 123–​8). Doctors and other supporters of
commercial surrogacy no longer invoke the altruistic maternalism of
commercial surrogates but point to the physical absence (more nuclear
families), shortage, or unavailability of close relatives (more working
women) as well as the unwillingness of close relatives to agree to be surro-
gates without financial gain.
To be eligible, the altruistic surrogate must be a ‘close relative’ related
either by marriage or blood. The ‘ever married’ close relative could help
to stabilize the figure of the wife and mother which in commercial surro-
gacy is premised on the circulation of a married woman’s reproductive
capacity and can interrupt spousal and familial possession. The ability
to transact wombs segregated from ownership of the surro-​child offers
a temporary market individuation for women that must be recalibrated
with spousal and familial propertarianism. However, the altruistic rela-
tive, like the commercial surrogate, must still perform an ‘abnormal’
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 93
surrender of the child she bears, while the intending mother, like the
commissioning mother, has no gestational link to the child.
The close relative could loosely suture the fragmentation of genetic
and gestational motherhood by redistributing motherhood only within
the narrower confines of a kinship circle and make procreative social re-
production an internal matter. Embedding her in a familial matrix could
devalorize contract pregnancy and restore child-​bearing as a normative
task of procreation within a familial enclosure. Positioning the unpaid
birth mother and intending mother in the same family would seem to
dissolve the contradiction posed by contract pregnancy between doing
the same procreative work for a wage as well as without a wage. The com-
mercial surrogate exemplified this contradiction by engaging at once in
commodified and noncommodified reproductive labour for her own
biological children. The close relative would also support the valorization
of indissoluble marriage encoded in the undesirable ‘foreign’ irrespon-
sible divorcee and edge towards defining the family as a noncontractual
domain.
Yet altruistic surrogacy is not a return to an older Indian ethos since
it imports and repurposes significant components of the surrogate in-
dustry: a new propertarian genetic imaginary for the ‘intending’ couple,
a contract pregnancy and extended social reproduction in thin disguise,
and an ethnicizing of gametes and wombs.
The genetic materials of the heterosexual intending couple matter. The
surrogate mother cannot provide her own gametes. An ‘order concerning
the parentage and custody of the child to be born through surrogacy’ has
to be passed by a court ‘on an application made by the intending couple
and the surrogate mother’ (Section 4.iii.a.II); the surrogate must agree
to hand over parentage and custody (ibid.); and her written consent
on a ‘prescribed form’ is required (Section 6.ii). Despite the attempt to
decontractualize the family by pulling surrogacy out of the market, a legal
intra-​family agreement is proposed in which the process of procreation
and gestation might be shared between two women but genetic property
in the surro-​child and property transmitted to the surro-​child are not
shared (Section 7). The 2016 Bill simply states that the surro-​child ‘shall
be deemed to be the biological child of the intending couple’ and entitled
to all the same rights and privileges (ibid.). This attention to the legality
of the agreement alongside the proclaimed reliance on the goodwill of
94 Kumkum Sangari
the close relative shows that altruistic surrogacy remains within the con-
tractual premises of commercial surrogacy but absorbs contract within
the family through a language of consent. In the practice of commercial
surrogacy, the labour contract confirmed the surro-​mother’s de facto lack
of reproductive autonomy, legal protection, and ability to take a labour
market decision without her husband’s approval. It was a form of extrac-
tion facilitated by class–​caste servility and structural violence. The close
relative too, presumably acting upon obligations or obeying the compul-
sion of familial bonds, must nevertheless be bound by a legal order. Two
acknowledged mothers would henceforth be entwined in the life of the
surro-​child but only one would have a legal claim. And altruism—​in the
mandated refusal of the role of social mother to the surrogate—​could be
legally enforceable. This legal ‘externalization’ of the close relative edges
the surro-​mother out of the familial and into the domain of extended so-
cial reproduction.
In the practice of commercial surrogacy in India, genes, gametes,
wombs, and blood have often been perceived as marked by caste and re-
ligion. By conflating the biological and the social, caste and religion can
be recoded as genetic and ‘scientific’. How then could higher caste genes
nest in a lower caste woman’s womb? Would they be contaminated or
polluted? Can the gene be an impermeable barrier between the foetus
and the surro-​mother? Despite the superior claim of genetic kinship in
commercial and now altruistic surrogacy, both tacitly accept gestational
kinship—​that is, the significant role of the surro-​mother’s womb and
blood. At this level, genetic and gestational motherhood are no longer
antagonistic in the 2016 Bill: they are allies, close relatives. Each caste
and religion can find its own close relative. The child and parents must
match. The central government is not worried about intervention in ‘na-
ture’, noncoital conception, or recombinant paths to procreation, but
about maintaining a family form where the wife-​mother does not circu-
late commercially and in which there is no dilution of caste endogamy
and religious distinction. ‘Our ethos’ seems to translate into exclusivist
caste endogamy as the central node where caste and communal discrim-
ination come together, now on a new techno-​scientific terrain of assisted
reproduction and a genetic imaginary that segregates along the axes of
property, caste, and religion, an imaginary that has ancestors in eugenics
and scientific racism. The close relative is imagined as a phobic border
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 95
patrol pitted against wrong wombs/​mothers and any genetic mixing. As
Etienne Balibar argues, ‘the interference of family politics, more generally
a politics of genealogy, with the definition of the national “community” is
a crucial structural mode of production of historical racism’ (2003, 123).
Confining altruistic surrogacy to the same caste and community by
familializing it through the close relative could be a soft replay of what
is already an ongoing enforcement of caste endogamy and enclavization
of religious minorities through punitive acts by families and vigilantes
against self-​arranged intercaste and interreligious marriages. The legal
ban on commercial surrogacy arcs from and to the extralegal, social, and
violent impositions of regulatory marriage. Beneath this commitment to
exclusive caste and religious identities lies the familiar imperative to con-
serve obligatory family relations and regulatory marriage as forms that
encapsulate the non-​waged labour of social reproduction.
The ban sets out to save motherhood by familializing surrogacy but
motherhood remains divisible and becomes divisive. In fact, ‘maternalism
is blocked and exaggerated’ in son selection and surrogacy (Sangari,
2015b, 122–​3). Both are practices of conditional motherhood: in one
a woman must refuse to reproduce her own sex, in the other she must
refuse to own the children she bears. As the attributes of motherhood be-
come subject to divisibility, legal contract, and biopolitical control, both
practices turn away from the conventions of social reproduction and
the mother as an idealized figure of embodied nature, unstinting nur-
ture, and unqualified love. There is a patent contradiction between the
affective power of this social imaginary of motherhood and the instru-
mental figures of the mother.
There is a discernible link between state-​led retraditionalization and
that within the familial regime. Both are underwritten by anxiety about
social reproduction but from different perspectives and class–​caste posi-
tions. Karin Kapadia sees hegemonic patriarchal authority as being newly
claimed by Dalit men. The picture varies in different states but is a result
of upward mobility, which can have repressive consequences for Dalit
women withdrawn from agricultural work. Housewifization increases
their dependence and control over their sexuality (2017, 17, 21–​4).
Clarinda Still describes this process as a dalitization of patriarchy and ap-
propriation of upper-​caste norms including exogamic outsider marriages.
This ensures that homebound women are no longer sexually accessible
96 Kumkum Sangari
to high-​caste landlords or labourers and intended to prevent rape, co-
erced prostitution, and consensual love affairs in the fields. Ironically, this
may protect them from external violence, predatory or exploitative em-
ployers, but also opens them to spousal surveillance and violence (2017,
190–​7, 202–​8). The familial restrictions on some Dalit women are partly
also a response to their vulnerability. Like other minoritized women and
women from AFSPA (Armed Forces [Special Powers] Act, 1958) gov-
erned regions, and given their ‘representative’ positionality as members
of a kin/​caste group or locality, they become objects of higher-​caste vio-
lence that is intended to humiliate their menfolk.
Significantly, even as the reformulation of the familial regime and
retraditionalization continue apace, patriarchal authority is being chal-
lenged by women across caste and class as never before. The struggles of
Dalit women too are taking place in a context of retraditionalization. The
nontraditional lifestyles rejected in the 2016 Bill on altruistic surrogacy
continue in practice. Nonmarital, non-​heterosexual, and nonbiological
family forms exist alongside or as an alternative to biogenetic families.
They index an aspiration for nonpatriarchal and non-​hierarchical in-
timacy. Friends can and do provide sustaining support and care work.
Heterosexual families too can be intimate with nonbiological families,
have friendships with non-​kin individuals or households, as well as hos-
pitable relations with neighbours that cut across caste and religion.21
Through the twentieth century, the piecemeal legal and social modifi-
cations and the critiques in social movements have crumbled marriage/​
family at the fringes. Feminist, anticaste, socialist, and other movements
have generated violent responses because they challenge commonly ac-
cepted views of the family. The outer fringes of family forms are marked
by rejections of the dominant family form and the institution of hetero-
sexual marriage—​its confinement and reproductive labour practices—​
as well as refusals to marry incompatible men. Choice marriages across
caste, region, and religion as well as gender fluid or same-​sex relation-
ships are acts of resistance. However, the contingencies and imperatives
of social reproduction can press on parentally arranged and self-​chosen,
stranger and kin marriages, and on nuclear and joint families.22 Single
men and women, nontraditional families, feminist and other nonbiolog-
ical collectivities are not homogenous groups. How they negotiate the
tasks of social reproduction is still an unanswered question that should be
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 97
pursued. There are other obstacles too. The imaginary of the normative
family too remains powerful. Nonnormative relationships and non-​kin
solidarities can often be recast or contained as familial or fictive kinships.
Neoliberalism has rechannelled the feminist pursuits of defining selves
within a collectivity committed to transforming social relations into a
different aspiration which pulls apart from any idea of collectivity and
houses transformation in individual self-​interest.

A Risky and Hostile Arena

The milieu of family survival is being recreated by neoliberal capitalism

in a hostile arena which intensifies risks. The family, material or notional,
is conventionally seen as absorbing risk. In the neoliberal milieu families
may be at risk as they adapt or fail to adapt to neoliberal economic pol-
icies that demand self-​reliance and self-​care as well as becoming riskier,
more unstable, and more violent, especially for women and the elderly.
Michelle Murphy notes that distributed reproduction happens
on scales larger than the body. Reproduction as a process exists at
macrological registers; it is geographically extensive in space and histor-
ically in time and entangled with the political economy of housing, war
machines, labour, pollution, biopolitics, pharmaceuticals, as well as citi-
zenship in terrains of displacement (2011). To these it is important to add
dispossession, expropriation of land, the melding of state and corporate
interests in the destruction of subsistence agriculture, environments, for-
ests, and extractivism, which undermine the material ground and means
of social reproduction and are leading to major struggles for existence.
Struggles to maintain the environment are about food security, soil ero-
sion, toxic inputs into the food chain, monoculture, genetic contamin-
ation, greenhouse gases, toxic waste, short-​term non-​renewability of soil,
forests, and waterbodies. All these are gendered forms of resource deple-
tion that affect health and daily lives, and increase the time for fetching
water and fuel, and thus the burden of social reproduction for families.
Neoliberal policies which privatize public assets, transfer access to
natural resources from the poor to corporations, cut back state health
expenditure, worsen fuel and water supply, and increase care work
and domestic labour are thriving across the world. At the same time,
98 Kumkum Sangari
piecemeal or separately labelled struggles are coalescing around so-
cial reproduction. Feminists see the assault on public goods such as
schooling, health, housing, education, pensions, and environmental
protection as contemporary capitalism’s assault on social reproduction.
Contemporary struggles include these issues as well as rights of migrants
and domestic workers, campaigns to unionize workers in private homes,
nursing homes, hospitals, childcare centres and demand public services
like day care and elder-​care, maternity leave (Arruzza et al., 2019, 9–​10,
79–​80; Neetha, 2019).
In India, neoliberal policies have deepened the dependence on non-​
waged work. Unpaid labour has been increasing from the 1990s because
of the Structural Adjustment Programme and its mandated austerities,
which worsen urban infrastructure, increase the work of caring for the
old, the sick, and the children for families, and push more tasks on to girls
(Ghosh, 2014, 119–​20). Neoliberal policies drive agricultural workers
into subsistence conditions while eroding the legal and economic base
for subsistence farming. Land grabbing, privatization of land, water,
common resources, bioprospecting, and financializing of so-​called non-
productive domains in India can be seen as ongoing primitive accumu-
lation. Prabhat Patnaik points out that policies of withdrawing support
for petty commodity producers, small and middle producers, have led
to new rounds of primitive accumulation: multinational retail chains
displace small traders; agribusinesses and real estate ventures compel
petty commodity producers to sell their land and displace small farmers
(Patnaik, 2010). Jayati Ghosh argues that ‘The use of patriarchal social
relations becomes fundamental to the accumulation process itself, which
actually, requires the continuing impoverishment of certain sections for
its very success’ (2014, 116). She also notes that gender and social dis-
crimination have become the base on which the process of economic ac-
cumulation rests. Capitalism has used past and current modes of social
discrimination and exclusion to its own benefit, to facilitate the extrac-
tion of surplus and ensure greater flexibility and bargaining power for
employers (2014, 133).23
A national and transnational field of debt, migration, and remittance
enfolds many families. The financialized instrument of debt and the
restructuring of the world economy by supranational institutions are
crucial. Debt is also an instrument of accumulation and control over
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 99
countries through imposed austerity (Fraser, 2007). Sylvia Federici ar-
gues that debt has recolonized the Third World, and that national debt
and individual debt are connected; national debt cuts welfare, intensifies
familial burdens and indebtedness (2019, 60–​70). Debt servicing and the
feminization of survival are linked and shape concrete lived experience
(Rege, 2005). When a Dalit household is indebted, it can be women who
provide unfree labour as part of debt relations (Mehrotra, 2017, 260).
Among most of India’s poor, social reproduction, especially medical and
marriage expenses, is heavily debt financed.
Worker migration within India and transnational migration by
workers and middle-​class professionals are both significant in the scat-
tering of family members. This creates single social fields across places of
origin and places of work through a remittance economy and individual
relationships, and link those who move with those who stay behind. In
Levitt and Schiller’s definition, ‘National social fields are those that stay
within national boundaries while transnational social fields connect
actors through direct and indirect relations across borders’ (2004, 1009).
This has numerous implications in both fields. Shellee Colen’s concept
of ‘stratified reproduction’, which shows how the crisis of reproductive
labour has shifted economically downwards in the same country and
across national boundaries, remains significant (1995). The downward
flow of global care chains identified by Rhacel Parrenas and others is
more than matched by cascades within the national field. The agrarian
crises in India have intensified distress migration of single women and
married women with children for usually low-​skilled, low-​paid, labour-​
intensive jobs in the cities which come at social and personal cost and ac-
celerate family dispersal. These jobs are part of a remittance economy that
supports the family but can rebound on the childcare of rural and tribal
migrants. Women who cannot bring their children to the cities rely on
other women in the family; or given the lower cost of social-​reproductive
labour in rural areas, they pay others to look after them, and even place
them in orphanages. The separation of locales of primary social repro-
duction and livelihood can result in migrant workers being rural and
urban at the same time and, like transnational labour migrants, they face
the difficulty of maintaining emotional and material attachments, es-
pecially in the absence of in situ parenting. As an increasing number of
female domestic workers, especially in urban areas, service the middle
100 Kumkum Sangari
classes, there is more than one class of family to consider. Spouses, chil-
dren, and parents in one class can be separated from each other to allow
higher-​class women to maintain co-​resident families even when they
work outside the home.
The conventional idea of the co-​resident family is mutating in both
national and transnational fields. Elder-​care can devolve on siblings, re-
latives, or hired domestic labour for parents of Indians living in other
cities or abroad. Most market mediated as well as charitable and NGO
elder-​care is geared to parents of NRIs and sustained by remittances.
They can even be tasked to be present at the time of death and arrange
funerals; some employees of these organizations can become designated
kin (Lamb, 2009, 194). This seems to be an emerging multi-​sited, linguis-
tically, and culturally heterogeneous family form.
Social reproduction is a vexed terrain: first, because it is pushing many
families to the limit of survival; second, it is internally contradictory be-
cause in India it is based on reinforcing already problematic class, caste,
and gendered materiality, social relations, labour forms, and fortifies
a dominant familial regime. Taken together, these can make families
implosive.

In the Circuit of Violence

Familial violence too asks for a rethinking of the inside and outside of
families.
Is neoliberal capitalism the sole engine or are pre-​existing gender
and caste relations being reconfigured within broader power relations?
Family disputes and violence cut across class, caste, and religion, and are
usually connected to gendered household labour, sexuality, generational,
property, and political issues. Partitions of family property, sibling con-
flict, asset stripping of siblings, parents, elderly relatives, etc. are not new
but are arguably accelerated by the aspirational and insecuritizing drive of
neoliberal capitalism even as this relies on the social-​reproductive func-
tions of the family. Given that the family is the legal form of private wealth
accumulation and inheritance, the patriarchal propertied family is by
virtue of this function bound to be fractious, fissiparous, and withhold in-
heritance from daughters through a variety of fictions and testamentary
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 101
devices. Coercive claims can be made for premortem inheritance of par-
ental property and assets. Yet premortem distribution does not always
prevent abuse or abandonment of dependent elderly parents. In the dis-
tribution of power inside families, the decisive moments of birth, mar-
riage, and death are entangled with inheritance and disinheritance.
In the context of contemporary democracies including the United
States, Wendy Brown notes that

the neoliberal attack on the social is key to generating an anti-​

democratic culture from below while building and legitimating anti-​
democratic forms of state power from above. The synergy between them
means an increasingly anti-​democratic citizenry is ever more willing
to authorize an anti-​democratic state. . . . As anti-​democratic political
powers and energies in constitutional democracies have swollen in
magnitude and intensity, they have yielded a monstrous form of polit-
ical life—​one dominated by the financial markets, yanked by powerful
economic interests and popular zeal, one without democratic or even
constitutional coordinates, spirit, or accountability, hence, perversely,
one without limits or limitability. (2020, 46, 50)

My questions are: How do such anti-​democratic currents nestle within

families? What survival strategies are families in India forging in contexts
where the ressentiment of the powerful and the weak are both at play?
And where are the aggressions of hyper-​masculinity and a rape culture
(even public adulation of convicted rapists) at work?
Families are a pedagogic site of cultivated and curtailed agencies as
well as maintaining or bettering class–​caste status. They do identity-​work
which can take the form of indoctrination and become a training ground
for xenophobic, communal and casteist positions breeding forms of indi-
vidual and collective identity overdetermined by neoliberal logics which
are creating new regimes of value, social irresponsibility, and coercion
that seem to ally easily with right-​wing politics. Alternately, the families
of minoritized groups have to bond more closely and teach children sur-
vival strategies to cope with humiliating exclusions. What does it mean
to teach sons and daughters to accept and occupy their birth, caste, and
gender determined role? How do forms of social exclusion and rejection
102 Kumkum Sangari
restructure families as a place for the management or suppression of as-
piration and dissent?
The relation between familial violence and the extrafamilial mechan-
isms of patriarchal public violence is not new. Army, police, custodial,
legal, state, caste-​based, and gendered violence precede and accompany
this neoliberal phase; they can be exacerbated by the many fusions of
the economic and political as well as the broad processes of exploitation
and immiseration noted earlier. Familial relations are increasingly per-
meated by the neoliberal calculus of extraction and economic rationales.
‘Pragmatic’ strategies for negotiating economic risks can be sustained by
several forms of domestic violence. Current economic rationales and pro-
cesses can be re-​enacted in gendered micro-​violence inside households as
in the denial of money and control of their own incomes to women or the
appropriation of their assets. The well-​documented punitive responses
to the infringement of gender norms can now be violently reinforced by
armed vigilantes as well as moral and social policing inside families to
keep women in place. Does the fact that many social-​reproductive tasks
are characterized by fixity of place, and cannot be suspended or moved
to cheaper sites (Katz, 2001), make familial domestic spaces especially
prone to control and violence?
A common response to the multiple risks to livelihood and biological
life seems to be a recourse to heteropatriarchal strictures. The current
misogynist violence and atrocious violence against Dalits seems at one
level to be a reactive transference of the widespread dependence on
women and ‘others’ for the tasks of social reproduction. This deep de-
pendence on women, Dalit, Adivasi, low-​caste, and poor workers seems
to turn them into objects of hatred as well as fortify caste and gender re-
gimes. The logics of entitlement and possession, the liberties of fickleness
and cruelty, the coexistence of dependence, intimacy, and hate, together
generate both social and familial pathologies. Paradoxically, hyper-​
masculinity can be triggered by contrary situations: when men have ac-
cess to extrafamilial sources of power such as caste or community group,
public-​ political institutions and militias, or by unemployment and
feminized jobs such as domestic work which require servility. It seems
that extrafamilial relayed power and the lack of public power can both
be intimately connected to patriarchal power in the household. When
men who have access to public-​political and/​or institutional power also
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 103
exercise it at home, a family becomes continuous with its outsides. Public
violence too can come home to roost.
Does violence against ‘others’ permit violence against one’s own
women and children or is violence against one’s own the preamble of
violence against designated others? Does one’s own social/​economic
demotion give permission to demote and be violent against persons in-
side and outside the family? In every case, violence connects families to
their economic, political, and social milieu. Do families replicate the neo-
liberal combination of propertarianism, individualism, exploitation, and
extraction from every available domain? The wider politics of the em-
powerment of some through discriminating against others does seem to
thrive inside families. Violence does not sit obediently in a separate com-
partment or segregated place. Gendered violence itself connects many
sites—​roads, workplaces, employers’ homes, offices, farms, factories,
schools, universities, et al. Entangling insides and outsides, it relentlessly
erodes the home as a safe and separable place.
In sum, family, sexual, social, caste-​based, communal, economic,
public, political, and state violence comprise a circuit in which similar
forms of violence take place inside and outside the family. In this circuit,
families both absorb and radiate violence.24 This is not surprising since
social processes flow from and to a patriarchal family regime; there can
be mutuality, reciprocity, and transferable modalities which indicate the
strong connection between patriarchies and other social inequalities.
Gendered violence is a node connecting and blurring insides and out-
sides and threatens to become a violence without borders.

In Conclusion

To conclude somewhat baldly, a volatile and mutating combination of

familial, state, and state-​supported market regimes has emerged in this
neoliberal conjuncture, and all three are entangled with the distribution
of socially reproductive tasks across the class–​caste spectrum. As David
Harvey notes, ‘The contradictory unity between social reproduction
and the reproduction of capital crystallizes out as a moving contradic-
tion of singular interest throughout the history of capital’ (2014, 189).
Practical family support and emotional bonding must reckon with the
104 Kumkum Sangari
insecuritization unleashed by neoliberal capitalism. Families are unset-
tled and dispersed by a neoliberal economy and at the same time sought
to be retraditionalized by new laws. Social reproduction within families
is entwined with the political, economic, legal, ecological, and social
which can coalesce in differing experiential situations. The direct or in-
direct violence in each of these domains seems to flow through a patri-
archal gender regime and energize misogyny. Further, the reformulation
of patriarchal practices is caught in the class and caste divide of increasing
accumulation and growing immiseration.
The microsovereignty or autonomy of families is questionable. In
practice, they seem to be so unbordered at many levels. I have touched
on marriage practices and the market–​media complex, son preference
and son selection, the crisis of motherhood and public and domestic
violence—​none of which can now be held apart from neoliberal values.
Extended social reproduction by the feminized service sector, itself a site
of exploitation, is linked to the devalued familial labour, segregated la-
bour markets, debt burdens, and neoliberal depredation. There is much
more to be said and with greater nuance on each of these, but space does
not permit.
The family and families are already an interdisciplinary object of
analysis; their varying material conditions can be elicited from ethnog-
raphies and scholarship in many disciplines. However, a consolidation of
family studies may need to decompartmentalize and integrate. The ten-
tacular structure of social reproduction may be an entry point because
it can blast open the family as a self-​enclosed entity, dismantle its insides
and outsides, and provoke rethinking.

Notes
1. For details see Sangari (2015b, 140–​1).
2. For details see Sangari (2015b, 136–​41).
3. Gago describes such calculation in Venezuela as ‘a way of conquering space-​time
in conditions where the popular fabric is confronted with increasing fast-​paced
and violent dispossessive, extractive and expulsive logics’ (2017, 235).
4. Meg Luxton (2006) writes that ‘By developing a class analysis that shows how
the production of goods and services and the production of life are part of an
integrated process, social reproduction does more than identify the activities
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 105
involved in the daily and generational reproduction of daily life. It allows for an
explanation of the structures, relationships and dynamics that produce those ac-
tivities’ (pp. 36–​7, cited from Gimenez, 2019, 281).
5. For a detailed discussion of class differentiation, dowry, and the marriage de-
mand, as well as the reasons for women’s implication in son selection which
range from consent to coercion, see Sangari (2015b, 16–​19, 21–​5, 29–​34).
6. For a detailed discussion of risk, see Sangari (2015b, 37, 41–​8).
7. For example, Krishnan demonstrates the mutuality of familial patriarchal regime
and the neoliberal labour regime. Working women in mills and factories face
similar patriarchal, abusive, punitive behaviour to restrict them from unionizing
(2018).
8. See Ghosh (2014, 129–​30). Also see the estimates in essays on different cities in
Neetha (2019). Figures vary, yet over half of domestic workers are SCs, STs, and
OBCs. The material conditions and constraints of domestic workers are fairly
similar. Migrants are drawn into domestic work by personal, familial, social, and
caste networks, or private recruiting agencies as well as local networks in urban
and peri-​urban areas. They live in urban slums where spousal violence and alco-
holism are common.
9. The cohort of domestic, sanitation, manual scavenging, and Anganwadi workers
are now organizing, contesting their denigration, and demanding rights. There
is a long history of colonial labour extraction, Dalit resistance, and withdrawal
from or refusal of the tasks of extended social reproduction since the late nine-
teenth century. There have been strikes of Dalit sanitation workers throughout
the twentieth century.
10. Available at https://​www.indiac​ode.nic.in/​bitstr​eam/​123456​789/​6831/​1/​main-
tenance_​and_​welfare_​of_​pare​nts_​and_​seni​or_​c​itiz​ens_​act.pdf (last accessed
on 29 June 2024).
11. Available at https://​prsin​dia.org/​billtr​ack/​the-​main​tena​nce-​and-​welf​are-​of-​pare​
nts-​and-​sen​ior-​citiz​ens-​amendm​ent-​bill-​2019 (last accessed on 29 June 2024).
12. Some daughters may not marry to care for elderly parents and siblings or from
the necessity of supporting impoverished families with their income—​though
they can be ‘discarded’ later and can become insecure, neglected, or homeless in
their own old age (Lamb, 2022, 82–​9).
13. The 2019 Amendment Bill has been critiqued for leaving the eviction clause up
to the states, for the varied implementation of the Act in different states, and the
decisions of tribunals as often being inconsistent with or conflicting with High
Court judgements (for instance, Upadhyay, 2022).
14. See Sangari (2015b, 151–​2) for a detailed discussion of this process. In a study
of welfare state restructuring, Bezanson usefully defines refamilialization as
pushing social reproduction onto families/​households and defamilialization
as elevating the individual citizen worker and making women more like men
(2006, 174).
106 Kumkum Sangari
15. Available at https://​prsin​dia.org/​billtr​ack/​the-​surrog​acy-​reg​ulat​ion-​bill-​2016
(last accessed on 8 February 2024).
16. Available at https://​prsin​dia.org/​billtr​ack/​the-​surrog​acy-​reg​ulat​ion-​bill-​2019
(last accessed on 8 February 2024). This was enacted in 2021 (available at https://​
www.indiac​ode.nic.in/​bitstr​eam/​123456​789/​17046/​1/​A2021-​47.pdf, last ac-
cessed on 29 June 2021).
17. External Affairs and Overseas Indian Affairs Minister, Sushma Swaraj, cited in
Dhar (2016); BJP leader, Vani Tikoo, cited in The Hindu (2016).
18. Both feminist opponents and supporters of the ban on commercial surrogacy
have critiqued the language, discriminatory exclusions, and heteronormativity of
the 2016 Bill. The opposition to the ban is mostly on the same lines as earlier fem-
inist support for the practice: commercial surrogacy as an arena of choice and
reproductive autonomy, as an agential practice and a form of labour preferable to
waged domestic work or sex work that only needs better regulation. Medical lob-
bies present similar rationales for what they claim is just a paid service. I have dis-
cussed these rationales extensively in Sangari (2015b, 7–​8, 79–​80, 90–​2, 98–​103,
108–​9).
19. J. P. Nadda, cited in Ghosh (2016).
20. External Affairs and Overseas Indian Affairs Minister, cited in Express News
Service (2016).
21. For instance, a study of working-​class households in Mumbai shows how ex-
tended family, neighbours, and non-​kin networks of fictive/​designated kin main-
tained by women are helpful in managing economic crises (Gandhi, 2008).
22. Love marriage can liberate women from the family and create a more equitable
division of labour between couples. They break with the natal family/​kin circle,
yet as they form a new family can they escape the tasks of social reproduction?
23. This is not peculiar to India which of course has its own specificity. Ferguson
points out that sexism and racism produce a socially differentiated paid and un-
paid workforce that reinforces and sustains capitalist accumulation—​lowers the
cost of social reproduction by ensuring that some people undertake that labour
for low or no wages; and ensures a steady supply of marginalized and precarious
workers. The processes of social oppression, more than the private household,
are wider processes of dispossession, economic destruction of means of sub-
sistence, systems of migrant and forced labour (2020, 116). Kapadia describes
the male control of wives, especially working wives, and violence against them
among Dalit families because of male unemployment and alcoholism even
though women are often primary breadwinners and ensure family survival
(2017, 12–​14).
24. On the complex relationship between familial, cross-​class, casteist, communal,
political violence, whether fused or circulating separately, and on the perception
of sons as agents of male patriarchal power and physical violence who can protect
family interests, see Sangari (2007, 2008, and 2015b, 35–​7).
 The Insides and Outsides of Families 107
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 PART II
BE Y ON D TH E ‘ NOR M ATI V E’
FA MI LY
 3
‘To Restore the Comforts and
Bliss of Married Life’
Restitution of Conjugal Rights in
Indian Law and Practice

Sylvia Vatuk*

Introduction

Suits for ‘restitution of conjugal rights’ (RCR) form a significant pro-

portion of all suits filed in the Indian Family Courts. The typical RCR
petitioner is a man who wishes the court to order his estranged wife to
return to the marital home and—​in the formulaic phrase repeatedly en-
countered in court case files—​‘restore [to him] the comforts and bliss of
married life’. Similar suits are less often filed by women whose husbands
have deserted them or have expelled them from the marital home. Given
their demographic predominance in the Indian population, most restitu-
tion suits are filed by Hindus.
Here I will briefly review the history of this legal remedy in Indian law,
discussing the key issues raised in the reported appellate case law and the
reasoning by which judges reached their decisions in such cases. I will
then focus on the place of RCR in Muslim Personal Law (MPL), reviewing
both a selection of illustrative appellate cases and several unreported

* I thank Anuja Agrawal, as well as Patricia Uberoi and other participants in the December
2022 online workshop on Family Studies, for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this
chapter. I have also benefitted from suggestions by members of the audiences at presentations
on the same subject in 2008 at the 14th Berkshire Conference on the History of Women in
Minneapolis, and in 2010 at both the Law and Society Association Annual Meeting in Chicago
and the second LASSNET Conference in Pune, India.

Sylvia Vatuk, ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ In: Family Studies.
Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024.
DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0004
114 Sylvia Vatuk
Muslim cases from those I examined in 1998–​99 in the record room of the
Madras High Court. Many of those files include, in addition to the par-
ties’ full petitions and responses, documents of various kinds submitted
as evidence, which are usually only summarized in the High and Supreme
Court records. Finally, I will address what I see as a paradox: namely that,
notwithstanding the thousands of women of all religions harassed each
year by restitution suits, the Indian feminist movement, in its long history
of working to bring about gender justice through legal reform, has never
explicitly targeted these laws for either abolition or modification.

Restitution of Conjugal Rights in Indian History

The British began to introduce British law, British legal concepts, and
British judicial institutions and procedures into India in the late eight-
eenth century. Regarding it as both inconvenient and unwise to interfere
unduly in the religious practices of the local population, they determined
that, in matters related to marriage, divorce, inheritance, and the like,
Hindus and Muslims would continue to be governed by their respective
sacred texts. However, disputes over these matters would be heard by
British judges in newly established British-​style courts, not by the reli-
gious authorities to whom their followers had previously turned for guid-
ance in such cases. Many of those Hindu pandits and Muslim mullās were
instead attached to the courts as ‘native law officers’, to explicate and in-
terpret their respective Sanskrit or Arabic holy books, whenever cases
involving issues of a religious nature came up, and to help translate them
into English (see Derrett, 1968, 321–​7; Galanter, 1997; Sturman, 2012).
By the 1860s a considerable body of Hindu and Muslim case law had
accumulated, English translations of important religio-​legal texts were
available, and there had been some codification of personal laws. So, in
conjunction with a restructuring of other aspects of the British-​Indian
judiciary, the positions of these religious legal experts were eliminated.
Laws were later enacted to govern family affairs among Indians of reli-
gious communities other than the Hindu and Muslim.
The Indian legal remedy of restitution of conjugal rights (RCR) had its
origin in British church law. It was one of four types of matrimonial suits
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 115
heard in the eighteenth-​century ecclesiastical courts, allowing a husband
or wife to obtain an order requiring a spouse who had left the matrimo-
nial home to return and resume cohabitation with him or her. Most appli-
cants for the remedy were women: deserted wives seeking maintenance
from their husbands. If the man refused an order to go back to his wife,
she would be given a legal separation and he would be required to pay
alimony until she remarried. Should he then fail to support her, forcing
her to apply for poor relief, he could be prosecuted for his negligence in a
criminal court (Stone, 1990, 191–​6).
In pre-​British India, no similar legal remedy existed. Although hus-
bands of all religions enjoyed considerable authority over their wives
and suffered few consequences if they abandoned or treated them with
cruelty, none of the relevant religio-​legal texts gave to either sex the right
to force a deserting spouse to return home. Nor was such a right recog-
nized by any of the systems of so-​called ‘customary law’ followed by the
various tribal and lower-​caste communities in the subcontinent (see, e.g.,
Chambard, 1961; Holden, 2008, 125–​60 et passim; Moore, 1993, 2001;
Solanki, 2011, 178–​236).
The first laws pertaining specifically to orders for restitution were not
put into effect in India until the late nineteenth century, first with the 1869
Indian Divorce Act (IDA), covering matrimonial affairs among Indian
Christians, and later with the Special Marriage Act (SMA), enacted in
1872 to meet the needs of couples in religiously mixed marriages.1 The
1882 Code of Criminal Procedure (CrPC) made anyone disobeying an
RCR order subject to imprisonment or attachment of property or both.2
Claims for RCR had begun to be brought to the British Indian courts
long before this, however, usually by lawyers familiar with British ecclesi-
astical law. The early petitioners were of both sexes and most were either
Parsi or Muslim. The first such suit, filed in 1800 in the Recorder’s Court
of Bombay by a Parsi woman, won her an award of alimony (Anagol,
2005, 185; 2010). This and other early decisions established the prece-
dent that British-​Indian courts would admit such suits when brought by
non-​Christian Indians. An 1865 Parsi case3 and an 1867 Muslim case4 are
still often cited in this connection. Neither resulted in a decree for resti-
tution, however: both appellants were sent back by the Privy Council to
have their suits re-​heard on the basis of their respective personal laws.
116 Sylvia Vatuk
The Rakhmabai Case

By the time the notorious case of Dadaji Bhikaji v. Rukhmabai came to

trial in 1884, the question of whether Hindus were also entitled to sue
for restitution had still not been settled to everyone’s satisfaction. There
had been relatively few previous Hindu cases and the appellate courts
to which they were brought disagreed on the matter. Rakhmabai5 was a
Hindu woman of the Suthar (carpenter) caste, married at eleven years
of age to Dadaji Bhikaji, a considerably older man. She had joined him
briefly right after the wedding but had then returned to her natal home,
where she remained for another ten years, becoming exceptionally
well-​educated for a young woman of her time. When her uneducated
husband finally asked that she come to his home and consummate the
marriage, she refused. Negotiations between the two families failed, so
he filed suit in the Bombay High Court. The first judge to hear the case
declined to issue a restitution order, but his decision was reversed on ap-
peal. Rakhmabai’s failure to comply raised the question of whether or not
she should be imprisoned. The issue aroused great public controversy
but became moot when the two entered into a settlement, in which she
paid him Rs. 2000 in exchange for the freedom to continue living apart.
The two remained legally married until his death a few years later, upon
which she is said to have assumed the garb of a Hindu widow (Burton,
1998; Chandra, 1998; Kosambi, 1996; Masselos, 1992; Sharma, 2020).6

The Current Status of RCR in Indian Law

After Indian independence in 1947 Anglo-​Hindu personal law was re-

formed and codified and the remedy of RCR was incorporated as Section
9 into the Hindu Marriage Act 1955 (HMA), applicable to Hindus and
followers of Jainism, Sikhism, and Buddhism. Its wording was taken from
existing sections in the IDA, the SMA, and the 1936 Parsi Marriage and
Divorce Act (PMDA).7
After the HMA’s passage, a key issue arose regarding Section 9: whether
a working wife’s need to live apart from her husband at her place of em-
ployment was a ‘reasonable’ response to a suit for restitution. For a long
time the prevailing judicial opinion was that it was not: husbands had ‘the
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 117
privilege of determining the choice of matrimonial home’ (Agnes, 2011a,
24). For example, in 1964 the Punjab High Court ruled against a Sikh wife,
declaring that ‘[her] refusal to give up the job amounts to desertion. This
would entitle the husband for a decree of restitution of conjugal rights.’8
A similar Madhya Pradesh High Court ruling reads: ‘A wife’s first duty to
her husband is to submit herself obediently to his authority and to remain
under his roof and protection.’9 As in this case, such decisions were some-
times issued even when the wife’s earnings were the sole or the main sup-
port of her family.10 Only in the mid-​1970s did the courts began to regard
the requirements of her employment a reasonable excuse for a wife to live
apart from her husband (Agnes, 2011a, 25). Although some lower courts
continue to grant restitution orders in such situations, High Courts are
today increasingly likely to overturn their decisions. In December 2021,
for example, the Gujarat High Court ruled in favour of a woman who ap-
pealed a decree of restitution issued by a district court. She had a well-​
paying hospital nursing job in Dubai and had left the house where she
lived with her husband and in-​laws because they were allegedly pressuring
her to give it up and emigrate to Australia with him.11

The Issue of Enforcement

Another issue was how orders of restitution were to be enforced.

Though at one time the non-​compliant spouse could be imprisoned for
refusing to comply, since 1908 (by Order 21, rule 32 [1]‌of the CrPC),
the only penalty for non-​compliance has been the attachment and sale
of the individual’s property. A man who refuses to obey a restitution
order is often required to begin paying his wife a regular maintenance
stipend, but this penalty is rarely imposed against a non-​complying
woman, probably because few have substantial enough assets to be
worth confiscating or earnings to be garnished.12

Suits for RCR Filed in Conjunction with Other Suits

In practice, RCR tends to be regarded by members of the legal profes-

sion and by those they serve ‘not as a remedy in itself, but rather as a
118 Sylvia Vatuk
stepping-​stone to other remedies’ (Solanki, 2011, 114). This has long
been the case. Thus, Derrett drew attention to the way that, by 1964, the
relevant Section 9 of the HMA—​then less than ten years old—​was rou-
tinely being used by men ‘for the sole motive of delaying execution of
decrees for maintenance’ (Derrett, 1968, 376). This was just the way men
were utilizing the comparable law in Britain before it was abolished in
1970.13
I found that, in the 1990s, suits for RCR filed in the Madras Family
Court, if pursued to judgement, almost always succeeded, though the
vast majority were dismissed or settled before a decision was reached.
For example, between 1993 and 1998, forty-​three suits were filed for res-
titution by Muslim men, of which all but seven were withdrawn or dis-
missed. These figures strongly suggest that many, if not all, petitioners
had no genuine wish to resume marital life but found the filing a con-
venient legal manoeuvre for achieving some other purpose: typically this
was to delay or quash their estranged wife’s suit for maintenance under
Section 125 of the CrPC,14 her divorce suit under the 1939 Dissolution
of Marriages Act (DMMA), or a criminal charge of cruelty under Section
495A of the Indian Penal Code (IPC).15
Litigants of other religions also sometimes file for restitution when
faced with a divorce suit or because they themselves desire a divorce but
are unable to prove one of the requisite fault grounds specified in their
respective code of personal law. For a woman, such a suit can be an ef-
fective way to obtain maintenance from a husband who has deserted her
or thrown her out of the marital home, as it may result in a quicker and
more substantial award than she would get by filing directly for mainten-
ance under the CrPC (Agnes, 2011b, 25).
Originally, under Section 13(1A) of the HMA, the holder of an RCR
decree was allowed to sue for divorce if the respondent failed, for two
years or more, to return to the marital home. But the Amending Act 44 of
1964 extended that privilege to the other party. Furthermore, as of 1976,
the couple need remain apart for only one year before one spouse can
sue for divorce.16 Some feminist activists favoured this amendment, in
order ‘to save women from the indignity of having to “prove” a matrimo-
nial fault’ or ‘wash dirty linen in public’ (Agnes, 2008, 247). However,
husbands are equally entitled—​and perhaps much more likely—​to take
advantage of it than are wives, who more often wish to stay married.
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 119
In practice, therefore, it is often detrimental, rather than beneficial, to the
latter’s interests.

Testing the Constitutional Validity of Restitution Laws

In the early 1980s there arose several cases in which a female appellant
tried to undermine the key premise underlying RCR laws, namely that a
woman should be forced to cohabit with a man from whom she has, for
whatever reason, become estranged. A precedent-​setting 1983 case17 in-
volved a Hindu couple who had married some six years before, when the
wife was only sixteen years of age, but had lived apart since shortly after
their wedding. During that time, she had become one of South India’s
most renowned film stars. He, a well-​to-​do landowner, eventually filed
for and was granted a restitution decree from the local District Court. She
appealed the decision to the Andhra Pradesh High Court and the court
ruled in her favour, the presiding Justice Choudary declaring Section 9
of the HMA violative of Articles 14 and 21 of the Indian Constitution.18
He reasoned that to force an unwilling woman to return to her husband’s
home is equivalent to compelling her to submit to sexual relations with
him: ‘a serious breach of her constitutional right to privacy, the starkest
form of government invasion of personal identity and an individual’s
zone of intimate decisions’.
A few months later, however, the High Court of Delhi, deciding on
a similar appeal from a Sikh woman, came to the opposite conclusion.
Harvinder Kaur, the wife in this case, had left the marital home after two
and a half years of marriage and refused to return.19 She testified that her
departure was necessitated by her mother-​in-​law’s mistreatment, from
which her husband had failed to protect her. Her advocates sought to per-
suade the justice to follow the recent Andhra High Court decision, but
their arguments were vehemently rejected and her appeal was denied.
That single-​bench decision, written by Justice Rohatgi, is very lengthy,
diffuse, and repetitive, its reasoning often difficult to follow, sometimes
self-​contradictory, and internally inconsistent. However, it raises a var-
iety of interesting issues, shedding considerable light on the nature of
judicial thinking and the ambivalence that often characterizes it, con-
cerning the meaning of Indian (read ‘Hindu’) marriage, the pros and
120 Sylvia Vatuk
cons of divorce in the modern world, and the role and purpose of restitu-
tion of conjugal rights in Indian matrimonial law.
Justice Rohatgi refutes at length Justice Choudary’s assertion that
Section 9 violates the constitutional guarantees of equality before the
law and the right to privacy. He particularly objects to the equation of
‘cohabitation’ and ‘sexual relations’, going so far as to impute to ‘learned
judge’ Choudary, ‘a disproportional emphasis on sex, almost bordering
on obsession’! He asserts that, while ‘sexual intercourse is one of the
elements that goes to make up the marriage . . . it is not the summum
bonum’ thereof:

[c]‌ohabitation is an essential term of the [marital] contract, the very

soul of marriage . . . [the] kind of moral cement which unites and pro-
duces two-​in-​oneship [sic]. . . . If the court enforces that contract there
is nothing wrong.

Far from being what Choudary calls ‘a barbarous remedy’, Section 9 is

instead ‘a means of saving the marriage’.
But what if things have reached the point at which the marriage is in
name only, the couple married in law but not in fact? Whereas to keep
marriages intact is a social good served well by Section 9, it is not in the
public interest, he writes, for men and women to ‘remain bound together
in permanence by the bonds of [a]‌marriage, the duties of which have long
ceased to be observed by either party’. Such a situation will only create
‘immorality and unhappiness . . . [and] drive one or the other or both . . .
to sexual and other relations with outsiders . . . [to] adultery, fornication
and personal bitterness’. The laws of restitution are thus Janus-​faced: they
serve on the one hand to preserve marriages, while at the same time pro-
viding a way out! Having earlier characterized Section 9 as a device for
keeping couples together, Rohatgi now calls it ‘a passport to divorce . . .
a high road to divorce . . . a peg on which to hang a divorce . . . a foothold
and handhold for Section 13 (1A)’.
A year after this Delhi High Court judgement, the Supreme Court
decided to re-​examine the question of the constitutionality of Section
9.20 The case before it had begun only two years after Saroj Rani and
Sudarshan Kumar were wed, at which time he had allegedly turned
her out of their home. She then sued him in District Court for both
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 121
maintenance and restitution. The court granted a maintenance decree
but, since her husband denied that he had expelled her and expressed
his willingness to resume cohabitation, also passed a consent decree for
restitution. When Saroj Rani tried to return home, however, he refused to
keep her and, after one year, filed for divorce under Section 13(1A) of the
HMA, on the ground that they had not cohabited during that time. His
suit was initially dismissed, but on appeal to the High Court of Punjab
the marriage was dissolved. She then took the case to the Supreme Court,
arguing that to award him a divorce on that ground was tantamount to
allowing him to ‘take advantage of his own wrong’, something forbidden
by HMA Section 23(a).
However, the Supreme Court allowed the divorce to stand and, al-
though the validity of Section 9 was in no way central to the case, took
the opportunity to address that question as well and came to a conclusion
contrary to that reached by the Andhra Court. Citing with approval the
Harvinder Kaur decision, the justices reasoned that conjugal rights are
inherent in the very institution of marriage and that an RCR decree thus
offers ‘inducement for the husband or wife to live together, in order to
give them an opportunity to settle up the matter amicably’. In its view,
then, Section 9 is not only constitutionally valid, but serves a positive
social purpose, namely ‘as an aid to the prevention of break-​up [sic] of
marriage’.

RCR under Muslim Law

Whereas for Muslims there is no codified law with respect to RCR, the
right of Muslim men to file such suits has been recognized at least as far
back as the precedent-​setting 1867 case of Moonshee Buzloor Ruheem
v. Shumsoonissa Begum.21 It has also found its way into Mulla’s 1929
Principles of Mahomedan Law, a textbook regularly cited in High and
Supreme Court decisions on Muslim personal law cases.22 The number
of reported restitution cases involving Muslim litigants is, of course,
far fewer than the number involving Hindus. This is mainly for demo-
graphic reasons,23 though the fact that Muslim women—​unlike those
of other religions—​are not permitted to file such petitions is a contrib-
uting factor.24 I am aware of three women who have tried to do so, none
122 Sylvia Vatuk
successfully. In 2003 the Karnataka High Court heard an appeal by a
Muslim man against a maintenance award granted to his wife by a lower
court,25 which had declined to consider the suit for restitution of conjugal
rights that she had filed at the same time. The High Court upheld the
maintenance award, but refused to rule on the question of whether her
RCR suit was maintainable under MPL. It instead advised the plaintiff ’s
advocate to raise the question again before the trial court. In a similar
2010 case the Bombay High Court is reported to have directed the
Mumbai Family Court to re-​hear a Muslim woman’s RCR petition that
it had earlier denied (Deshpande, 2010).26 A third such suit for restitu-
tion by a Muslim wife was denied in September 2023 by the Kerala High
Court. Its reasoning was that there are ‘no provisions . . . in the Muslim
Law that wife [sic] is entitled to restitution of conjugal rights because the
[Muslim] marriage . . . is a contract’.27

Muslim Case Law on Restitution

A brief review of the reported case law on RCR suggests that High Courts
have been more willing to deny Muslim men’s pleas for restitution than
to deny those filed by men of other religions. Since MPL lacks any codi-
fied law on the matter, justices faced with a Muslim RCR case habitually
begin with the Privy Council’s 1867 declaration—​in the Buzloor Raheem
judgement—​that whether to force a woman to go back to her possibly
abusive husband is a question to be ‘carefully considered and considered
with some reference to Mohammedan Law’. Then, searching for clues as
to the rights and duties of husband and wife in a Muslim marriage that
can be applied to the case, they typically go on to cite English translations
of the Qur’an, Hadith, and commentaries thereon, or English-​language
treatises on the subject.
Early on, a question that frequently arose before the courts concerned
the mahr (‘dower’), the monetary gift that a man is obliged to present to
his bride on their wedding day. Wives threatened with a restitution order
would often claim that the husband’s suit could not go forward because
he had not paid their mahr. The courts sometimes agreed, but in an 1886
ruling the Allahabad High Court declared, definitively, that non-​payment
of mahr is not a ground on which to reject a suit for restitution.28 That
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 123
decision did not end the controversy, however. In 1933, before the same
court, the appellant wife made a similar argument, that, having not paid
her dower, her husband was ‘not competent to maintain the suit’.29 But,
instead of deciding that question, the court proposed a settlement: she
would return to him, if he paid what he owed, set up a separate residence
for her and employed two live-​in servants for her protection. The same
issue continued for decades to be raised in appeals of restitution orders
decreed by lower courts, but men’s pleas on that ground were seldom
denied. They were usually allowed to come up with the money before a
judgement was rendered, the case ultimately being decided according to
the justices’ understanding of MPL, ‘taking into account the surrounding
circumstances’ and considering that ‘notions of law today have to be al-
tered in line with modern social conditions’.30
In an early critique of RCR as it applies to Muslims, a writer known
only as J. L. S. wrote in the Journal of the Indian Law Institute that, ‘the
defence most commonly resorted to by the wife’, in response to suits for
restitution, is cruelty by the husband (1961, 244). He then notes that the
DMMA provides six examples of the kinds of conduct that deserve the
label of cruelty and are grounds for granting the woman a divorce decree
He cites the Buzloor Raheem case and a number of those that followed,
and ends by referring with satisfaction to the recent ‘landmark’ decision
by the Allahabad High Court in Itwari v. Smt. Asghari:31

in the absence of a cogent explanation the Court will presume, under

modern conditions that the action of the husband in taking a second
wife involved cruelty to the first and that it would be inequitable . . . to
compel her against her wishes to live with such a husband.

This remains the leading case on the matter: in order to use cruelty as
the basis for an appeal against a restitution order, a woman no longer has
to prove that she experienced actual physical violence or has a valid fear
of experiencing it if she returns home. The very act of taking a second
wife ‘will give rise to a presumption of cruelty on [the husband’s] part’.
Charges of a husband’s cruelty continue to dominate the appellate case
law on RCR among Muslims and, in a significant portion of these, the
cruelty took the form of his marrying another woman.32
124 Sylvia Vatuk
Restitution Cases in the Madras Family Court

While a study of High and Supreme Court cases provides valuable infor-
mation about past and current trends in the law, it is in the lower courts
where, in Agnes’ words, ‘rights are constantly negotiated, interpreted and
evolved’ (2008, 257). Very few of the cases they hear every day ever reach
the appellate courts, however, and even fewer of those are reported in law
journals. Accessing detailed data about cases heard in the trial or family
courts of original jurisdiction is, however, a daunting task, requiring
rifling through stacks of files in a court’s record room, searching for the
particular type of case in which one is interested. If one is not a profes-
sional lawyer, even getting permission to do so can be a major challenge.33
In 1998–​90, as part of a larger research project on Muslim Personal
Law in India’s courts and its impact upon Muslim women (Vatuk, 2001,
2003, 2005, 2008, 2013, 2015, 2017, 2019), I was permitted to examine
five-​years-​worth of case files in the Record Room of the Madras Family
Court in Chennai.34 As expected, only a very small proportion of the
cases involved Muslim litigants. In 1996, for example, out of a total of
1855 suits heard in that court, approximately 96 per cent were filed by
Hindus (under the HMA), the rest by persons of other religions under
their respective codes of personal law or—​in cases of mixed marriage—​
under the SMA. Almost 75 per cent of all suits were for divorce—​most
of them filed by men. Men also predominated among the approximately
20 per cent of petitioners filing for RCR. Agnes found an even greater
gender disparity in RCR suits in other Family Courts: 90 per cent were
filed by men in Kolkata and 75 per cent in Karnataka and Maharashtra
(2004, 31; 2008, 243; 2011a, 26).

Muslim RCR Cases in the Madras Family Court

Between 1988 and 1997 only about three per cent of the cases filed in the
Madras Family Court involved Muslim litigants, a total of 167, of which
sixty-​three were for restitution. I will discuss here twelve such cases from
the years 1993 and 1996, as examples of the kinds of marital disputes
leading up to such suits and their varied outcomes.35 The socio-​economic
status of these twelve pairs of litigants ranged widely. Few wives were
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 125
employed outside of the home, though one ran a large family business in
another city, requiring frequent travel, and another had previously held
a well-​paying job in the Gulf, from which her husband had forced her to
resign. The husbands ranged from the driver of a three-​wheeled scooter,
a self-​employed shoemaker, and a tailor in a garment factory, to a suc-
cessful business entrepreneur and a top executive in a Government of
India enterprise.
The circumstances that had brought these couples to court also varied
widely.36 One was in a religiously mixed ‘love-​marriage’: the Hindu wife
had converted to Islam in order to marry her Muslim husband. Included
in the casefile was her ‘Conversion Declaration Certificate’, signed by a
local religious authority and by her mother—​giving her permission for
the conversion. According to the plaintiff husband, the two had ‘lived
happily’ in his family home for the first five months of marriage, during
which she often visited her parental home ‘without any rhyme or reason’
and later began insisting that he set up a separate residence for the two
of them. This he was unwilling to do, as his ‘meagre income’ was needed
to support his aged parents and two younger sisters. After six months his
wife had allegedly left without warning or explanation and had refused,
despite his pleas, to return. Friends and mediators also failed in their at-
tempts to persuade her to come back to him. After two months in court,
having received the usual mandatory in-​court counselling,37 she agreed
to return home and he withdrew his suit.
Another case involved an ‘exchange’ (adal badal) marriage between
two brother-​sister pairs. One brother, the plaintiff, began by charging that
his wife’s parents had ‘fraudulently and culpably [sic] switched brides’ on
him: when he had gone to their home to negotiate the marriage, the younger
of their two daughters was ‘shown’ to him and identified as the pro-
spective bride. However, at the wedding, following the signing of the
nikāhnāma (marriage contract), when the bride lifted her veil (dupattā)
to show him her face for the first time, he realized that he had married the
elder daughter—​a woman twelve years his senior! His situation was com-
plicated by the fact that, should his marriage end, his sister would almost
certainly be sent by her husband (the plaintiff ’s wife’s brother) back to
their parents’ home. After several court sessions, none of which the wife
attended, the husband—​for unknown reasons—​ceased attending the
hearings and the case was eventually dismissed ‘for default of plaintiff ’.
126 Sylvia Vatuk
The remaining ten couples had had more traditionally arranged mar-
riages. While their narratives differed in detail, certain themes recurred.
In the men’s petitions the most prevalent theme was an allegedly ‘exces-
sively close’ relationship between the wife and her parents, and her ‘too
frequent’ visits to her natal home, sometimes ‘without asking permission’.
Several accused their wife’s parents of interfering in the couple’s rela-
tionship, thus causing discord between them. Three charged that their
in-​laws had pressured them to abandon their elderly parents and reside
in their homes as ‘live-​in sons-​in-​law’ (khāna dāmād). As one man ex-
plained, ‘no self-​respecting, hard-​working, religious Muslim’ would con-
sider doing this.
Women’s most frequent charge against their husbands was domestic
abuse—​verbal and/​or physical—​inflicted by the husband and/​or his
parents. During the proceedings, three who had accused their in-​laws
of mistreatment agreed to resume married life, but only if their husband
would separate from his parents and set up an independent household
for the two of them—​something to which none of the men would agree.
Others accused their husbands of failing to provide them adequate fi-
nancial support, neglecting their children’s needs or—​in the case of the
two employed women—​hindering them from carrying out their work re-
sponsibilities and/​or pressuring them to quit their jobs and devote them-
selves full-​time to domestic chores and childcare.
Of these twelve RCR suits, only one resulted in an order for restitu-
tion, against the woman, mentioned above, who ran a family business
in Lucknow, a city to which she had been regularly commuting from
Chennai. One woman agreed to return to her husband, and another was
divorced (by talāq) in the office of the Chief Qazi of Tamilnadu by the
husband who had been insisting for months that he wanted her back!
Two were able to persuade their husbands to abandon their suits and
agree to a khulc divorce.38 In one file was an affidavit from the Chief Qazi,
testifying that the marriage had been dissolved in this way. Three of the
remaining cases were withdrawn by the plaintiff and the rest were dis-
missed by the judge ‘for default’, usually because the plaintiff husband had
missed several hearings in a row and had eventually ceased appearing
at all.
As for the respondent wives, none had appeared in court more than
once or twice and most had never appeared at all, though most had
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 127
submitted, through an advocate, a written rejoinder to their husbands’
charges, sometimes accompanied by other documents, such as marriage
certificates, medical records, and lists of dowry (jahej) items presented to
the groom by their parents at the time of the marriage.

Should RCR Laws Be Abolished?

Though some continue to argue that, since restitution laws promote an

important social good—​the preservation of marriage—​they should be
retained, legal scholars have been urging for decades that they be abol-
ished (e.g., Agarwala, 1970; Nayar, 2021; Uma, 2021). In 2015 the re-
port of a high-​level committee charged by the Ministry of Women and
Child Development to study women’s status in contemporary India
briefly addressed the issue and recommended that the relevant sections
in all personal law statutes ‘be deleted [and] . . . no longer be available as
a matrimonial remedy’. The Law Commission of India in its own report
on the reform of family law referred to and echoed that committee’s sug-
gestion (2018, 37–​9). However, to date there have been no reports of any
official action having been taken on the matter.
Somewhat surprisingly, the feminist women’s movement—​so active
for decades in pushing for legislative reforms on behalf of women and
for gender equity more generally—​has never targeted the laws of restitu-
tion for abolition or modification. Secular women’s rights organizations
have principally focused on other social issues that negatively impact all
Indian women, regardless of religion—​such as child marriage, domestic
violence, and dowry demands. Some have also strongly promoted the
idea that religion-​specific personal law codes should be abolished and re-
placed by a gender-​neutral Uniform Civil Code (UCC), applicable to all
citizens.
Muslim women’s rights activists, on the other hand, have focused al-
most exclusively on issues that affect only their co-​religionists, i.e., the
reform of Muslim Personal Law so as to make its practice more gender-​
equitable. They find evidence in their reading of the Qur’an that it is a
more woman-​friendly text than it is generally understood to be and en-
courage other women to read it for themselves, rather than listen blindly
to the words of patriarchally oriented male clerics (see Dutta, 2021,
128 Sylvia Vatuk
2022b; Jones, 2020; Kirmani, 2009; Schneider, 2009; Tschalaer, 2017;
Vatuk, 2013, 2017). They want to end instantaneous divorce by triple
talāq, ensure that meaningful amounts are promised in mahr and are
paid in a timely manner, abolish or set limits on polygyny, introduce
marriage contracts (nikahnāmā) that allow the bride to specify the con-
ditions under which she agrees to marry, and set up ‘sharica courts’ pre-
sided over by specially trained women qāzīs (Dutta, 2022b; Jones, 2019;
Niaz and Soman, 2015; Shrago, 2022; Suneetha, 2012).
Eliminating from MPL its provisions for restitution of conjugal rights
has, however, never appeared on any of their reform agendas, including
that of the Bharatiya Muslim Mahila Andolan (BMMA), the largest and
currently most prominent of the many Muslim women’s rights organiza-
tions now in operation. The BMMA was a party to the important writ
petition submitted to the Supreme Court in 2016 by Shayara Bano and
others39 that in 2017 sought to have triple talāq declared unconstitu-
tional.40 For more than a decade the BMMA has also been agitating for
codification of Muslim Personal Law and, towards that end, drafted in
2014 a Muslim Marriage and Divorce Bill, ‘based on the values and prin-
ciples of the Quran’. It hoped that their bill would soon be introduced into
Parliament, though that has not yet happened (Bharatiya Muslim Mahila
Andolan, 2015; Jones, 2020).

Conclusion

While making the remedy of restitution available to both women and

men gives the appearance of assuring gender equity, in a society in which
women and men are structurally and in terms of relative power so un-
equal, its result—​in the words of Justice Choudary of the Andhra Pradesh
High Court—​is anything but true equality: ‘bare equality of treatment,
regardless of the inequality of realities, is neither justice nor homage to
the Constitutional principles’.41
Clearly it makes a big difference whether one is looking at these legal
provisions from the woman’s point of view or that of the man. And, even
from the woman’s perspective, it is not easy to say whether the existence
of such laws is largely positive or negative in its impacts. For women
like Rakhmabai in 1884 or T. Sareetha in 1984, both of whose husbands
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 129
insisted—​for whatever reasons, and probably not sincerely—​that they re-
sume living with them, the laws’ impact is clearly negative. But when a
woman can use these laws to force an abusive or neglectful husband to
at least begin contributing financially to her and her children’s support,
they can be most advantageous. This ambivalence in the way that they
can be used is reflected in the ambivalence of some feminist scholars and
activists when they think and write about the law of restitution, its uses
and what is often called, by those who advocate its abolition, its ‘misuses’.

Notes
1. This act was later amended to give couples of the same religion the option of mar-
rying in a civil, rather than in a religious, ceremony.
2. The penalty of imprisonment, abolished in Britain in 1884, remained on the
books in India until 1908, when the CrPC gave the courts discretion on its en-
forcement (Sturman, 2012, 141 n. 119).
3. Ardaseer Cursetjee v. Perozboye, (1856) MIA 348.
4. Moonshee Buzloor Ruheem v. Shumsoonissa Begum, (1867) 2 MIA 551.
5. A more correct transliteration of the wife’s name is ‘Rakhmabai’ but most of the
secondary literature uses the spelling used by the British at the time.
6. A later case in which a petition for RCR played a role, is that of the Muslim Mir
Anwaruddin and his British Christian wife, Ruby Hudd, initially heard in the
Madras City Court in 1913 (Savage, 2008, 358–​60).
7. It reads: ‘When either the husband or the wife has without reasonable excuse
[italics mine] withdrawn from the society of the other’, the aggrieved party may
apply for a decree for restitution of conjugal rights.
8. Tirath Kaur v. Kirpal Singh, AIR 1964 Punj 28.
9. Gaya Prasad v. Mst. Bhagwati, AIR 1966 MP 212.
10. The husband in the above case was a self-​employed cobbler earning between Rs.
600 and 700 a month, while she earned twice that from her job as gram sevika
(village council secretary) in a village some distance away.
11. Jinnat Fatima Vajirbhai Ami w/​o Nishat Alimabhai Polra v. Nishat Alimadbhai
Polra, on 20 December 2021, Gujarat High Court, https://​india​nkan​oon.org/​
doc/​85764​720 (last accessed on 11 June 2022).
12. In such cases, the court ‘is required to ascertain the share of the wife in the prop-
erty of her husband’. It is unclear how her share would be determined or how the
amount would be collected, once its value was established (Swarup n.d., 5).
13. In Part I, Section 20, of the Matrimonial Proceedings and Property Act 1970.
14. Under this section, a destitute wife or divorced wife can ask the court to order
her husband or ex-​husband to pay her a monthly stipend until she remarries
130 Sylvia Vatuk
or obtains a regular income from some other source. While currently married
women of all religions may avail themselves of this remedy, as can divorced
women of all religions but Islam, a divorced Muslim woman must instead—​under
the 1986 Muslim Women (Protection of Rights on Divorce) Act—​seek assistance
from her natal family or, in their absence, from the Wakf Board (the Board of
Muslim Endowments) of her home state.
15. The punishment for this is imprisonment for up to three years, plus a possible fine.
16. Under this section a divorce can be granted if there has been ‘no restitution of
conjugal rights as between parties to the marriage for a period of one year or up-
wards after the passing of a decree’.
17. T. Sareetha v. T. Venkata Subbaiah, AIR 1983 AP 356.
18. These articles read, respectively, ‘The state shall not deny to any person equality
before the law or the equal protection of laws within the territory of India’ and
‘No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to the
procedure established by law.’
19. Harvinder Kaur v. Harmander Singh Choudhry, AIR 1984 Delhi 66.
20. Smt. Saroj Rani v. Sudarshan Kumar Chadha, 1984 AIR 1562.
21. (1867) 2 MIA 551.This case did not result in a restitution order but was sent back
to the high court for re-​trial. See Edmund Moore, 1858.
22. Section 281 in Mulla’s Principles is the one most often cited in this connection,
often in the same way that one would cite a particular section of the HMA or
the IDA!
23. In the most recent Census of India, conducted in 2011, Muslims constituted 14.2
per cent of the Indian population, as against Hindus’ 79.8 per cent, though ac-
cording to projections by the Pew Research Center, the Muslim share of the popu-
lation would by 2020 have reached somewhat over 15 per cent (Kramer, 2021).
24. Up until the late nineteenth century Muslim women are known to have been per-
mitted to sue their husbands for restitution (see, for example, note 5), but some
time thereafter they became ineligible to apply for such relief. I have not been
able to discover when or why this change took place; an in-​depth study of the
intervening case law could perhaps provide an answer.
25. H. Sirajuddin v. Shaziya Alias Afsana and Another, 2003 INDLAW Kar 4409.
26. My only information on this case is from a newspaper report that provides nei-
ther its title nor the full names of the parties. I have not discovered whether either
case was ever re-​heard and, if so, what their outcomes were.
27. Aneesha w/​o Navas v. Navas, s/​o Hassan Koya, Mat. Appeal Nos. 962 of 2018,
18 of 2021 and 170 of 2021, on 15 September 2023, High Court of Kerala at
Ernakulam, https://​www.kltonl​ine.in/​legaln​ews/​deta​ils/​2308(last accessed on
15 June 2024).
28. Abdul Kadir v. Salima and Another, (1886) ILR 8 All 149.
29. Mt. Anis Begam and Others v. Malik Muhammad Istafa Wali Khan, AIR 1933
All 634.
 ‘To Restore the Comforts and Bliss of Married Life’ 131
30. Saleha Julekha w/​o Mohammed Bismilla v. Mohammed Bismilla s/​o Late Abdul
Raheem, on 24 March 2017, Karnataka High Court, https://​india​nkan​oon.org/​
doc/​95754​701 (last accessed on 11 June 2022).
31. AIR 1960 All 684.
32. See, for example, Raj Mohammad v. Saeeda Amina Begum, ILR 1976 KAR 1008;
Nasiruddin v. H. No. F121 on 31 October 2011, Delhi District Court; Kothar
Beevi Alias Badrunnisha v. K. Aminudeen on 8 June 2017, Madras High Court,
https://​india​nkan​oon.org/​doc/​106035​719 (last accessed on 11 June 2022);
Saleha Julekha w/​o Mohammed Bismilla v. Mohammed Bismilla s/​o Late Abdul
Raheem on 24 March 2017, Karnataka High Court, https://​india​nkan​oon.org/​
doc/​95754​701 (last accessed on 11 June 2022).
33. Two of the few non-​lawyers who have successfully carried out research in such
sites are Solanki (2011) in Mumbai, and Basu (2012, 2015) in Kolkata.
34. I am grateful to G. Meenalochani, the then Acting Chief Judge of the Madras
Family Court (now the Family Court of Chennai) for allowing me access to those
files and to the employees of the Court’s Record Room, who patiently retrieved
the Muslim cases I wished to study from among their massive collection of tied
and bundled materials. I also thank Ms [now Dr] R. Saraswathy for her compe-
tent and cheerful assistance with this and other aspects of my research.
35. I am unable to provide citations for these cases in a manner similar to that trad-
itionally used in the literature for citing reported High and Supreme Court cases.
This is because, in order to receive US government funding for my research and
obtain permission from my university’s Institutional Review Board to carry it
out, I am required to protect the confidentiality of any persons mentioned or re-
ferred to in print or in other publicly accessible media.
36. For this, one can only rely on the parties’ petitions and responses. There is, of
course, no way to judge their ‘truth value’, both parties having been advised by
their lawyers to make their narratives as persuasive as possible. Family Courts
were originally conceived as spaces where litigants could dispense with special-
ized legal terminology and talk to the judge, face-​to-​face, in their own language,
without having to engage a legal expert to represent them. Thus, Section 13 of the
1984 Family Courts Act (FCA) reads ‘no party . . . before a Family Court shall be
entitled, as of right, to be represented by a legal practitioner’. In practice, it is vir-
tually impossible, even for a well-​educated English-​speaking litigant, to pursue a
case without legal assistance. Therefore, clients’ advocates routinely petition the
judge for permission to waive this regulation and are rarely denied.
37. In Family Courts both parties to a marital dispute are required to attend a series
of counseling sessions with a ‘social worker’ of some kind, before their case is pre-
sented to the judge for a decision. The explicit aim of these sessions (as laid down
in the FCA) is to reconcile the couple.
38. A khulc is a divorce initiated by the wife, whereby she offers her husband a finan-
cial consideration to release her from the marriage by pronouncing talāq. In most
132 Sylvia Vatuk
cases no actual cash changes hands—​she simply waives her right to the mahr that
he promised when they wed but never paid.
39. Shayara Bano v. Union of India and Others (2017) 9 SCC 1. The case is discussed
at length by Herklotz, 2017.
40. In a 3-​2 decision the Court denied the petition and referred the matter to
Parliament, which, under the 2019 Muslim Women (Protection of Rights on
Marriage) Act, made this mode of pronouncing an irrevocable divorce a criminal
offense.
41. In T. Sareetha v. T. Venkata Subbaiah, AIR 1983 AP 356.

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 4
Making Families without Wives
Kinship in the Men’s Rights Movement

Srimati Basu

What you are doing is, by bringing all these kinds of laws, you’re
creating single woman, single man. You’ve done it already. You’ve
done it in US. You got totally screwed up. And suicide among
elders is more. After sixty [they] don’t know what to do. . . .
People die alone. They don’t know they have died or not.
Suraj, Senior Chennai MRM leader1

Single people are alien to Indian culture, Suraj’s comment would suggest;
the ‘joint’/​extended lineage-​based family is the only possibility of health
and well-​being. He has plenty of support for this belief: the archetypal
‘joint family’, that is, the multigenerational patrilineal family, looms large
in scholarship and popular culture as a simultaneous site of community,
attachment, tension and violence (Gopal, 2012; Kolenda, 1984; Trawick,
1992; Wadley, 2002). Conjugality may be necessary for legal heterosex to
ensure reproduction of the lineage, but marriage is primarily a suturing
mechanism that brings gendered beings into this web of relationships
and resources (Strathern, 1988). Per this argument, members sublimate
themselves to the greater benefit of the household unit, and everyone’s
safety and comfort is thereby ensured.
This chapter examines the putative breakdown of the family from
a perspective that we might imagine does not contest patriarchal
ideology: it highlights the perspectives of men, typically husbands
and the family members who support them, who are (temporarily or

Srimati Basu, Making Families without Wives In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford
University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0005
138 Srimati Basu
permanently) cast out of kinship in the process of getting a divorce and
dealing with associated criminal allegations such as domestic violence.
They constitute the heart of the avowedly antifeminist Indian Men’s
Rights Movement (MRM). I draw here upon my fieldwork on the Indian
MRM in eight cities of India primarily between 2013 and 2015, including
participant observation at weekly meetings and public events, content
analysis of media discourses, and semi-​structured interviews with move-
ment leaders, other members, representatives of feminist organizations
dealing with gendered violence, and profeminist men’s organizations.
Facing scrutiny and suspicion from neighbours or family circles, and
unable to date or marry for an extended period, these men are often con-
sumed by their legal problems, and express strong negative feelings for
‘governance feminism’2 and the State. It is their social and legal limin-
ality, they claim, that give them a ‘double consciousness’ or ‘standpoint’,
in the sense that Collins (1986) or Ardener (2005) would use the term,
as a double vision from a position of oppression, on the fraught future
of the extended family, and the fragility of joint family property as a se-
curity fund.
Modern marriage laws, the epigraph from Suraj accuses, create single
people and hence destabilize the family, the thing one cannot afford to
abandon. In this chapter, I explore how the alleged destabilization is at-
tributed to a gendered discourse of care and labour, linked to fears of
financial precarity.3 This discourse of family breakdown—​from those be-
moaning its decline or celebrating its demise—​helps shore up gendered
privileges and generational resources. The chapter examines the dis-
course of family to look beyond it, for kinship as ‘something that people
make, and with which they do something’ (Bourdieu, 1990, 168). The
family situations explored in the following sections, thus, reveal the cal-
culus of kinship as well as attempts to create new forms of associational
and strategic kinship.
In claims such as Suraj’s, the gendered, age-​based interests of the figures
in power are viewed as neutral and benevolent, whereas women’s inter-
ests are characterized as fracturing and disruptive. Research often indi-
cates the opposite, that new wives do not feel themselves to be included
in forms of belonging (Gupta et al., 2021). Scholars of gender have dem-
onstrated that wives entering these spaces push against the ideal contract
in various ways: by overtly or creatively resisting such discourses, making
 Making Families without Wives 139
their own claims to their husbands and natal families, or highlighting sex
and desire beyond the reproductive mandate (Basu, 1999; Govindrajan,
2018, 146–​72; Puri, 1999; Raheja and Gold, 1994; Trawick, 1992).
Is the extended family falling apart because of litigious wives, as Suraj’s
indictment would claim? Demographers would deem changes in family
structure, size and economic interdependence to be a much more com-
plex phenomenon.4 The historical scope is also relevant here: the domin-
ance of the extended family form in India has been in peril since colonial
interventions. As market capitalism became important to British colo-
nial governance, the unbreakable joint family property fund was viewed
as an impediment to debt collection and fresh private investment; new
aspirations of marriage and nuclear family were promoted as good for
capital (Sreenivas, 2004). Obligations to women were used to justify sons’
claims to separate property (Sturman, 2005). The aspirational discourse
of ‘modern’ marriage, that men want to express their love by sharing the
benefits of their earnings with their wives and children, that is, the colo-
nial imagination of a ‘real family’, also radically transformed matrilineal
systems (Arunima, 2003; Nongbri, 2010).

MRM Background

The Indian MRM typically dates itself to the early 1990s. From faint
beginnings in scattered solitary actions, it has gained visibility since
the mid-​ 2000s under the banner organization ‘Save Indian Family
Foundation’ (SIFF), which holds weekly public meetings across Indian
cities as well as a large annual conference. Many of the local organiza-
tions emphasize men’s place at the centre of human rights and gender eq-
uity discourses (Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Men, Delhi; Purush
Hakka Sanrakshan Samiti [Organization to Conserve Men’s Rights],
Nasik; AADMI [Man], Lucknow; Pirito Purush Pati Parishad [Harassed
Men and Husbands’ Forum], Kolkata), while others foreground children
without custodial fathers (Child Rights Initiative for Shared Parenting
[CRISP], Bengaluru). But the Indian ‘family’ is at the heart of their col-
lective identity, signalled not only in the name of the umbrella organiza-
tion ‘Save Indian Family Foundation’ (SIFF) but also in the evocation of
kinship terms in the names of other branches, especially their women’s
140 Srimati Basu
auxiliaries: All India Mothers-​in-​law Forum; MASI (Mothers and Sisters
Initiative, Mumbai). Group leaders tend to be urban middle-​to-​upper
class, upper caste, with attendant privileges of education and jobs in busi-
ness or the IT sector, resolutely non-​religious and religiously diverse.
However, meetings bring diverse class and rural populations in as well.
Like men’s rights groups in several other countries, the Indian MRM
arises from dissatisfaction with laws of divorce, alimony/​maintenance
and gender-​based violence. It has its genesis in resistance against legal
reform campaigned for by feminists in the 1980s (influenced by and exe-
cuted during the UN Decade for Women, 1975–​85), which eventually
led to laws criminalizing the giving and taking of dowry, naming family
violence against daughters-​in-​law (often associated with dowry), the
retooling of rape law, and the establishment of Family Courts designed
to give easier access to women. Feminist scholars have had much to say
about the gaps between these aspirational laws and their everyday ap-
plication (Agnes, 2005; Baxi, 2014; Roychowdhury, 2020), but it would
be fair to acknowledge that the laws have changed the terrain of marital
dissolution in several ways: judges may pay more attention to providing
support for separating or divorcing women; people may simultaneously
file for divorce in a civil setting and try to initiate criminal proceedings
related to dowry and domestic violence; and since the passage of the
Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act, 2005 (PWDVA),
women may pursue civil-​criminal cases seeking maintenance and resi-
dence in the family home. These strategies, while complicated and
often fraught, with few major rewards, have nonetheless become a very
popular way of navigating marital trouble. The hope is that filings in mul-
tiple venues may provide women with the leverage to negotiate a decent
one-​time settlement, as opposed to the constant recidivism of alimony
payments over years (Basu, 2015b).
The Indian MRM focuses on the legal burden of men being charged
simultaneously in criminal cases and civil filings: the former poten-
tially leading to jail or job loss, not to mention the loss of social standing,
and the hassle of running to multiple cities to attend to different cases.
They anoint the process with metaphors of bargain shopping: sarcastic
metaphors of ‘gift hampers’ or ‘four for the price of one’ abound. They
allege being harassed and extorted by corrupt police and lawyers in
these processes. Men’s Rights Activists (MRAs) challenge imputations of
 Making Families without Wives 141
violence, complaining (like MRM groups elsewhere) that women’s vio-
lence matches men’s; and asserting that men face difficulties reporting
domestic violence (Boyd, 2004; Crowley, 2008; Dragiewicz, 2011; Flood,
2010; Jordan, 2009). They believe husbands’ liability to pay alimony is a
double standard, and complain that custodial decisions are biased against
fathers. Their cynical view is that the State garners political popularity by
supporting feminist arguments.
In counterpoint, feminist scholars and activists in India have pointed
to women’s social and economic vulnerabilities as a group, including
the low conviction rates for gender-​based violence (Agnes, 2005; Singh,
2013). Their statistics show that even if a few individual women may have
succeeded in satisfactory negotiations, divorce is socially and econom-
ically devastating, and excludes wives’ long-​term access to affinal and
matrimonial resources. They are typically excluded from natal family re-
sources as well (Basu, 1999). While some feminist groups acknowledge
that police corruption and class privilege can result in distressing legal
burdens, others emphasize that the ability to simultaneously use crim-
inal and civil law in good faith can be a critical advantage to women given
their typically weak negotiating power. They have argued for greater
vigilance on women’s behalf and against superficial notions of neutrality
which ignore structural inequalities (Chitkara, 2014).
These dramas of marital tension involve not just the couple in ques-
tion but the extended family. Given the documentation of domestic vio-
lence and neglect within the patrilineal extended family (Committee on
Status of Women in India, 1974), it should come as no surprise that a
patrilineal household’s behaviours and attitudes are on trial when adju-
dication of cruelty, neglect, or desertion are at issue. Wives’ allegations of
verbal, economic, and physical abuse as the manifest reason for leaving
the common home, and husbands’ allegations of the poor behaviour and
inexpert labour of their spouses, loom large as well-​worn scripts. But two
relatively new legal provisions have drawn these family members directly
into legal jeopardy: Section 498A of the Indian Penal Code, enormously
popular (and reviled) for lodging domestic violence claims, which allows
for affines to be charged and jailed alongside husbands with minimal in-
vestigation; and the ‘right to residence’ provision in the newer PWDVA,
used by a few judges to grant women sole or joint access to the extended
family home. As explored later, the prospect of paying out alimony or
142 Srimati Basu
matrimonial property to women has inflamed the anxieties of these fam-
ilies, who see it as a way for women to contract brief marriages to deprive
men’s families of their intergenerational resources.

Registers of Mourning: Family, Labour, Love

Ye log to, bahut log, bibion ko ulta seedha suna rahe hain. Meri
biwi se achhi duniya mein kahin bhi bahu nahin ho sakti [These
people, many people, berate their wives. But there could not
have been a better daughter-​in-​law than my wife in the whole
world]. Sentence pe gour kariyega. Meri biwi se achhi duniya mein
bahu nahin ho sakti [Pay attention to my sentence: no better
daughter-​in-​law than my wife]. There may be [better] wives [out
there]: wives in the sense that they want their husband and child,
they can do everything for them. But when you ask them to do
something for their mother-​in-​law or brother-​in-​law or sister-​in-​
law, they run off. But I had a biwi [wife] who brought the whole
ghar/​household, parivaar/​family, khaandaan/​lineage along.
Very few such biwis in the world these days. So I had a better life
than the best life you can imagine. It was a hundred times better
than my in-​laws could have imagined, a life that thrived within
the ghar/​household, parivaar/​family, khaandaan/​lineage.
Amar, Leader of a Lucknow MRM group

This section looks at the discourse of wives’ roles and responsibilities in the
familial context. The optimal wife in an extended family, MRAs proclaim,
embodies a sublimation of self and the art of caregiving. Housework, in
contrast, is depicted as a set of mechanical skills, meriting no substantial
compensation. Managers of the extended family (male by implication) use
household resources to shelter everyone, making individual ambition un-
necessary and divisive. These ideologies, I would argue, echo a common
performative genre of complaint in courts (and are not just part of rad-
ical MRA perspectives): for example, in my ethnographic work in Family
Courts, such allegations were readily attached to the legal categories of
neglect, cruelty and insanity. As Dhanda’s enumeration of gender role
 Making Families without Wives 143
‘deviations’ cited as ‘manifestations of mental disorder’ in a survey of ap-
pellate cases from 1933 to 1992 indicates (1995, 362), to be appropriately
‘sane’ is to have internalized the habitus of the affinal household: its tastes,
its appropriate frugality, its purities and pollutions, and crucially, the emo-
tional labour that is the currency of it all.
In contrast to MRAs who readily break out into diatribes against their
wives’ behaviour, Amar’s5 account is deeply elegiac. He mourned his late
wife even as he mourned the passing of a nurturance he saw her as having
excelled at. In the linguistic provocation at the beginning of the epilogue,
he revelled in how widely beloved she had been, and how happy they
had been together. In appraising excellence, Amar explicitly valued kin-
ship over conjugality, and expansive well-​being over the narrow prior-
ities of a nuclear unit. I could do no better to convey the affective register
of the terms than the stilted slashes of my translation: to gloss both bahu
and biwi as ‘wife’, or ghar parivaar and khaandaan as ‘family’ is to miss
the resonance of the terms. Amar’s rhetorical juxtaposition draws atten-
tion to the ways these are contiguous yet distinct categories. Notably, his
tribute to the familial over the conjugal is also tied into the difficulties
of his marriage, revolving around their struggles to conceive a child, the
birth of a stillborn infant and his wife’s depressive spiral to suicide.6
A very different genre of mourning the loss of the extended family
is the conspiracy theory, one version being that global reforms are de-
signed to destroy the strength and uniqueness of India. Consider Suraj
in the chapter epigraph: he correlates the extended family system with
lesser suicide and better physical and mental health, as a superior system
of holding humans aloft. Our long interview in his house in Chennai
was interspersed by his lively new daughter-​in-​law, obviously very fond
of him, bringing us coffee and snacks and bits of information about
Chennai, and he often included her popping in as an example of the care
and protection fostered in extended households, exactly what he believed
to be under threat. In his elaborately worked out conspiracy theory which
involved the US government and corporations funding the UN, then
helping shape treaties like CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of
All Forms of Discrimination against Women) in order to give money to
feminist lawyers to then push these troubling laws, the devious motive
was diagnosed as the West’s envy of India and China’s economic power,
‘peacefulness’ and family systems:
144 Srimati Basu
If you know our NGO’s name, we’re calling ourselves ‘Save Indian
Family’. When we floated the name, [we thought] these kind of things
are going to destroy our family system and family values, and elder
women are going to be affected. Women in the family, members of the
family are going to be affected by these kind of laws . . . what happens,
the social cost [in India] is being taken care by the family. . . . Now US
wants family system because they are unable to spend. They have got
trillions of dollars being spent on citizen’s health, citizen’s education,
even citizen’s food.
Suraj, senior Chennai leader

This constellation of ideas works as a powerful conspiracy theory be-

cause it brings together the elements of political economy, nationalism,
gender, ideology, and affect, the connections in plain sight being missed
by an oblivious public, with some fine mental gymnastics on how peace
or poverty are to be defined. The crisis can be projected as grave because
it traverses all the scales from the familial to the national to the global. Of
note here is that wives’ labour is sublimated to the greater good of effi-
ciency and privatized welfare, compensated for by the presumed protec-
tion of the altruistic ‘family’. Widespread elder neglect and interfamilial
conflicts find no place in this vision. One of the most radical ideas this
suave professional retired man had, fitting aptly with this perspective,
was that if girls could enter affinal households as teenagers, they would
successfully sublimate their individuality and natal connections, and
fuse their identity with affinal interests. In this worldview, there are of
course no futures or ambitions for married women, nor any gendered
vulnerabilities caused by this drastic immersive affiliation.
These discursive registers through which the threat of change in family
structure is represented are prominently marked by grief and harm.
Melancholy for the past of women’s dutiful labour, and the longing for
daughters-​in-​law to be so well sublimated into the affinal family that they
produce perfect harmony, slide into the conspiratorial alarm that it di-
minishes the nation’s political hegemony and wounds nationalistic pride.
Blame for the impending existential crisis is cast on women entrants to
the patrilineal space. The following section presents public meetings as
charged spaces of anxiety about intergenerational property, as effects fol-
lowing from these diagnoses.
 Making Families without Wives 145
Unhoming: Property and Loss

The thickest concentration and most passionate engagement of extended

family members of MRAs could be seen in public weekly meetings, where
they came not just out of parental concern for sons but out of concern for
their own well-​being. Arguably, crowds in weekly meetings in 2013–​14
were so large and voluble because parents were alarmed at the horrific
prospect of losing their own homes. There were a couple of immediate
reasons for this energized presence: while the right to residence provision
of the PWDVA (described in a previous section) had raised the spectre of
parents losing their homes, the alarm had been ratcheted up with a legis-
lative proposition to frame rules for matrimonial property for women,
as a corollary to adding IRBM (Irretrievable Breakdown of Marriage) as
a ground of divorce.7 Anointing it ICBM, ‘an Intercontinental Ballistic
Missile of a Bill’, men’s rights groups alleged that the matrimonial prop-
erty provision would cause husbands and their families to lose substan-
tial individual and ancestral property, and would eventually increase
divorce and make men marriage-​averse (Jayaraman, 2013).
As the following reactions show, a contagious anxiety shook up deep-​
seated ideas about lineage and property transmission. A Delhi mother
whose son faced divorce (and paying maintenance) asked the meeting
leader, ‘Should I disinherit him now, and just make a will naming the
other sons?’ Here, the parents contemplated the unprecedented act of
preemptively cutting off a son from his share of patrilineal property in
fear that the daughter-​in-​law might claim all the parents-​in-​law’s prop-
erty as part of the settlement (note that only their sons were considered
as incipient heirs). I heard an MRA leader advise one parent to not do
anything that would seem to be a blatant effort to escape sharing prop-
erty resources (to not anger the judge). Contrarily, in another case the
parents were told that they ought to act before it was too late, just in case.
In Nagpur, I met a couple whom the local organization regularly fore-
grounded in media appearances, as exemplars of the chaos the movement
portended. They described their daughter-​in-​law having occupied the
family home with her own relatives when they were on vacation, having
ousted her husband with allegations of running a prostitution ring (the
parents-​in-​law eventually roused the neighbours and reversed the occu-
pation). Many of these cases could have been rare unfortunate instances
146 Srimati Basu
(the numbers were not high), but because most families at the meetings
had unpleasant encounters with law enforcement, they were primed to
be paranoid about nasty legal surprises. The point is that the volume of
frightened and home-​insecure people at meetings, and their litany of dif-
ficulties, was an affective charge driving protests against the law.
Some feminist groups worry that making divorce too easy will enable
husbands to get out of marriages quickly without making any economic
provisions for wives, increasing abandonment and impoverishment. To
them, ‘fault’ in divorce functions as leverage to negotiate alimony and
residence (as do the criminal provisions discussed earlier). As a large
body of feminist jurisprudence shows,8 no-​fault divorce notoriously mag-
nifies the impoverishing gendered effects of divorce for wives by masking
the highly gendered labour markets which are closely tied to matrimo-
nial and individual property (Starnes, 1993, 73). Feminist advocates
thus argue for a vision of matrimonial asset division which would regard
wives as ‘equal stakeholders entitled to share in marital profits’ (Starnes,
2005, 1513). Compensatory remedies ought to consider the ‘human cap-
ital’ (here meaning one’s potential value in the labour market) a spouse
may have lost by opting out of paid labour, and the labour and resources
they may have contributed to any funds or properties not formally in
their name.9
Specifically, many Indian feminist lawyers, for example Flavia Agnes
and Kirti Singh, proposed setting aside the problematic notion of main-
tenance/​ alimony, with its connotations of gendered dependence of
women, and the hassle of monthly runarounds for paltry funds, in fa-
vour of a rubric for dividing matrimonial property, as a necessary cor-
ollary to ‘irretrievable breakdown’ (DHNS, 2011). But the quantum and
the principles of division are a sticky issue: Agnes proposed the prevalent
standard of property acquired in the course of marriage (Agnes, 2013),
but Kirti Singh suggested more, ‘an equal, or a 50 per cent share’ (Kohli,
2013). In July 2013, the Cabinet approved an Indian Parliamentary
Committee’s (GoM or Group of Minister’s) recommendation ‘to give
mandatory compensation to wives from the husband’s property share’
(Sharma, 2013), and to consider husbands’ ‘immoveable property’, and
‘inherited and inheritable property’ in their determinations, placing the
onus on judges to decide.
 Making Families without Wives 147
Feminist advocacy for matrimonial property has typically addressed
legal regimes involving nuclear families. It is a much thornier issue in
India, where individual and family assets are deeply intertwined. For
one, jointly held marital property, or property/​resources acquired by
husbands since the marriage, may not be the biggest asset source (Singh,
2013). The situation is further complicated by the fuzziness between
men’s share [gender is significant here] of joint family property and their
individual property. Shared family homes and joint family property af-
fect the economic rights and obligations of many beyond the couple.
The lack of clarity and the overemphasis on judicial discretion in the
new law worried many feminist lawyers and scholars that it would lead to
narrow interpretations of property rights and small awards for women
(Kohli, 2013), or that the guidelines for overlap between marital and
non-​marital assets, and value added to inherited property from marital
resources, were too murky (Deshpande, 2011). Bina Agarwal arguably
the most significant scholar on women and property in India, strenuously
critiqued the IRBM Bill (Agarwal, 2013) for focusing on conjugal rights
to the detriment of other family [usufructuary] rights: ‘in protecting the
interests of the divorced wife, the bill can undercut those of the man’s
female relatives’, including [female] relatives who have statutory claims
and who might also have contributed unpaid and paid labour to the
household. Agarwal urged specific guidelines for figuring out how the
‘duration’ of a marriage would affect the decision, and the intersectional
concern that poorer families may need State aid rather than breaking up
meagre joint resources. Similarly, the ‘right to residence’ provision in the
PWDVA may allow for wives to have sole access to the extended family
home, while their husbands and in-​laws seek alternate residence). While
a rare phenomenon, such decisions raise alarm, including among fem-
inists, to be cautious that older couples do not lose their homes if their
son’s marriage goes bad, or for parents to be vigilant about formal and
informal ownership of property and savings.
Juxtaposed against the lamentations of the daughter-​in-​law’s waning
role in the extended household, the fears of imminent homelessness and
complicated legal provisions remind us that the category of the ‘family’ is
a constellation of affective discourses and legal and material concerns. We
may read the fears as a spectre based on rare cases, a backlash against any
challenges to patrilineal property transmission, given that there has been
148 Srimati Basu
no dramatic shift in the gendered basis of property regimes. The volume
of alarm is significant nonetheless, and the warnings of scholars such as
Agarwal remind us that intergenerational property resources may be as
crucial for vulnerable seniors as for divorcing women.
Notable for this chapter, however, is the way that vulnerabilities (of
age, but also gender) are attributed to new wives’ role in the imminent
demise of the extended family. Family size and income pooling strategies
are changing (globally and in India), related to political economy, mi-
gration, space of joint residence, as well as discourses of modernity and
consumption (Gupta et al., 2021), affecting the safety net of family land
or resources. In particular, there is widespread alarm that social systems
sheltering the elderly in extended households are fast waning (Chen,
1998; Lamb, 1997). Property disputes, among patrilineal kin (very often
brothers) or with crafty developers, are one of the most fraught of legal
burdens. But in the fears articulated at these meetings, the financial in-
security of the elderly or the chaos of property cases are blamed on new
regimes of gender: the woman entering the affinal household becomes
the linchpin of callousness, discord, mismatch, the catalyst of widespread
social trouble.

Beyond Family: Forms of ‘Practical Kinship’

As the previous sections indicate, MRA narratives are often framed

through mourning for the extended family, and implied longing for its
restitution. A typical example is an older bearded man in a teal shirt at
a 2014 Pune meeting (others called him ‘Uncle’ in a familiar form of fic-
tive kinship towards older males in India), who blamed the legalization
of divorce as the root problem. He would often interrupt sessions of legal
advice with declamations to burn the Constitution for introducing di-
vorce to India: ‘the Court will take women’s side; nothing will happen
till you men get together and burn the Constitution’; or ‘bahut likhe, ab
likhney ka nahi jalaney ka time aya, . . . khokla hai iye Constitution’10 [in
a conversation about planning a publication, ‘You’ve written enough,
now it’s time to burn not write, the Constitution is toothless’]. Similarly,
Suraj’s far-​fetched assertion to have women/​girls marry at fifteen so they
would have little autonomous sense of self and be best integrated with
 Making Families without Wives 149
their affinal families (discussed earlier), serves as a longing for the ideal
extended family. Notably, both these men were around sixty years old,
an anomaly among MRA leaders who were typically much younger, and
arguably they represented a generational difference in their views on
gender and marriage.
In this section, I introduce alternative visions for family and kinship
within these groups that challenge the heteronormative reproductive
dyad as its core. These alternatives might be said to constitute what
Bourdieu calls ‘practical’ kinship/​relations: alliances which take dif-
ferent forms than those visualized in the ideal genealogical chart, ‘whose
boundaries and definitions are as numerous and varied as the users and
the occasions on which it is used’ (1990, 168). The first part of this section
depicts the succour of extended biological family, as well as neighbours
(outside the genealogical chart), no matter the absence of the wife. In the
second, we meet new families among MRA men who choose to reject
marriage, and who build homosocial spaces of community from lineages
built on common suffering and movement work.
In the popular imagination, the MRA who is an accused and embat-
tled husband is a lone figure distant from kin and other networks, a solo
vengeful actor. When I first began interviewing people as part of this pro-
ject, I met a number of people who fit this profile: they had deliberately
cut themselves off from circles of familiarity and relatedness and were
frenzied in their single-​minded attention to movement work. They were
likely going to be legally embattled for a number of years, which limited
their chances of heteronormative intimacy through marriage or dating.
They socialized primarily with other MRAs.
But I soon began to meet family members. Some were my interview
subjects because they had become leaders in the movement: of these
folks, there were those who had been themselves charged and jailed,
such as the leader of the Forgotten Women’s Association, whose son was
a dominant presence in SIFF based in Bengaluru, and others who had
waded into it out of concern for extended family and fictive kin, such as
two leaders in Chennai and Lucknow. But there were many others who
were enthusiastically introduced to me by my interlocutors. At the home
of a notably gruff and querulous loner who formed an organization in
Kolkata, I met a male neighbour who had dropped in with his daughter
of about eight, and witnessed a delightful recounting of their games and
150 Srimati Basu
favourite stories during precious times spent together. Invited to the
home of a Jain businessman in Mumbai for lunch at the invitation of his
mother, I met a young friend ‘of his mother’s’, patently affectionate with
and close to the MRA. At Indira’s house, a niece came by to discuss her
groom, her imminent wedding and her move to the US.
Across these moments, it became quite evident that MRAs were deeply
entwined with kinship and extended/​fictive kinship networks: even when
their families did not throw themselves into the MRM, they were involved
in everyday forms of care and labour, and in attempts to reintroduce ro-
mance or marriage into their lives. These encounters, serendipitous or
invited, were not merely part of daily routines. They became moments
where MRAs recuperated themselves as recognizably social and lovable,
pushing against representations of them as angry and abandoned.
Other forms of kinship developed from shared experiences and anx-
ieties: fellow MRAs came to constitute new family. In a perhaps too tidy
example of ‘generational masculinity’ (Anderson, 2018), in which later
generations may proclaim less fidelity to traditional heteronormative
gender ideologies following a broader shift in social norms, a younger
subset are marriage resisters.11 They critique the ideology of near-​
compulsory marriage, blaming it for everything from undue strain on
male providers to alleged bias towards women in custody and alimony
laws. ‘Society has married marriage, it needs to divorce from marriage
first’, a leading Bengaluru MRA says cryptically. The group’s influence on
the movement is reflected in the SIFF website’s proclamation that ‘[t]‌here
is no point in tying two people with a 2 meter string of rope called mar-
riage. That is hell and is a social torture of the people involved.’
I encountered an enthusiastic group of such anti-​marriage MRAs in
Bengaluru, who prefer to anoint themselves with the moniker ‘MGTOW’
(‘Men Going their Own Way’), deeming it a radical alternative to the
more conservative title ‘MRA’. Nagle describes global MGTOW groups
as ‘marriage resisters’, one wing of a movement that we popularly gloss as
the Alt-​Right though they vary widely in their political and cultural goals
(2017). This group of professional men in their thirties, working in busi-
ness and engineering and information technology, considered themselves
among the most urbane and sophisticated of their brethren, explicitly re-
jecting pro-​marriage views in the movement. The Bengaluru MGTOWs
recommended that men not devote undue energy to being married, but
 Making Families without Wives 151
rather make a fulfilling life for themselves through other socialities. They
argued that the fundamental problems with alimony and custody lay in
the gendered dependence inherent in ideologies of marriage, rather than
unfair judges or corrupt police or vengeful feminists. Those involved in
alimony or divorce cases were advised to jam the circulation of marriage
by keeping their legal cases going indefinitely, showing up in court and
paying dues (often minimal) but making no moves to file a divorce case
(until their wives broached the issue). Thus, neither party would be free
to marry for the foreseeable future.
MGTOWs often couched their complaints in the language of bad bar-
gains, at the resentment of having to support wives while not having been
compensated through adequate care labour. As Tilak’s comment illus-
trates, they denigrate the quality of feminized labour in adult lives, and
resent that housewives have no extraneous sources of income.

There are traditional responsibilities which have come through, I think,

. . . because it’s an instinct you’ve probably learnt over a period of time.
So, it will be very difficult that for me, for instance, let’s say, when I mar-
ried at that time, for me to say that you go and buy the ticket, right. I
will go and stand in the line and buy the ticket. Because it’s traditional
whereas in the cooking front, maybe she may take up a little more
burden than the man. I do not see household work today as a big deal
primarily because if you look at, say twenty or thirty years back, the im-
plements or the tools available for household cooking were primitive.
So, it used to take more time. Today, if you’re good and productive a
good meal can be cooked in thirty minutes.
Tilak, MRA, Bengaluru

These conversations often evoked robot vacuum and takeout food,

veering into evaluations of the best products. When Anuj followed
Tilak by saying ‘a lot of automation is happening in the house’, and
hence ‘we need to discuss and find some framework, which is socially
acceptable, and divide the work’, he acknowledged gendered labour but
deemed it mechanical and replaceable. In a context where women’s care
and commitment was being challenged, such labour lost its value as af-
fective, dedicated, uncomplaining service to the family, and the corres-
ponding promise of shelter and support. Notably, casting off husbandly
152 Srimati Basu
responsibilities did not involve abjuring the attendant privileges of
greater income or property: wives were challenged to become equal par-
ticipants in the labour market only after they were likely disadvantaged in
education or skills because they too were raised to rely on the heteronor-
mative contract.
In marked contrast to discourses of abandonment and loss, the
Bengaluru group spoke of freedom from marriage as a new, liberated
life. Anuj described his resolve to do all the things he had dutifully given
up, later encountering the MGTOWs as a likeminded group: ‘I went to
a Sting concert. Sting came to Bangalore. . . . I went and stood in the first
row, 2004. When Mark Knopfler came, I also stood in the first row. Then
I went to Kerala on a holiday. I said, I’m going to live my life. . . . And then
I came across them [the MGTOWs].’ Anuj and his group echo the sort
of radical individualism/​‘objectivism’ popularized by Ayn Rand, of shed-
ding all social constraints in pursuit of individual fulfilment.12 Their ver-
sion involved picturing a life where family and marriage were broken into
constituent bits and solved as separate system processes (as described to
me by Anuj the IT professional). Their incomes as professionals enabled
them to be independent of family resources (ignoring the privileges of fa-
milial cultural capital that had helped secure those jobs) and resentful of
sharing money with family.
Besides solving the problem of domestic labour with Roombas,
takeout food, and the like, Anuj had assigned a quantitative valence to sex
and found an alternative. In training for men’s empowerment, he would
ask ‘What do you think . . . how many times a man has sex in his whole
life?’ He calculated the number as an average of 1500, based on his for-
mula of age and disease. For those who might be hanging on to marriage
for sexual access, he asked his audience to ‘go and get it and finish off and
say my thing is over and I’m free’. He did not elaborate whether this im-
plied hanging on to marriage till the magic number, or relationships out-
side marriage, or sex work.
All that’s left over here from Edmund Leach’s classic definition of the
minimum elements of marriage—​including the establishment of legal
parenthood, claims to the sexuality and labour of spouses, and rights to
property—​is ‘socially significant “relations of affinity” ’ (1955, 183). For
this, the MGTOWs revel in creating communities of solidarity, trans-
forming the solitary homes of divorcing men into spaces fondly referred
 Making Families without Wives 153
to as a ‘boys’ [college] hostel’ or ‘free men’s club’ or ‘Monastery of SIFF’.
Tilak describes his house as ‘an open space’, with a spare bedroom for
out-​of-​town MRAs—​R aju was visiting from Nagpur at the time. They
are so comfortable there that he has to wrest space for himself some-
times: ‘sometimes I have to tell everybody to get out’, a privilege of soli-
tude not afforded to those in extended families. The weekend before I met
them the first time, they had gathered over the weekend at Tilak’s. ‘Some
food is ordered, some food is cooked’, narrated Anuj: that evening, they
ordered Butter Paneer Masala and Raju made Dal Fry and millet Rotis.
Most significant to them, as Anuj described it, is that it is a space where
they try to be fully themselves as a group: they ‘do nothing’ and ‘[are] nor-
mally very non-​judgmental. . . . We’re very peaceful.’
These men insist they are straight, are obsessively engaged in thinking
about the gender binary and its material advantages; and can be cas-
ually homophobic. There are obvious problems to imagining them as
allies of feminist critiques of marriage or of queering kinship—​despite
their critiques of marriage and the pressure of narrow familial roles,
they are not able to speak beyond heterosexuality or imagine an equit-
able gendered order in the distribution of jobs and property. But their
attitudes nonetheless destabilize normative family models and fore-
ground alternative material and social relations. Their referents for
gendered homosociality—​evoking the religious community of a mon-
astery, or other South Asian religious traditions of ascetics, or indeed
single sex living spaces such as hostels—​are imagined as the utopian al-
ternative to the constant conflict of heterosexual relations or intergen-
erational homes. Such situational homosociality recalls the long history
of forging queer families, beyond biology and across generations, that
nourish those shunned from heteronormative familial spaces (Butler,
2002; Pidduck, 2009; Ritholtz and Buxton, 2021). But they are also part
of long-​held South Asian traditions of quotidian homosociality (Cohen,
2002), such as male living spaces in the context of single urban migration
or intense male friendships alongside heterosexual marriage. We might
at least deem the MGTOWs’ longings for non-​transactional alternatives
that mirror ‘the family’ in shared labour and residence and the ideal of
harmony, and the centrality of profound male intimacy, as aligning them
(contrary to their own readings) with the ‘alternative plots’ of ‘desires for
intimacy’ (Berlant, 1998, 285) which trouble heteronormativity.
154 Srimati Basu
If MRAs seem to be excluded from the rhythm of everyday family life,
they have found several other ways to be included in forms of kinship as
labour and care. These alternative forms are practical as well as heartfelt,
modes of survival as also aspiration. While some long for extended family
norms, many others seek to re-​invent it through expansive social ties.
Meanwhile, they hold the privileges of property and professional status
afforded to them by virtue of gender as beyond critique in the calculus of
kinship.

Conclusion

Contrary to the alarm that Suraj projects, husbands or families do not

face collapse or abandonment simply because divorce and/​or criminal
charges bring distress to them. Rather, the discourse of deterioration of
gendered labour allows them to frame their dissatisfaction with chal-
lenges to social order and intergenerational resources. While fears of
losing homes may have some cause, discussions of property become ve-
hicles for ‘redefining the legitimate currencies of exchange’ (Sturman,
2005, 636). Anger and revenge also fuel the birth of alternative socialities,
which try to reimagine labour and affect even as they deny their own
privileges.
It comes as no surprise to scholars of the family, or to watchers of film
and TV for that matter, that the warm glow of the extended patrilineal
family, and its corollary, ‘the Bad Family and other Modern Things’ in
Lawrence Cohen’s inimitable phrase (1998), are beloved tropes, fetishes
in the sense of associations rooted in early desire used to seek satisfaction
of adult needs. This chapter seeks not to debate the ontological status of
the death or resilience of the extended family, but to notice how the trope
mediates tensions of legal burden, household labour, autonomy, and re-
sponsibility in marriage, and forms of love and companionship. Within
sections of the Indian MRM and in the world outside it, we see tussles
around the emergence of new forms of sexuality, sociality, and related
desires imbricated in economic and cultural processes: the discourse of
family explored here provides one map of wrestling with such changes.
In indicating that patrilineality is both unsettled and resilient, and that
 Making Families without Wives 155
kinship reinvents itself beyond the logic of the reproductive mandate, it
invites readers to keep their eyes open to family talk as the barometer of
changes in gender relations.

Notes
1. All names from my fieldwork interviews are anonymized.
2. The term ‘governance feminism’ implies that the State is shaped by feminist prin-
ciples, as MRAs claim. More realistically, certain claims of the women’s move-
ment have been enacted in some laws and policies.
3. For discussion of the methodological complexities of being a feminist ethnog-
rapher studying anti-​feminists, see Basu (2018).
4. Factors affecting change include the reliance on income from agrarian sources
versus wage labour, the sources of eldercare and childcare, race and ethnicity,
occupational and geographic mobility, housing options, or the role of class and
social capital (Mason, 1992; Morgan and Hirosima, 1983; Rambo, 2017; Reyes,
2020; Vatuk, 1971).
5. My chosen pseudonym of Amar refers to Amarpakshi—​a kind of Pheonix, as a
reborn and eternal spirit—​as homage to the new name ‘Amar’ had given himself
after jail.
6. The criminal case against him was initiated by his grieving in-​laws, using a pro-
vision that the burden of proof that women’s suicides within the first seven years
of marriage is not murder is on husbands and affines; he was incarcerated for two
years before being exonerated by a judge.
7. The proposal to add ‘Irretrievable Breakdown of Marriage’ (the equivalent of the
more globally popular term ‘no fault’ divorce) was first recommended by the 71st
Law Commission of India Report (The Hindu Marriage Act 1955—​Irretrievable
Breakdown of Marriage as a Ground of Divorce) in April 1978, as a provision
which would simplify procedures and reduce conflict. The recommendation re-
surfaced in the Marriage Laws Amendment Bill (2010), which hovered on the
docket without being actively debated, though the very prospect of change gener-
ated anticipation and consternation in bitterly opposed groups.
8. For an analysis of these theories, see Basu (2015a).
9. Chitkara (2014) provides a detailed timeline and discussion of the legislation.
10. He likely meant Personal Law, where laws pertaining to marriage reside, but here
‘Constitution’ serves as a metonym for ‘Indian law’.
11. We might, alternatively, interpret the differences between the groups as being re-
lated to household structure or profession or cosmopolitan identities.
12. See Herring (2021) for one recent example.
156 Srimati Basu
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 5
Marital Status Discrimination in India
Prospects and Possibilities

Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal*

Introduction

In a recent petition on the recognition of same-​sex marriage before the

Delhi High Court, the Solicitor General (SG) of India stated that the re-
lationship of marriage is one between a biological man and biological
woman (The Leaflet, 2021). This is not surprising given that the trad-
itional Indian family unit has always been one based on a heteronorma-
tive understanding of marriage. One observation, made by the SG during
the proceedings is particularly worthy of attention. In response to the
urgency for the hearing shown by the petitioner’s counsel, the SG justi-
fied the adjournment of the matter stating ‘nobody is dying because they
don’t have a marriage certificate’ (The Leaflet, 2021).
A simple conversation with unmarried women trying to access an
abortion, belies the assumption in this statement. Although the Medical
Termination of Pregnancy Act, 1971 does not make an explicit distinc-
tion between married and unmarried women, an assessment carried
out by the National Human Rights Commission of India in 2018, docu-
mented how sexual and reproductive health services, both in public and
private hospitals are designed primarily for the heterosexual married

* We are thankful to Dr Ketaki Chowkhani and Dr Sourav Mandal for helpful conversations
in ideating on this topic and to Prof Anuja Agrawal and Prof Sujata Patel for organizing an on-
line workshop on the volume which helped us in preparing our chapter. We also appreciate
and value the suggestions made by our discussant, Dr Shalini Grover and other panellists who
helped us strengthen the arguments brought out in the chapter. Finally, we would like to ac-
knowledge Shivani Milanmody, our student, who helped us with data collection and collation in
our chapter. Any errors are solely ours.

Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal, Marital Status Discrimination in India In: Family Studies.
Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024.
DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0006
160 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
woman. The report highlights how health workers and doctors overtly
focus on a woman’s marital status, which in turn determines the quality of
service they provide to her. This discrimination is even more pronounced
for lesbian or bisexual women (see Partners for Law in Development and
SAMA Research Group for Women and Health, 2018).
It was only in 2022 that the Supreme Court clarified that unmarried
women would have to be treated the same as married women when ac-
cessing abortion.1 Recognizing this form of discrimination, that is, dis-
crimination based on whether a person is married or not, is not new
within legal discourse; some countries already recognize this as a consti-
tutionally protected ground of discrimination.2 However, in India, such
a ground of discrimination has neither been constitutionally nor statu-
torily recognised. Recently, the Supreme Court of India took note of the
numerous ‘atypical families’ (single parent, queer families, etc.) and ob-
served that they were as deserving of recognition as heterosexual marital
families within law and policy (Livelaw News Network, 2022). With the
rise of such atypical families, that involve comparable degrees of care,
child rearing, and financial investment, it is important to interrogate
whether societal and legal recognition should be tied to ‘marriage’ alone.3
Applying a doctrinal analysis to legislation, rules, policies, and case-​
laws, we aim to identify Central laws and policies that privilege the het-
erosexual, monogamous, married couple in India directly or indirectly.
We argue that this is the first step towards determining the effectiveness
of recognizing marital status as a ground of discrimination in challenging
the centrality of marriage within the Indian legal landscape.
The chapter begins with a descriptive analysis of the anti-​discrimination
framework that is envisaged under the Indian Constitution and high-
lights the recent jurisprudential developments recognizing indirect dis-
crimination, which could be particularly useful in recognizing marital
status discrimination as well. Thereafter, we map central laws and pol-
icies to identify whether the mode of discrimination against unmarried
persons within them is direct or indirect. We situate this analysis in the
context of recent attempts made by civil society to bring legislative rec-
ognition to marital status discrimination through anti-​discrimination
laws. In our concluding thoughts, we reflect on and identify questions
that need more research and engagement in order to determine whether
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  161
marital status should become a constitutionally or statutorily protected
ground of discrimination.

Anti-​Discrimination Law in India: Brief Overview and

Recent Developments

Laws regulating discrimination, like rules of democracy, rule of law and

human rights, are considered to be an essential marker of a ‘civilized’ so-
ciety (Khaitan, 2015, 3–​4). International human rights instruments pro-
scribe discrimination of individuals on a diverse set of grounds such as
race, colour, sex, language, religion, political, or other opinions, national
or social origin, property, birth, or other status.4 Laws against discrimin-
ation have also become a basic feature of both constitutional documents
as well as statutory legislations.5
India also provides for constitutional protection against discrimin-
ation, which is a guaranteed fundamental right. The principle of non-​
discrimination is enshrined under the trifecta of equality provisions,6
and in particular under Article 15 (1) of the Indian Constitution, which
prohibits discrimination on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex, or place
of birth. Among these very limited identities, caste is a ground which is
particularly endemic to India because of its history and culture. As a re-
sult, caste has not only found its place in Article 15 (1) but also in other
provisions regarding affirmative action7 and prohibition of the practice
of untouchability8.

The Judicial Discourse on the Scope of Article 15 (1)

On a comparative note, India provides for only five protected character-

istics regarding the prohibition on discrimination, which is considerably
less than the international human rights instruments as well as protec-
tions in other jurisdictions. An analysis of constituent assembly debates
also does not offer much explanation in this regard, as no discussion took
place among the constitutional drafters for recognizing any other add-
itional grounds.9 This may lead to an assumption that these five grounds
162 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
were considered to be fit enough to deal with instances of discrimination
in the Indian society.
It is possible that this understanding has subsequently filtered into
the Indian Courts’ jurisprudence on Article 15 (1), that has recognized
a very limited scope of its application relying primarily on the phrase-
ology of the provision itself. The Article states that ‘the State shall not
discriminate against any citizen on grounds only of religion, race, caste,
sex, place of birth or any of them’. Shreya Atrey in her study on Article
15 (1) analyses that the usage of word ‘on grounds only of ’ in the provi-
sion had led to development of a ‘single-​axis’ jurisprudence, wherein the
occurrence of prohibition on discrimination was construed to happen
solely on the basis of one ground (Atrey, 2019, 86). The culmination of
this jurisprudence is best seen in the case of Air India v. Nergesh Meerza,
1982 SCR (1) 438 (hereinafter Nergesh Meerza) which involved a sex-​
discrimination challenge on the validity of Air India Employees Service
Regulation.
The regulations provided for the retirement of an air hostess on the
grounds of age, pregnancy, and marital status.10 While the court struck
down the regulations in regard to age and pregnancy, it upheld the consti-
tutionality of the discrimination based on marital status. The reasoning
behind it was the fact that the discrimination was not solely on the ground
of sex, but involved other factors such as family planning, ensuring the
success of marriage and the economic costs of training the crew. The
Court hence agreed that what Article 15 (1) was prohibiting was the fact
that discrimination should not be made only and only on the ground of
sex. Atrey argues that the fact that ‘marital status’ was not a ground enu-
merated under Article 15 (1) was a probable reason behind the Court’s
rationale and hence discrimination on that basis was not considered to
be problematic (Atrey, 2019, 87).
The non-​enumeration of additional grounds under Article 15 (1) has
also led to another limited reading of the provision. Kannabiran in her
work on disability-​based discrimination states that there is a refusal by
courts to extend the reach of Article 15 (1) to disability (Kannabiran,
2012, 87). Atrey corroborates this understanding while referring to the re-
jection of treating HIV Status as a ground of discrimination under Article
15, although the same has been addressed while taking a recourse under
Article 14 (Atrey, 2016, 178). Such a limited understanding of the court,
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  163
in her opinion, not only signified a closed list of grounds on the basis of
which discrimination can be recognised under Article 15 (i.e., religion,
race, caste, sex, place of birth), but also was the primary impediment to
the recognition of intersectional discrimination (Crenshaw, 1989) under
the Indian Constitution (Atrey, 2016, 178).

Recognition of ‘Analogous Grounds’ and Intersectional

Discrimination
This limited understanding of grounds of discrimination under Article
15 (1) however, saw an important shift in the light of the queer movement
in India. In the petitions challenging Section 377 of Indian Penal Code,
1908, which criminalized consensual same-​sex activity, the Delhi High
Court in Naz Foundation v. Government of NCT and Others,11 for the
first time, read ‘sex’ as ground of discrimination under Article 15 (1) ex-
pansively to include ‘sexual orientation’. While striking down Section 377
as a provision, the court held that although the provision was facially
neutral, it in its operation, targeted ‘homosexual’ persons as a class, and
was discriminatory against them.12 While categorizing this discrimin-
ation as sex-​based discrimination, the court held that sexual orientation
is a ground ‘analogous’ to sex, and discrimination on the basis of sexual
orientation was not permitted under Article 15.13
A further expansion of grounds of ‘sex’ under Article 15, was seen
in National Legal Services Authority v. Union of India.14 The landmark
judgement, while upholding the rights of transgender persons, held that
the prohibition of sex discrimination under Article 15 is not limited to a
biological understanding of sex as male or female, but is wide enough to
include ‘gender identity’.15 This expansive reading of ground of ‘sex’ to
include ‘sexual orientation’ and ‘gender identity’ was also confirmed by a
constitutional bench of five judges in 2018, in Navtej Singh Johar v. Union
of India16 (hereinafter Navtej Singh Johar), where the Supreme decrimin-
alized sodomy law in India.
Significantly, the judgement in Navtej Singh Johar, also questioned
the single-​axis usage of Article 15 (1) grounds as was established in
Nergesh Meerza. Justice Chandrachud in his opinion states that the
judgement in Nergesh Meerza deserves to be over-​ruled, as it had a for-
malistic understanding of Article 15 (1).17 In his understanding, sex dis-
crimination (taking various socio-​political and economic contexts into
164 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
consideration) could not be read in isolation of other identities, and an
accurate understanding of prohibition of discrimination under the con-
stitution, needed to take into consideration these intersectional aspect
of varied identities and characteristics.18 While this was an observa-
tion by a sole judge of the constitutional bench, nonetheless, this obiter
has the potential to recognize intersectional discrimination under the
Indian Constitution.

Recognizing Indirect and Systemic Discrimination

Another positive fallout of the Navtej Singh Johar case has been the ex-
plicit recognition of indirect discrimination by the Supreme Court.
Although indirect discrimination had been previously recognized by the
Delhi High Court in the cases of Inspector (Mahila) Ravina v. Union of
India19 and Madhu and Another v. Northern Railway and Others,20 the
Court in Navtej Singh Johar employed the understanding of indirect
discrimination to analyse the provisions of Section 377. It stated that al-
though the provision was facially ‘neutral’ in the sense that it was applic-
able on the act of sexual intercourse against the order of nature (to include
oral sex and anal sex), and not on class of people, the court reached the
conclusion that provision did not merely criminalize an act but it crimin-
alized a specific set of identities. Its effect was to efface specific identities,
which were the soul of the LGBT community.21
The Supreme Court also further consolidated this concept of in-
direct discrimination in the matter of Lt. Col. Nitisha v. Union of India,22
which dealt with the issues of Permanent Commission for women en-
gaged on Short Service Commissions with the Indian Army. In its path-​
breaking judgement, the court laid down an analytical framework for
indirect discrimination in India.23 In analysing the doctrine of indirect
discrimination, the court stated that it is founded on the fact that dis-
crimination can often be a function, not of conscious design or mali-
cious intent, but of unconscious/​implicit biases resulting in the actions
of existing structures/​institutions.24 The court uses this understanding
to distinguish between direct and indirect discrimination, wherein the
former is predicated on intent, and the latter is based on the effect/​im-
pact it creates.25
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  165
While laying down the test for indirect discrimination, the court sug-
gested a twin-​test which includes an analysis of the impugned provision/​
criteria/​practice on the basis of the disproportionate impact it has on the
relevant class of people, and the harm caused by such an impact.26 The
court further advocates for a systemic discrimination analysis, which
would involve an analysis of discrimination in both its manifestations
(direct and indirect), while recognizing that a strict emphasis on only
using one of the tools (that is either direct or indirect discrimination)
to redress discrimination would often lead to patterns and structures
of discrimination remaining unaddressed.27 More importantly, it also
recognizes that discriminatory disadvantage would not only consist of
unjust action, but also inaction.28
The Court while laying down this framework, also gives an illustrative
example, which can arguably be read as adding analogous grounds to the
already existing grounds of discrimination under Article 15 (1). While
giving an example of systemic discrimination on account of gender (al-
ready considered as an analogous ground to ‘sex’ under Article 15) at the
workplace, the court states that such discrimination would encapsulate
the patriarchal disadvantage that also permeates, including aspects of ‘re-
production’, ‘sexuality’, and ‘private choices’.29
Two aspects of the decision by the court stand out: first, the fact that
the court recognizes systemic discrimination as one which combines
both direct and indirect forms of discrimination. As seen before in the
Navtej Singh Johar, there can be laws and policies which might be fa-
cially neutral and might not have the intent to discriminate against spe-
cific groups or individuals. However, the fact that intent is now rendered
unnecessary to prove discrimination in all cases, while also focusing on
disproportionate impact an action creates, is significant because most
of family law provisions can be considered discriminatory under such a
framework. Secondly, inaction by the State to make changes as another
feature of discrimination has the further potential to challenge these
family laws, which have always been difficult to reform.
The next section of this chapter undertakes a textual analysis of laws
that prioritize heteronormative understanding of relationships in India,
thereby leading to the legal privileging of marriage or marriage-​like rela-
tionships which can be considered to be discriminatory to any other non-​
normative understanding of familial relationships.
166 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
‘Marital Supremacy’: The Legal
Privileging of Marriage

The institution of marriage affords special legal and social advantages

(Beattie, 1991, 1415).30 In the recently delivered judgement on the same-​
sex marriage petition in India, one of the judges, Justice Chandrachud,
explains this comprehensively. In Supriyo @ Supriya Chakraborty and
Another v Union of India,31 Justice Chandrachud states while marriage
earlier was a purely social institution unregulated by State, regulation
of social order through regulating sexual conduct of persons through
marriage and prescribing a legal mechanism for devolution of prop-
erty based on the legitimacy of heir were the two primary reasons for
State involvement.32 He further goes on to note that, at present, the State
only regulates heterosexual marriages, which results in the law confer-
ring numerous rights and benefits which flow from marriage only to het-
erosexual couples who have got married, thereby automatically not only
bestowing sanctity and commitment to heterosexual marriages but also
leading to the perception that any other form of relationship is fleeting
and non-​committal.33 With such legal and social privileging of married
couples, an inquiry into what legal benefits are accrued on heterosexual
married couples is fundamental.
Below, we describe how different laws and policies dealing with mar-
riage, parenthood, labour, housing, health, and citizenship discriminate
against those in non-​normative relationships. As we demonstrate through
the description below, this discrimination can be direct, indirect, or a
combination of both.

Family Laws

Marriage, Maintenance, Inheritance and Succession, Domestic

Violence
Sourav Mandal in his work on the impact of family jurisprudence on
queer lives argues that law practised in India for all practical purposes
exclusively recognises marriage and relations of blood (kinship) as the
only form of inter-​personal relations which can constitute a ‘family’.
Resultingly, this leads to the creation of ‘family-​ haves’ and ‘family
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  167
have-​nots’ wherein the recognition of marriage as an instrument of law
also entitles these ‘family-​haves’ further benefits in the form of attracting
legal benefits (Mandal, 2017, 17). The ‘family have-​nots’, which generally
consist of non-​heteronormative and non-​marital relationships are hence
not worthy of attracting these benefits, even though these relationships
may be functionally similar to a family (Mandal, 2017, 18).
The very starting point of family in the Indian legal discourse, is the
idea of marriage. This is evident in the way matrimonial laws across dif-
ferent personal laws in India construct marriage in a heteronormative
manner, that is, between a cis-​gendered man and a cis-​gendered woman.
This is done by constructing the parties to marriage as ‘bride’ and ‘bride-
groom’34 or as ‘male’ or ‘female’,35 or as ‘husband’ or ‘wife’.36 It can be ar-
gued that this heteronormative construction of marriage and its legal
recognition excludes all other forms of non-​heteronormative families,
regardless of the levels of emotional and economic dependency and is,
therefore, discriminatory on the face of it.
This exclusive recognition of heteronormative ‘families’ also has an
impact on all the allied family-​oriented laws such as inheritance, suc-
cession, and maintenance laws. For instance, the devolution of property
under Indian inheritance laws37 defines legal heirs in the narrowest terms
and the relations to the deceased person is limited to one of marriage,
birth, or adoption.38 Consequently, if a person in a same-​sex relationship
dies intestate, that is, without a will, the partner in the relationship will
automatically not be entitled to inherit the property due to the recogni-
tion of only heterosexual unions under the marriage laws.39
Similar arguments can be made regarding maintenance laws40 which
only considers maintenance on the event of separation as limited to ‘hus-
bands’ and lawfully wedded ‘wives’.41 Even where some recognition is
given to those women who may have been duped into bigamous mar-
riages, that recognition is premised on the assumption that the particular
relationship otherwise has all the trappings of marriage. Thus, even
where the law recognizes relationships outside marriage, that recogni-
tion is rather limited.42
Legally recognizing and protecting only heterosexual marriages can
also have consequences on the protection afforded by law regarding do-
mestic violence. The Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act,
2005 (PWDVA) is a holistic legislation that is aimed at protecting women
168 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
from all kinds of violence occurring within the family. However, in de-
fining domestic relationship,43 it limits itself to relationship between two
people related by consanguinity, marriage, a relationship in the nature of
marriage and adoption. While determining what relationships may con-
stitute as a relationship in the nature of marriage, the Supreme Court has
laid down tests that rely on specific characteristics such as duration of
period of relationship, pooling of resources and financial arrangements,
sexual relationship, having children, public affirmation through social-
ization, and the roles and conducts of parties in the relationship.44 These
characteristics rely on a traditional understanding of a relationship,
which might not necessarily exist even among married couples (although
the same would not be questioned by the courts in cases involving het-
erosexual married couples).
What this leaves out are non-​normative relationships such as same-​
sex couples or polyamorous relationships. A recent Odisha High Court
judgement also recognized that in relationships including a transman
and a cis-​woman, the ‘lady in the relationship’ can avail of the PWDVA.45
However, such an observation maybe besought with its own problems,
including, but not limited to figuring out who is the ‘perpetrator’ and
‘victim’ within such relationships.
Hence, prioritizing and legally recognizing heteronormative relation-
ships leads to the exclusion of all other forms of relationships where no
legal recourse remains in the event of separation or violence, even though
these relationships may have functionally been the same or similar and
might involve economic and/​or emotional interdependency.

Parenthood and Child-​Rearing

Apart from marriage, the domain of family law also governs aspects
of parenthood and child rearing. It determines who can or cannot be
parents. Personal and secular laws centre the biological relationship be-
tween parents and children. This is also true of central policies on child
welfare. Several central policies do not define what a ‘family’ is.46 In such
situations presumably the biological or adoptive model of parenthood
would be central to the understanding of ‘family’ within these schemes.47
Therefore, marital status matters little where biological parenthood is
well-​established.48 However, where it is not, the only option is to make an
application before the court under the Guardians and Wards Act, 1890 to
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  169
get a declaration of guardianship. Judges would decide such an applica-
tion in the best interests of the child.49 But this leaves the door wide open
for social ideas of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ families to seep through and discrim-
inate against non-​normative families.
This is evident in the way laws on adoption or surrogacy and assisted re-
productive techniques have been drafted. These laws continue to discrim-
inate in one form or the other against non-​normative families. Adoption
in India is primarily regulated through personal laws and the Juvenile
Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act, 2015 (JJ Act), as well as the
regulations framed by the Central Adoption Resource Authority under
the JJ Act (Adoption Regulations 2017). While the Hindu Adoption and
Maintenance Act, 1956 allows all persons (irrespective of marital status)
to adopt if they have the capacity, have attained majority and are of sound
mind,50 the JJ Act, requires adoptive parents to be physically fit, finan-
cially sound, mentally alert, and highly motivated.51
It is important to highlight here that JJ Act prevents single men
from adopting a girl child, while allowing single women to do so.52
Furthermore, while the Adoption Regulations 201753 allows individuals
to adopt in their individual capacity (if not married), it does not allow
unmarried partners to adopt jointly as a couple. This can be understood
from the provisions which state that no child can be given in adoption to
a couple unless they have at least two years of ‘stable marital relationship’.
Additionally, this will also exclude couples who are in a live-​in relation-
ship (also extending to heterosexual couples).54 This notably creates an
anomaly in law, wherein while the domestic violence laws have recog-
nized live-​in relationships as a domestic household,55 the same will not
have an applicability when it comes to adoption.56
Similarly, the recently passed legislation introduced in the Parliament
regarding regulation of surrogacy and assisted reproductive technolo-
gies are also discriminatory to non-​normative families. The Surrogacy
(Regulation) Act, 2021 imposes the ideals of a heteronormative family
while defining the eligibility for availing surrogacy. Only a hetero-
sexual couple who have no child of their own57 and a divorced or wid-
owed woman58 between the ages of 35–​45 are eligible to commission
a surrogacy arrangement. This not only restricts the availability of the
same to single men, and live-​in partners including same-​sex couples and
170 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
transgender persons, but also imposes criminal liability on anyone who
contravenes the provisions of the act.59
Similarly, the Assisted Reproductive Technology (Regulation) Act,
2021 (ART Act) limits a commissioning couple to an ‘infertile married
couple’60 thereby again excluding any other form of non-​normative re-
lationship. Furthermore, and like the Surrogacy Bill, the ART Act also
criminalizes61 the contravention of any provisions of the act which can
also be discriminatory to any non-​normative relationships that might
want to avail such services.

Labour and Welfare

The discriminatory impact of hierarchising heteronormative families is
not only seen in family-​oriented laws but can also be seen across various
labour laws and welfare legislations, although in more indirect ways.62
Across the domain of labour laws and social welfare, inclusion of some
forms of non-​normative families is piecemeal and patchy. The recently
enacted labour codes such as the Social Security Code, 2020 and the
Occupational Safety, Health, and Working Conditions Code, 2020 deal
with various aspects such as compensation to employees’ dependents in
case of injury, accidents, or deaths,63 and accruing of benefits from re-
tirement such as gratuity,64 insurance,65 and medical benefits66 that can
be extended to family members. Rules governing labour conditions for
central government employees,67 the National Family Benefit Scheme (a
centrally sponsored scheme which provides lumpsum financial assist-
ance to below poverty line families in case the main breadwinner dies),
also operates within the heteronormative framework.68 These legal bene-
fits continue to operate on a heteronormative understanding of family
and is limited to spouse, children, parents, and grandparents.69 The same
remains the understanding under the Social Security Code, 2020 for the
definitions of ‘dependent’ and ‘family’,70 as well as schemes related to pen-
sion,71 provident funds,72 and Deposit linked insurance schemes.73
While pension schemes under the Ministry of Labour and
Employment such as the Pradhan Mantri Shram Yogi Maan-​Dhan
Yojna,74 and Pradhan Mantri Laghu Vyapri Maan-​dhan Yojna, 201975
are open to men and women within particular income brackets, the only
specified beneficiary of this scheme on the death of a subscriber is the
‘spouse’. Even where the government has enacted pension schemes for
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  171
single women living below the poverty line, it is not uncommon to come
across schemes that are available only to ‘widows’ or ‘deserted women’.76
Thus, marital status becomes the demarcating line between beneficiaries
and non-​beneficiaries. Though this may differ from state to state, a single,
unmarried/​never-​married woman sometimes cannot avail of these bene-
fits even if she might be in the same economic situation as widowed or
deserted women.77 Some recent efforts to assist ‘distressed women’
such as the Swadhar Greh scheme78 do not differentiate between mar-
ried and unmarried women but provide support in a very limited set of
circumstances.79
This linking to marital status is not necessary and the Food Security
Act, 2013 is a good example of this. This legislation formalizes the entitle-
ments under the public distribution system (PDS) by recognizing any
woman above the age of eighteen as the head of the household.80 Such
a provision has notable benefits especially for single women run house-
holds since they divorce the receiving of PDS from marital status.81
Though some individuals despite their familial or marital status might
succeed in getting some form of social security, it is evident that these
policies were not designed to promise inclusiveness to all regardless of
their familial set-​ups. Further, to a large extent, marriage is still seen as a
way to provide that social safety net. Thus, it is no surprise that in many
cases, state government provides financial incentives for widow remar-
riage and marriage of orphaned girls and provides financial support to
widowed women to enable them to marry off their daughters.82

Health
Within the domain of health, we see the use of inclusive legal termin-
ology in some instances which could create opportunities for the recog-
nition of non-​normative families. For example, the Mental Health Care
Act, 2017 allows every individual to appoint a ‘nominated representa-
tive’ who can take healthcare decisions on behalf of the person during
periods of incompetence.83 This person need not be someone who is re-
lated to the person either through blood, marriage or adoption. The act
also recognizes the role of ‘care-​givers’ as being ‘any person who resides
with a person with mental illness and is responsible for providing care’.84
Thus, here too, marital status is irrelevant. Such an inclusive definition
172 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
of care-​givers is also seen in section 2(d) of the Rights of Persons with
Disability Act, 2016.
Similarly, the Pradhan Mantri Jan Arogya Yojana85 which provides
an inclusive insurance cover by framing beneficiaries to include those in
vulnerable households and occupational categories rather than marital
status.86 However, this insurance cover of up to five Lakhs is provided
to ‘families’. Since the term ‘families’ has not been defined, it is doubtful
whether those who are not linked to each other through either marriage,
blood, or adoption can avail of the benefits of this insurance scheme.
In other instances, too, exclusions remain. In the Transplantation
of Human Organs and Tissues Act, 1994, for instance, ‘near relative’ is
defined to mean ‘spouse, son, daughter, father, mother, brother, sister,
grandfather, grandmother, grandson or granddaughter’.87 The near rela-
tive confirms the consent of the deceased and is also entrusted with the
authority to refuse any transplant that might have been against the wishes
of the deceased.
Another area where marital status becomes relevant is during the
taking of consent before any kind of surgery. The Indian Medical Council
(Professional Conduct, Etiquette, and Ethics) Regulation 2002 lays down
these guidelines. While usually, the person’s own consent should be suffi-
cient, the only other person authorized to provide consent is the spouse
or parent/​guardian in case of a minor.88 It is not difficult to see how these
requirements could become onerous for those in non-​traditional familial
set-​ups such as live-​in couples.

Housing
The above-​mentioned policies are only a few of the policies in labour and
health that prioritize and consequently provide benefits to the hetero-
normative family. The same can also be seen regarding housing benefits.
Pradhan Mantri Awas Yojana,89 for instance, provides for a variety of sub-
sidies to enable individuals to construct their own houses. These subsidies
are income-​based and in some cases mandate a female co-​owner (argu-
ably to nudge women towards home ownership). For married couples, ei-
ther spouse or both partners jointly can apply for the scheme subject to
their total household income. For single individuals, however, this claim
can prove to be onerous. This is because single persons are still seen as
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  173
part of their parent’s household (whereas a marital couple are seen as a
separate household unit altogether). Therefore, if either parent of a single
person owns a house, they cannot avail of this scheme to get independent
housing (married people are not precluded from owning a house even if
their parents are homeowners). If their parents do not own such a house,
certain categories of beneficiaries mandatorily have to show female co-​
ownership with an adult female family member. In case of single people, it
would have to be someone from within their natal family.
This on the face of it excludes not only other non-​normative relation-
ships, but also discriminatory against single people who might be able to
satisfy all the other requirements for the scheme apart from being able
to prove that he belongs to a separate family/​household. This outrightly
presents an idea that somehow single people or those in non-​marital re-
lationships do not require affordable housing schemes in the same way a
‘traditional family’ may require.
Additionally, discrimination towards queer relationships can also be
seen when it comes to access to housing. In an exhaustive study by the
International Commission on Jurists (ICJ) (2019), it was found that most
tenancy laws in States like Delhi, Punjab, and Karnataka allow for in-
spection by landlords, which have a disproportionate impact on queer
couples and more particularly on transgender persons. ICJ’s documen-
tation shows how transgender persons often face sexual harassment, are
asked to fulfil other demands of the landlords including sexual favours
and also pay a higher amount of rent in comparison to cis-​gendered
persons.90 Not only forced evictions and abuse are common, but when
people from the queer community get housing, it often leads to segrega-
tion, wherein the locations are distant from public transport, sanitation,
healthcare, and other basic facilities.91 Intersectional discrimination is
also faced by queer people wherein gay Muslim men, transgender per-
sons, and sex-​workers face further difficulties.92 In these cases, while
there is little possibility of challenging tenancy laws, in particular, rights
of landlord’s to inspect housing, it can be argued that the lack of adequate
protection for persons belonging to queer communities or persons in-
volved in non-​normative relationships is an instance of inaction from the
State to protect these communities, and thereby an instance of indirect
discrimination.
174 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
Citizenship
The extent of hierarchizing and granting legal benefits to the heteronor-
mative married couple also can be witnessed in citizenship laws. The
Citizenship Act of 1955 grants citizenship on any of the grounds that are
mentioned under its provisions, namely: by birth, by descent, by regis-
tration, by naturalization, and by incorporation of territory. For someone
to be granted citizenship by registration, one of the criteria is to be mar-
ried to a citizen of India, along with being an ordinary resident of India
for seven years before the application.93 Similar requirements exist for
someone to register as Overseas citizen of India, where a ‘spouse’ of a for-
eign origin of a citizen of India or an overseas citizen of India cardholder
is only eligible to apply if they can prove that their marriage subsisted for
a continuous period of not less than two years at the time of application.94
What these provisions show is that they continue to remain limited by the
understanding of spouse under marriage, which is restricted to a hetero-
sexual couple, thereby being discriminatory towards any other forms of
relationship which is not limited to same sex couples but also can be dis-
criminatory towards any other form of relationship that is not marriage.

Marital Status Discrimination: Will Recognition

Lead to Protection and Enabling Benefits to
Non-​normative Families?

The previous section has tried to bring forth laws, policies, and schemes
(in no way an exhaustive list) that prioritize heteronormative families,
which are those based on marriage. It also shows how this privileging of
married relationships or marital supremacy through laws can lead to dis-
crimination against non-​normative families.
Can ‘marital status’ as a ground for prohibiting discrimination pro-
vide adequate protection and benefits to non-​normative families that
exist within the society? This is the question some sections of civil so-
ciety are beginning to ask. A possible way of doing this is by making a
constitutional amendment to add ‘marital status’ as an explicit ground of
discrimination under Articles 15 and 16 or by recognizing it as an analo-
gous form of discrimination under existing grounds. Even in the absence
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  175
of explicit recognition under Articles 15 and 16, arguments can still be
made under Article 14 of the Constitution.
Another possible recourse is to argue for the need of a comprehen-
sive anti-​discrimination bill in India. Some efforts have been made in
this regard, notable among which was the independent member’s Anti-​
Discrimination and Equality Bill, 2016 introduced in the Lok Sabha by
Shashi Tharoor (Khaitan, 2017). Among its many noteworthy features
was a broad list of protected characteristics including marital status.95
However, the bill never saw the light of day.
More recent efforts by members of civil society to draft an anti-​
discrimination bill are also prevalent. For instance, the Centre for Law
and Policy Research, a legal research and advocacy organization in
Bangalore, drafted the Equality (Prohibition of Discrimination) Bill,
2021.96 This bill too includes marital status as a protected ground and
defines it as including ‘the status or condition of being single, married,
divorced, separated, widowed or in a relationship whether with a person
of the same or another sex involving a commitment to reciprocal support
in a relationship’.97
During a consultation to discuss this bill, some participants pointed
out the need to call it something other than ‘marital status’ since it pits
all other non-​marital forms of intimacy against the category of marriage.
It was suggested that ‘marital status’ should be reframed as ‘cohabitation’
to include within it a wide variety of relationships which could be judged
independently of their similarity to marriage (Centre for Law and Policy
Research, 2019, 7). This points to an important limitation of marital
status as a ground for discrimination—​as long as marriage remains the
category against which all other forms of non-​normative intimacies are
measured up, there is limited scope for such a protected ground, and
anti-​discrimination framework more broadly, to displace the centrality of
marriage from the law.

Conclusion

This brief survey of laws and policies across the arena of family, social
welfare, labour, health, housing, and tenancy and citizenship gives us
some insights. First, being married acts as a gateway to access basic rights
176 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
such as healthcare, starting a family, access to pension and other forms of
social welfare. Second, not being married can mean that one is less pro-
tected against instances of domestic violence and has little access to main-
tenance and property rights within intimate relationships, even where
they mirror marital relationships. Third, marriage continues to be seen
by the state and society as a substitute for the lack of a robust social safety
net. This explains why some states encourage marriage through various
schemes for widows, orphaned woman, and their daughters. In other
words, marital status is used as a means of discriminating between citi-
zens. Such an understanding is now substantiated by the recent decision
of the Supreme Court of India in the same-​sex marriage judgement,
wherein although the majority took a deferential approach by relegating
it to the Parliament to decide whether same-​sex marriage can be legal-
ized in India, it nonetheless has recognized that all laws privileging and
thereby hierarchizing the institution of marriage by granting rights and
benefits have a discriminatory impact on any other non-​normative rela-
tionships that is not recognized by the State.98
In some cases, the discrimination is direct; that is a particular legis-
lation/​policy on the face of it excludes some categories of people (for
instance, marriage laws that determine who can marry). But in many
cases, the discrimination is indirect (where terms like ‘family’ ‘depend-
ents’, ‘caregivers’, ‘near-​relatives’, are not defined or interpreted flexibly
enough to include diverse forms of non-​normative intimacies. Neither
are individuals allowed to nominate individuals who are not kin or
spouse as dependents. Queer activists in the past, have asked that the
state allow individuals to designate a ‘legal representative/​s’ through a
uniform, streamlined procedure in law. Such persons could then choose
who would act on their behalf when it came to living arrangements, nom-
inees, custody of children, and end-​of-​life decisions among others (Shah
et al., 2019). Though many such laws remain facially neutral, they have
a disproportionate impact on those in non-​normative relationships.
It is in these latter instances, that the systemic nature of discrimination
has not only been recognized by the Supreme Court, but they also have
gone to note that such discrimination leading to deprivation needs to be
addressed.99
Through this chapter, we have highlighted potential legal arenas where
discrimination is taking place. Yet, the experience and texture of that
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  177
discrimination as experienced by people, is relatively unknown. This
underscores the importance of further socio-​legal and social scientific
research that unpacks the many-​layered experiences of discrimination
based on marital status. In the last couple of years, there has been some
effort to shed light on this by looking at the issues queer and single people
face when trying to access housing and other public goods. Yet, mobiliza-
tion around such issues remains underwhelming. It rarely goes beyond
advocacy for same-​sex marriage. This could be because, unlike race and
gender which are immutable characteristics, marriage is often seen as
‘choice’. The argument being that if one chooses to remain unmarried,
they have voluntarily accepted the consequences of that choice as well.
However, in a marriage-​obsessed country like India, where marriage is
not just a lifestyle choice but also doubles up as a social safety net for
some, the language of ‘choice’ seems disingenuous to say the least.
What India needs then, is a broader movement centred around non-​
marital equality. A movement that truly celebrates family diversity rather
than selectively allowing some marginalized groups to enter through the
hallowed portals of matrimony. Based on the collective petition in the
same-​sex marriage case by Rituparna Borah, Chaynika Shah, Minakshi
Sanyal, and Maya Sharma, who argued that care does not always mani-
fest between just two married individuals and that the fight for equal
rights need to go beyond marriage equality, and extend it to the lived
experiences of queer persons in ‘chosen’ families (Basak, 2023), Justice
Chandrachud, although a dissenting judge in the same-​sex marriage
judgment, makes the observation that the Constitution of India accounts
for plural identities and values, and that atypical families equally consti-
tute fundamental groups of the society, thereby entitling them to protec-
tion under Articles 19 (Freedom of Speech and Expression) and Article
21 (Right to Life) of the Indian Constitution.100
With such observation being made by the apex court of the country
and the emergence of organizations like the Ekal Naari Shakti Sangathan
(Association of Single Women) that advocate for the rights of single
women as an inherent family unit in itself, it is imperative that we ex-
pand our legal and social vocabulary for intimacy beyond marriage and
romantic couple-​hood. For this, it’s not just enough to describe discrim-
ination; we also have to ask what are the constituent elements of a flour-
ishing emotional and intimate life. Here, too, the need for a sociological
178 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
understanding of the shifts in intimacy are critical to law and policy
change. The problem with looking at this issue solely through an anti-​
discrimination lens would mean that we end up pitting all other models
of intimacy against marriage, thus limiting our imagination of what
is possible beyond it. This would prevent the recognition of relation-
ships that may not fit the mould of marriage or cohabitation at all. For
instance, how would judges make sense of rights and obligations within
Living-​Apart-​Together or LAT relationships? Sociologists studying such
relationships note that while they may involve emotional and economic
interdependency they do not entail consistent cohabitation (Duncan
et al., 2014) . If such relationships are only viewed through the lens of
marital intimacy (cohabitation, monogamy) then it would obscure our
ability to think about the rights and obligations that can arise from such
unions.
The challenge then is to balance our need for autonomy with our need
for protection from vulnerabilities. Everyone ought to have a right to
make authentic choices regarding their intimate life while also being pro-
tected from inevitable vulnerabilities that arise from interdependent re-
lationships. How do we create legal regimes that incorporate within it the
flexibility to balance both our need for autonomy and safety? This is the
question law-​and policy-​makers should be asking.

Notes
1. X v. Principal Secretary, Health and Family Welfare Department, Govt of NCT
Delhi and Another, Civil Appeal No. 5802 of 2022, Arising out of SLP (C) No.
12612 of 2022.
2. Some examples are Canada and South Africa. Although marital status is not
an explicitly mentioned protected ground in the Canadian Charter, it was held
to be an analogous protected ground in 1995 in Miron v. Trudel [1995] 2 SCR
418, https://​scc-​csc.lexum.com/​scc-​csc/​scc-​csc/​en/​item/​1264/​index.do (last
accessed on 8 February 2024). The South African Constitution under Section 9
(3) also has an explicit recognition of marital status as a ground of discrimination.
3. The Census of India, which was last undertaken in the year 2011, does collect data
based on marital status. The categories that are included under such heading are
‘never married’, ‘married’, and ‘widowed/​divorced/​separated’ (See Office of the
Registrar General & Census Commissioner, India, 2011, ­chapter 2.). However,
the data does not record number of people that might be in relationships without
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  179
the sanctity of marriage, but nonetheless cohabiting together and exhibiting fea-
tures like marriage. It is important that such data is also collected in the forth-
coming Census that is pending since 2021.
4. Article 2, Universal Declaration of Human Rights; Article 2, International
Covenant on Civil and Political Rights; and Article 2, International Covenant on
Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. It would be important to note that despite
laying down multiple grounds, these instruments are open ended enough to in-
clude further grounds of discrimination with recognition of ‘other status’ within
their ambit.
5. UK’s Equality Act, 2010, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedom as well as
the Bill of Rights, Constitution of South Africa, prohibit discrimination based on
race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, and disability, to name a few.
6. Article 14 (Equality before Law), Article 15 (Prohibition of Discrimination),
and Article 16 (Equality of Opportunity in matters of Public Employment), The
Constitution of India.
7. Article 15 (4), (5) and Article 16, The Constitution of India.
8. Article 17, The Constitution of India.
9. The discussion on Article 15, which was originally draft Article 9 happened on
29 November 1948. The draft article originally did not contain ‘place of birth’ as
a protected ground, which was added during the discussion through an amend-
ment moved by Syed Abdur Rouf. Draft Article 9 was adopted by the Constitution
on 29 November 1948 itself.
10. As per the regulations, an Air Hostess would retire from service: (1) if they at-
tained thirty-​five years of age; (2) on first instance of pregnancy; and (3) on mar-
riage if it took place within four years of service.
11. WP(C) No. 7455/​2001. 2 July 2009.
12. Ibid. at para. 94.
13. Ibid. at paras 103–​4.
14. Writ Petition (Civil) no. 400 of 2012.
15. Ibid. at para. 59.
16. Writ Petition (Criminal) no. 76 of 2016.
17. Ibid. at para. 40.
18. Ibid. at para. 36.
19. 2015 SCC Online Del 14619.
20. 2018 SCC Online Del 6660.
21. Navtej Singh Johar, discussions between paras 42 and 51.
22. Writ Petition (Civil) No. 1109 of 2020.
23. Ibid., Part F, para. 42 onwards.
24. Ibid. at para. 66.
25. Ibid. at para. 67.
26. Ibid. at para. 69.
27. Ibid. at para. 71.
28. Ibid. at para. 73.
180 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
29. Ibid. at para. 77.
30. Mayeri (2017) uses the term ‘marital supremacy’ to highlight the legal privileging
of marriage in her analysis of laws that privilege marriage and disadvantage non-​
marital families.
31. Writ Petition (Civil) No. 1011 of 2022.
32. Ibid. Justice Chandrachud, at para. 133.
33. Ibid. Justice Chandrachud, at para. 144.
34. Section 5 (iii), Hindu Marriage Act, 1955. In 2019, the Madras High Court in
Arun Kumar and Srija v. Inspector General of Registration and Others WP(MD)
No. 4125 of 2019 held that ‘bride’ included not just cis women but also trans-
gender women. Thus, while transgender persons may get married under the
Hindu Marriage Act, 1955, it still has to be within the male–​female binary.
35. Section 4 (c), Special Marriage Act, 1955 and Section 3 (c), The Parsi Marriage
and Divorce Act, 1936.
36. The Divorce Act of 1869 uses the term ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ across various
provisions such as Section 3 (Interpretation Clause); Section 10 (Grounds
for Dissolution of Marriage), Section 11 (Adulterer or Adulteress to be Co-​
Respondent); Section 18 (Petition for Decree of Nullity) to name a few.
37. Succession through a ‘will’ is governed by the provisions of Indian Succession
Act, 1925; while intestate succession is governed by Hindu Succession Act, 1956
(for Hindus, Buddhists, Sikh, and Jain Communities). Muslims and Parsis have
their own customary laws of succession.
38. Schedule to Hindu Succession Act, 1956 (Class-​I and Class-​II heirs); Schedule
I and II, Indian Succession Act, 1925.
39. It is important to note that some progress has been made when it comes to
transfer of property in traditional ‘hijra’ families, wherein some High Courts have
recognized the ‘guru-​chela’ tradition existing among these non-​conjugal kinship
relations for property devolution. For more details please see: Sweety v. General
Public, AIR 2016 HP 148; Ilyas v. Badsha alias Kamla, AIR 1990 MP 334.
40. Section 24, Hindu Marriage Act, 1955; Section 125, Code of Criminal
Procedure, 1973.
41. Section 125, Code of Criminal Procedure, 1973. See the interpretation of this sec-
tion in D. Velusamy v. D. Patchaimmal (2010) 10 SCC 469.
42. Badshah v. Urmila Badshah Godse and Another (2014) 1 SCC 188.
43. Section 2 (f ), PWDVA, 2005.
44. Indra Sarma v. V.K. Sarma (2013) 15 SCC 755, at para 56.
45. Chinmayee Jena v. State of Odisha and Others, W.P (Cri) No. 57 of 2020, Odisha
High Court.
46. To name a few, Sarva Shiksha Abhiyan, https://​darpg.gov.in/​sites/​defa​ult/​files/​
Sarva%20Sik​sha%20Abhi​yan.pdf (last accessed on 8 February 2024); National
Child Protection Policy, https://​wcd.nic.in/​sites/​defa​ult/​files/​Downl​oad%20
Fil​e_​1.pdf (last accessed on 8 February 2024); Integrated Programme for Street
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  181
Children, https://​wcd.nic.in/​int​egra​ted-​child-​pro​tect​ion-​sch​eme-​ICPS (last
accessed on 8 February 2024); Pulse Polio Immunization Programme, https://​
main.mohfw.gov.in/​sites/​defa​ult/​files/​186048​5464​8148​9664​481.pdf (last ac-
cessed on 8 February 2024).
47. Biological parenthood is particularly relevant for schemes such as the Integrated
Child Development Services Scheme, which aim to provide nutritional sup-
port to pregnant and lactating mothers and their children. See https://​wcd.
nic.in/​int​egra​ted-​child-​deve​lopm​ent-​servi​ces-​icds-​sch​eme (last accessed on 8
February 2024).
48. However, where biological parenthood is not clearly established, there are few
guidelines on alternative forms of family or care. For instance, the Integrated
Child Protection Scheme (ICPS), started by the Central Government in 2009,
does talk about ‘kinship care’ in the context of strengthening non-​institutional
family-​based care options for children deprived of parental care, but does not
elaborate on what it means by the same. See Ministry of Women and Child
Development. 2020, 34 (last accessed on 8 February 2024).
49. Nil Ratan Kundu v. Abhijit Kundu (2008) 9 SCC 413, where the court observed
that in selecting a guardian the court looks at factors such as the child’s health,
education, comfort and favourable surroundings for intellectual and moral
development.
50. Sections 7 and 8, Hindu Adoptions and Maintenance Act, 1956.
51. Section 57, JJ Act, 2015.
52. Section 57 (4), JJ Act, 2015.
53. See Ministry of Women and Child Development’s ‘Adoption Regulations’ of
2017. https://​cara.wcd.gov.in/​PDF/​Reg​ulat​ion_​engl​ish.pdf (last accessed on 30
October 2023).
54. CARA Circular dated 16 June 2022 states that Live-​in Couples cannot adopt to-
gether. See https://​cara.wcd.gov.in/​PDF/​Regis​trat​ion-​of-​cases-​of-​sin​gle-​PAPs-​
hav​ing-​a_​l​ive-​in_​part​ner-​in-​a-​long-​time-​relat​ions​hip-​and-​not-​marrie​d160​622.
pdf (last accessed on 30 October 2023).
55. Indra Sarma v. V.K. Sarma (2013) 15 SCC 755.
56. In the recent decision on same-​sex marriage (Supriyo @ Supriya Chakraborty
and Another v. Union of India, 2023), the Supreme Court of India also discussed
the validity of Adoption Regulations. In a 3:2 split, while the majority did not
strike down the regulation citing that the absence of a framework for queer
couples to adopt does not affect the validity of the provision, the dissenting judges
considered the regulations to be discriminative of queer couples. The dissenting
judges further stated that ‘Unmarried couples, including queer couples, can
jointly adopt a child’.
57. Section 2 (r) read with Section 4 (iii) (c)], Surrogacy (Regulation) Act, 2021.
58. Section 2 (s) read with Section 4 (iii) (b)], Surrogacy (Regulation) Act, 2021.
59. Section 41, Surrogacy (Regulation) Act, 2021.
60. Section 2 (1) (e), ART Act, 2021.
182 Arijeet Ghosh and Diksha Sanyal
61. Section 34, ART Act, 2021.
62. One exception is the Maternity Benefit Act, 1961, which is a departure from this
general observation because here, the biological relationship to the child is more
central than marital status. Thus, the benefit of this Act is available to single, un-
married women as well. However, the definition of ‘woman’ under this Act could
prove to be restrictive in as much as it might not be inclusive of trans-​men who
might also be capable of giving birth.
63. Section 75, Social Security Code, 2020; Section 25 (3) (v), Occupational Safety,
Health, and Working Conditions Code, 2020.
64. Section 55 (3), Social Security Code, 2020.
65. Sections 32 and 38, Social Security Code, 2020.
66. Section 39, Social Security Code, 2020; Section 92 (1) (d), Occupational Safety,
Health, and Working Conditions Code, 2020.
67. For instance, see Indian Foreign Service (Pay, Leave, Compensatory Allowances
and Other Conditions of Service) Rules, 1961; All India Services (Death-​cum
Retirement Benefits), Rules 1958.
68. National Family Benefit Scheme (revised guidelines 2012), https://​nsap.nic.in/​
Gui​deli​nes/​nfbs.pdf (last accessed on 14 January 2022).
69. Section 2 (x), Occupational Safety, Health, and Working Conditions Code, 2020.
70. Section 2 (24) and (33), Social Security Code, 2020.
71. Section 2 (vii), Employees’ Pension Scheme, 1995.
72. Section 2 (g), Employees’ Provident Fund Scheme, 1952.
73. Section 2, The Employees’ Deposit Linked Insurance Scheme, 1976 uses the same
meaning of family as has been provided under the Social Security Code, 2020.
74. See https://​lab​our.gov.in/​pm-​sym (last accessed on 31 October 2021).
75. See https://​lab​our.gov.in/​sites/​defa​ult/​files/​207​531.pdf (last accessed on 31
October 2021).
76. Indira Gandhi National Widow Pension Scheme, https://​nsap.nic.in/​Gui​deli​
nes/​wps.pdf (last accessed on 14 January 2022).
77. There are some exceptions. It appears that Delhi has a pension scheme which
includes ‘destitute’ women (http://​wcd​del.in/​faw.html) (last accessed on 14
January 2022). A scheme applicable in Puducherry specifically includes unmar-
ried women, https://​cdn.s3w​aas.gov.in/​s37e775​7b1e​12ab​cb73​6ab9​a754​ffb6​17a/​
uplo​ads/​2018/​03/​201​8032​015-​1.pdf (last accessed on 14 January 2022).
78. See https://​wcd.nic.in/​sites/​defa​ult/​files/​Revi​sed%20Gui​deli​nes%20Swad​har%
20G​reh%2C2​015%20%28%20Engl​ish%29.pdf (last accessed on 14 January 2022).
79. Ibid., p. 2.
80. Section 13, Food Security Act, 2013.
81. Some High Courts have also noted that such a benefit should be extended to
transgender persons as well. See Press Trust of India, 2015.
 Marital Status Discrimination in India  183
82. Tamil Nadu provides such assistance. https://​www.tnso​cial​welf​are.org/​pages/​
view/​marri​age-​ass​ista​nce-​sche​mes (last accessed on 14 January 2022). See also
Machaiah (2021).
83. Section 14 (3), Mental Healthcare Act, 2017.
84. Section 2 (e) Mental Healthcare Act, 2017.
85. See https://​pmjay.gov.in/​about/​pmjay (last accessed on 31 October 2021).
86. Ibid.
87. Section 2 (i), The Transplantation of Human Organs and Tissues Act, 1994.
88. Guideline 7.1.6, Indian Medical Council (Professional Conduct, Etiquette and
Ethics) Regulation 2002.
89. See https://​pmay​mis.gov.in/​PDF/​HFA​_​Gui​deli​nes/​hfa​_​Gui​deli​nes.pdf (last
accessed on 31 October 2021).
90. Ibid. at pp. 52–​9.
91. Ibid.
92. Ibid.
93. Section 5 (1) (c), Citizenship Act, 1955.
94. Section 7A (d), Citizenship Act, 1955.
95. Section 3, Anti-​Discrimination and Equality Bill 2016.
96. The Equality (Prohibition of Discrimination) Bill, 2021.
97. The Equality (Prohibition of Discrimination) Bill 2021, Section 1 (33).
98. Supriyo @ Supriya Chakraborty and Another v. Union of India, Justice Bhat
(speaking for the majority), at paras 108–​18.
99. Ibid. Justice Bhat, at paras 115–​16.
100. Ibid. Justice Chandrachud, at paras 227–​30.

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 6
Familial Crisis and Marriage
The ‘Navigational Capacity for Aspiration’

Rama Srinivasan*

At the height of the farmers’ agitation against the three new farm laws
passed in 2020, various commentaries surfaced on the revolutionary po-
tential of such a mobilization and, specifically, its likely implications for
caste and gender equations in contemporary North India. The reconcili-
ation forged between communities (Tiwari, 2021) as well as the presence
of women from regions that have thus far rigidly policed women’s mo-
bility (Aljazeera, 2016) were some of the factors that gave commentators
hope for some utopic shifts in the North Indian landscape (Kaur, 2021).
While many of the trends may appear unprecedent for the social milieu,
they were part of large-​scale but till then invisible transformations al-
ready underway in North India.
As a region that was a major beneficiary of the Green Revolution pro-
ject, the North Indian states of Punjab and Haryana have celebrated their
agrarian lifestyle and the prosperity of land-​holding peasantry as dom-
inant themes in local culture and political messaging. And yet, my ethno-
graphic research in Haryana (conducted between 2011 and 2018) has
shown that the society has, in some ways, already moved away from agri-
culture, which has been an ailing sector for years. Similar trends have
been recorded elsewhere in India but, as an anthropological work, this
chapter will focus on ethnographic data from Haryana to examine some
of the socio-​economic shifts that were in motion even before the farm

* The chapter is drawn from publications completed with funding received from the European
Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme under the Marie Skłodowska-​Curie
grant agreement No. 890826.

Rama Srinivasan, Familial Crisis and Marriage In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford
University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0007
188 Rama Srinivasan
bills were introduced in 2020 and the crises in family and kin groups
such moves have resulted in. These crises manifest most clearly in deci-
sions regarding marriage and also hold implications for where the society
is headed, irrespective of the future of agrarian reforms. Intercaste and
‘love’ marriages as well as the so-​called honour killings have been part of
mainstream discourse on Haryana but, through this chapter, I will high-
light how these trends are a symptom of rather than the cause of crises in
family/​kinship.
In the subsequent sections, I will map out the shifts in the aspirations
of young people from Haryana regarding their careers and marital pref-
erences, which hold a window to the future, a post-​agrarian one. While
the farmers’ protests largely represented Jat (belonging to both Hindu
and Sikh faiths) interests as one of the primary groups to benefit from
the Green Revolution in Haryana and Punjab, my ethnographic research
captured how agrarian lifestyle and the plausible post-​agrarian future af-
fects communities across the spectrum. While the political and historic
background, which I will enumerate in the next section, reflects the inter-
ests of the landed peasantry, my interviews, especially among couples be-
longing to different castes, dwell on how the current moment of crisis
influences women and men from divergent backgrounds.

The Crisis in Its Making

Family relations are inextricably linked to the agrarian crisis in North

India as the institution both reflects and reproduces the hierarchies in
the political economy. Prem Chowdhry (1994, 2011, 2017) had previ-
ously connected the rigid endogamy and degraded position of women in
Haryana to colonial relations of power where the productive and repro-
ductive capacities of women from peasant communities were placed dir-
ectly under the control of their kinsmen. Marriage served as an important
tool to ensure that land ownership and, consequently, local power equa-
tions are perpetuated in subsequent generations.
According to her, elopements were seen as a disruption and threat to
masculine control over women’s productive labour in agriculture and re-
productive labour as suppliers of personnel for the British army (2007).
Through customary practice such as the karewa, or widow remarriage
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 189
within marital households, which were also encouraged by the colo-
nial regime, traditional property ownership rights among women were
subverted. Agricultural labour of women in North India continued to
be mandated but not recognized. Census data, even the most recent
ones, often do not list women as farmers although scholarly works have
repeatedly shown that a disproportionate amount of farm labour, in-
cluding tending to animals, was performed by women (Agarwal, 1994;
Jassal, 2012).
Green Revolution and the corresponding surge in income and prop-
erty value among the landed peasantry had directly resulted in the con-
solidation of political power in the hands of local elites, which include
Jat and Bishnoi communities in the context of Haryana. The rise in
agricultural fortunes supported political careers of men who strongly
identified with their caste and geographical groups and, in positions of
power, pushed for the employment in government sectors and the cor-
responding upward mobility of people they had kinship and affinal ties
with. The kin groups responded by offering a loyalty that extends be-
yond the generation and even lifetimes of the said leaders. The political
economy of the region in this way ensured that through land ownership
and social capital, privilege and power passed down through particular
caste and kin groups (see Kumar, 1991).
By the first decade of the twenty-​first century, however, the political
economy shaped by the Green Revolution had already lost its sheen.
The more disastrous environmental effects of excessive cultivation, use
of chemicals, and ground water extraction in addition to continuous
fragmentation of family-​owned landholdings were becoming apparent,
causing widespread discontent among the affluent peasantry. In an in-​
depth piece on Jat men’s aggression in North Indian politics, Ajaz Ashraf
(2015) outlined the extent of rural distress in the region, which had found
expression in social oppression and communal violence by Jat men
against Muslims and lower castes.
Ashraf quoted a paper from the National Bank for Agriculture and
Rural Development that revealed that ‘landholdings in the marginal
category (less than 1 hectare) constituted 67 per cent of all operational
holdings in the country in 2010–​11. Declining yields and rising cost of
production has enhanced rural indebtedness. The National Sample
Survey Office released data [2014] showing that more than 60 per cent of
190 Rama Srinivasan
the total rural households covered in its survey in 11 states were in deep
debt’ (2015). Ashraf drew a direct correlation between the shrinking
landholdings and sites of social conflict, where violence against Dalit and
Muslim communities increased as the size of landholdings and agricul-
tural yields declined.
One key site for this social churning that Ashraf did not discuss is
gender. While women’s position in family and community had degraded
during the colonial era and beyond, in the twenty-​first century, gender-​
based hierarchies have become complicated as family-​owned land no
longer remains the key indicator of privilege and power. In many parts of
the state—​and the country—​the aspiration is for government jobs1 and
works as a key status symbol in local culture. In the colonial and postco-
lonial periods, the government jobs such as the military complemented
agrarian family incomes but, currently, government jobs that range from
clerical to teaching/​professor positions across sectors also function as
mediators of social hierarchies, prestige and power, in ways similar to
land ownership patterns. Very often, a—​any—​government job is more
valued in job markets than the small landholdings that do not yield
much revenue. While masculine—​and that too of Jat/​Bishnoi/​R ajput
communities—​power and privilege is taken as a given when it comes
to land ownership, within the struggle for government jobs, this can no
longer be guaranteed.
The employment of women in government sector is being cautiously
welcomed as a supplementary income to support families. Women’s mo-
bility is still policed but the expectation that women will acquire some
of these coveted government jobs makes some concessions necessary.
For young men from privileged backgrounds, however, competing for
employment opportunities and, consequently, for a place in the non-​
agrarian future, with women and people from more marginalized com-
munities has been a challenge. This has been repeatedly highlighted in
news of gender crimes (Jha, 2015) as well as caste-​based tensions and
calls for violence that are linked to fears that government jobs could lead
to more intercaste marriages (see Chowdhry, 2009).
The Jat community has also repeatedly demanded inclusion in the
affirmative action programme and one such call led to large-​scale vio-
lence, including sexual assaults, in February 2016 (Scroll Staff, 2017).
The public spectacle had led many to rhetorically ask why Jats, who are
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 191
affluent and politically dominant in the region, want reservations at all.
Political scientist Christophe Jaffrelot answered this question in an edi-
torial (Jaffrelot, 2016) soon after the agitation, holding that the dominant
castes do not see their future in agriculture because of the crisis in vil-
lages. These large-​scale transformations, I argue, that have been afoot
for more than a decade now make mutations in kinship systems not only
possible but even inevitable as the subsequent sections will delineate.
The frame of crisis is particularly useful in examining the backdrop
from which the farmers’ protests of 2020 and the agitations for affirma-
tive action in 2016 emerge. Rather than present this ethnographic back-
ground as a new development, I have attempted to historicize these trends.
Tracing the colonial and postcolonial trajectories of this region and the
interlinked histories of agrarian economy, rules on marriage and gender,
and state and political priorities, helps illuminate both continuities and
disruptions. Reconstitution of marital patterns and family forms in a situ-
ation of crisis is inevitable and something that scholars like Chowdhry
have previously studied in the colonial contexts. Marriage is a potent
form of social reproduction and, as the next section will show, both com-
munities and individuals utilize the institution to navigate this period of
crisis.

Gender, Family, Kinship: The ‘Navigational

Capacity of Aspiration’

Conceptions of marriage are dynamic, culturally specific, and defy

any attempts to evolve ahistorical, universal definitions. The institu-
tion is always rooted within its specific context. Several classical an-
thropological works perceive marriage in modes similar to Chowdhry’s
conceptualization—​that is, women, as objects of exchange, mediate re-
lations between men in a specific ethnographic context. As Gayle Rubin
has famously theorized, exchange of women is a shorthand to refer to so-
cial relations of kinship structures where rights are unequally bestowed.
Kinship systems exchange ‘sexual access, genealogical statuses, lineage
names and ancestors, rights, and people—​men, women, and children—​
in concrete systems of social relationships. These relationships always
include certain rights for men, others for women’ (Rubin, 1990, 46).
192 Rama Srinivasan
According to Sherry Ortner (1978) , marriage additionally symbolizes
the breakup of existing property relations and formation of new ones.
Marilyn Strathern (1991) built on the idea of individual personhood,
first introduced by Louis Dumont, and theorized that ‘partible aspects
of self ’ facilitate the creation of hybrids and networks and define persons
through shared notions of belonging. At a phenomenological level, mar-
riage is also considered one of the ‘crisis events’ people face during their
lifetime since it involves remaking of personhood. Victor Turner (1986)
calls it a liminal phase from which an individual emerges as a different
person.
Elopements, which essentially signify a forcible break from old ma-
terial relations, are part of the mainstream discourse in India mostly
when political campaigns against individual choices gain momentum.
In recent years, the conversation has revolved around intercommu-
nity marriage where a political narrative on forced conversions seeks
to delegitimize non-​normative choices made by adult women. The first
decade of the twenty-​first century was similarly dominated by political
messaging on intercaste and intra-​gotra marriages. When the purpose
of marriage is defined as the perpetuation of family and social inequal-
ities, including caste-​based hierarchies, intercaste marriages appear to
family and kin groups as a threat. Hierarchies, whether gender, caste,
or religion, are socially reproduced through the institution of marriage
and, consequently, any individual who refuses to participate in such re-
production can potentially threaten the entire political economy that
rests on the orderly ‘exchange of women’. This has resulted in murders of
couples, also known as honour killings, and boycott of grooms’ families.
Although such murders are no longer reported in media with vigour,
some reports (see George, 2016) have suggested a sharp increase in
instances.
The ‘crisis’ represented by elopements places couples in a precarious
position but they are also, as a result of their decision to elope, able to
experience a new personhood that is not entirely bound by affinal and re-
lational networks. When couples survive and stay together—​many in the
same region and social milieu as their kin groups—​I have observed that
they function as reminders of the rupture kinship structures had experi-
enced. Outwardly, kin groups maintain the semblance of a whole, but
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 193
the memory of the rupture haunts some and is repulsively fascinating to
others. Couples, such as Navjot and Baljeet, 2 whose love story I will dis-
cuss in subsequent sections, appear rebellious or nonnormative within
social and kinship structures long after the event of elopement because of
this collective memory of rupture.
Moments of crisis, such as the one North India is currently experien-
cing, make contestations on unequal distribution of power within fam-
ilies as well as against traditional marital choices possible since marriage
is, in any case, an opportunity to remake self and create a new set of
property relations. Respite from mandated but unrecognized labour in
family farms and aspirations for mobility, both physical and social, are
engendering changes in the lives of young women and, correspondingly,
in cross-​gender relationships as such.
The privileged in any society have, Arjun Appadurai has held, ‘used
the map of its norms to explore the future more frequently and more real-
istically, and to share this knowledge with one another more routinely
than their poorer and weaker neighbors’ (Appadurai, 2004, 69). But as-
piration is, according to him, a navigational capacity, whose potential for
the lives of the less privileged has already been explored. Appadurai ar-
gued that culture may be many things, including ‘the dialogue between
aspirations and sedimented traditions’ (2004, 84). While men from
dominant communities in North India attempt to leverage their current
status to demand government jobs, young women from all social groups
are negotiating their space in the non-​agrarian landscape where educa-
tional degrees are a currency and employment in public sector is a le-
gitimate aspiration. Decisions on marriage reflect this dialogue between
aspiration and traditions clearly since the institution is, by definition,
future-​oriented.
My ethnographic interviews, which I will discuss in detail in the next
section, shows that even matches within traditional kin networks no
longer depend solely on land ownership patterns since power and priv-
ilege now need to be redistributed differently. Scholars have previously
noted such shifts in matchmaking exercises from more urban contexts
(Agrawal, 2015). From my experience in the field, I will also cautiously
argue that young women are better equipped than young men to make
the transition to a different, uncertain future.
194 Rama Srinivasan
Gendered Maps to the Future

My interviews with Haryanvi men show that despite the acute agrarian
distress, land is still central to identity formation. The thought of not
having any land to one’s name was a deeply disturbing one and also the
basis of the disregard for, and insecurity experienced by, men from lower-​
caste backgrounds. Many male students I interviewed in Haryana and
Chandigarh sought non-​agrarian jobs but still hoped that their families
would retain the lands they still owned. ‘One should have at least some
land’ was a common sentiment, with one Jat man stating that ‘at least one
acre (43,560 square feet)’ was important, which seems reassuring only on
a symbolic level. The subject of shrinking landholdings due to divisions
among brothers also provokes emotional responses. Mahesh, also a Jat
man, said he argues with relatives who hint that he and his brother will
eventually end up dividing the family holdings between themselves. For
Abhay, a Bishnoi, who said he wants his family to ‘stay together’, not split-
ting the land was an indication of close family ties and the trust he had
placed in his brother by leaving his share in the undivided property in
the latter’s care. These men, who had no interest in farming themselves,
were suggesting that stalling the trend of shrinking land parcels required
emotional labour that they were willing to perform. Men like Rohit, who
came from lower-​caste backgrounds and did not have family-​land to fall
back on, were not as affected by the agrarian crisis and were even motiv-
ated to work harder to succeed in a political economy no longer skewed
in favour of the land-​owning castes. One parent from a lower-​caste com-
munity called the land ownership considerations in matchmaking a
‘Jat-​obsession’ and just hoped that her daughters will be married off to
someone from an urban context where agrarian considerations are no
longer a factor.
Students in Chandigarh recall lectures from their parents, who ad-
vised them to find occupations outside their villages because ‘there was
no future in agriculture’. In my observation, Haryanvis had already been
preparing themselves for life after agriculture, hopefully with govern-
ment jobs, and are willing and at times even eager to sell their land for
huge sums. A long-​time social activist recalled an experience he had had
with people protesting against a proposed automobile factory plant in the
Gurugram district: ‘Many farmers arrived for the protests in SUVs and
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 195
privately asked me to negotiate for one or two million more on their be-
half.’ The activist’s experience with a proposed nuclear power plant in
Fatehabad was similar; it was not the fear of ecological disaster that trig-
gered the protests, he cynically insisted, although that was the ostensible
reason. According to him, protests against land acquisition in Haryana
were mostly aimed at securing higher compensation for landowners.
I realized over the course of my fieldwork that when informants re-
ferred to ‘some land’ or ‘at least one acre’ they literally meant that they
hoped their family would retain a small farm as a matter of pride while
selling the rest of their land to the highest bidder. Strathern’s Partial
Connections (1991) is a useful reference for understanding Haryanvi
men’s relationship with land and how it mediates social ties. Part of
Haryanvi masculinity is entwined with family-​owned land, creating
hybrids that, in turn, determine local networks and connections. Among
men from dominant communities, lack of land ownership is often per-
ceived as emasculating and it determines the nature of their relationships
as well as their conduct with women and individuals from landless com-
munities. In interviews with dominant caste members, the existence of
land ownership among lower castes has also been referred with consid-
erable consternation. Lack of land ownership consequently can become
critical for self-​identity even among communities with traditionally
smaller or no landholdings. Given its currency in a toxic masculine envir-
onment, land—​or at least some kind of property—​ownership becomes
an aspirational goal along with the coveted government jobs among indi-
viduals from marginalized backgrounds.
Apart from determining key decisions, including political affiliations,
weddings in North India were also primarily finalized according to con-
siderations of land with its explicit purpose being the need to preserve
and perpetuate ownership between certain groups and networks. For
Haryanvi men, the idea of remaking self/​personhood in a post-​agrarian
world is consequently a painful one, even for those who have already
moved away from agriculture.
The fading agrarian lifestyle and/​or loss of land is, however, also an
event that breaks long and deeply entrenched hegemonies. For women
and individuals from historically landless communities, it can be lib-
erating to move from an agrarian economy where their labour is both
mandated and unrecognized. Although agriculture has been central to
196 Rama Srinivasan
everyday life, they are not necessarily thrown into an identity crisis by the
loss of land. Women from the privileged communities have a more am-
biguous relationship with land—​resources flow from family-​owned land
but they have no control over decisions regarding land use and indeed
seldom hope to inherit land despite recent legislation in their favour.
Agricultural cycles still control women’s lives to a certain extent—​school
and college teachers report more absences in particular months—​but
as the cycles get shorter due to climate change and contract farming be-
comes widespread, individual contributions to farming have fallen.
Women appear to be making the transition more smoothly because
they do not inherit land and consequently their identities do not hinge on
it. Families also often encourage women’s employment, hoping to sup-
plement farm income with their salaries. In my ethnographic observa-
tions, by and large, young women appeared restless, seeking to attend
more courses and pursue several centralized examinations, whereas the
majority of young men seemed listless and unmotivated, lounging next
to motorbikes at bus stops and markets. The ambitious among them had
either already left their villages or were commuting great distances to re-
gional cities in the hope of attaining a better education.
Men who were enrolled in Panjab University, for example, said they
needed to work harder than their Punjabi peers because their families
had ‘sent them so far’. Young men who were left behind in the villages,
including those from lower castes, waited for opportunities to happen
to them in unemployed or underemployed situations. My questions on
education goals were received with interest by women and men from
underprivileged communities in rural settings, who frequently also
sought my advice. Men from privileged communities did not treat inter-
view questions about higher education with the same eagerness or en-
thusiasm. Those who were willing to talk about their lives at college often
listed their dominant interests as riding motorbikes with their peers and
seeking to meet women.
Though aspirations for romance also figured in women’s narratives,
the contrast between privileged men and women from their own fam-
ilies was dramatic. Despite shouldering the burden of household tasks
and farmwork from an early age and being constrained in their domestic
spaces, women usually found ways to continue their education. If they
were not allowed to attend regular courses, they enrolled in long-​distance
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 197
programmes. Due to Haryana’s policy focus on training some of India’s
best sportspersons, many women completed their degrees while en-
thusiastically opting for athletic training and availing of opportunities
to travel to other parts of the country and participate in competitions.
Achievements in sports competitions led to greater chances of employ-
ment in the public sector, making such women ideal brides in the mar-
riage market.
The homosocial lives of Haryanvi women were also getting restruc-
tured around the experience of commuting or walking to colleges to-
gether. To keep themselves and others safe, they forged and sustained
bonds that extended beyond their kin and caste-​based networks. Leaving
for college or other classes (e.g., private instruction for recruitment exam-
inations) was also a legitimate reason for escaping the domestic space. In
interviews, some women expressed a desire to prolong the length of their
education or to achieve more milestones in order to shake off the bonds
of domesticity and/​or delay impending weddings.
Delays in weddings could also, conversely, lead to more degrees. One
student in her twenties revealed that she had been betrothed for some
time at the time of our interview but her family was finalizing suitable
matches for her siblings in order to host a joint wedding. In the mean-
time, she had trained to work in anganwadis (village-​level, government-​
run childcare units), completed a Bachelor’s degree in education, and
was pursuing her Master’s in economics. She explained that her career
decisions would have to wait but, meanwhile, she commuted a long dis-
tance every day to continue her education.
Anita, who came from a modest Punjabi family, worked at an exploit-
ative private school while she prepared for the National Eligibility Test,
which is required for a job in the higher education sector. Although Anita
complained regularly about her poorly paid job where she was constantly
humiliated, she did not stay idle as she waited for a government job to
come to her. Sakshi, a Jat woman, who was her best friend and possessed
the same qualifications, had chosen to not work, but she accompanied
Anita to the city to attend coaching classes for the same exam. This was
Sakshi’s only legitimate excuse to travel to the city, as she was wary of
being spotted there without a purpose by older Jat men from her village.
Perhaps the most salient factor in their quest for education, sub-
stantiated by numerous interviews conducted in rural Haryana and
198 Rama Srinivasan
Chandigarh, is the self-​confidence young women developed through
holding a clutch of degrees and the respect they received for these
achievements. Whether it was the regard of a previously dismissive
mother-​in-​law or a woman’s refusal to do certain domestic chores after
finishing high school, stories in rural Haryana abound with examples of
the ‘perks of education’.
In popular conception, education is a means to obtain a decent job and
secure upward mobility but, for Haryanvi women in particular, it offers
an excuse for free movement, social contact, and exposure to the outside
world. Free movement considerations held no meaning to the unfettered
sons in Haryana, and pursuing and completing degree did not automat-
ically enrich their lives. Unless they secured ‘office jobs’ in the public
sector or secured admission to an institution outside Haryana, pursuing
education for its own sake was often not rewarding.
When I was in rural Haryana, I observed that community elders were
just beginning to recognize the discrepancy between the educational
achievements of women and men. At least three older male interlocutors
were especially concerned about the lack of motivation to secure jobs de-
tected among Haryana’s much-​valued sons. The sarpanch (elected vil-
lage head) of a large, Jat-​dominated village waxed eloquent about his
daughter’s educational merit and self-​confidence, expressing pleasure
that her city-​based parents-​in-​law have also acknowledged her accom-
plishments. In contrast, his son had incurred huge tuitions bills at a pri-
vate engineering college but displayed no motivation for employment.
He had refused to work in the private sector after only a week of employ-
ment because he disliked ‘taking orders’ and now spent most of his time
drifting about aimlessly. As a real estate agent and an owner of large farm
holdings, the sarpanch could sustain his son’s unproductive life. But he
mourned the opportunities the young man had wasted and his lack of
motivation even with regard to the father’s existing business concerns.
‘He doesn’t even know where our farms stand’, he scoffed as he dismissed
the subject of his son.
In summary, women appear to have taken the initiative to change their
disadvantageous situation. They are motivated to work hard in a neo-
liberal ideology-​driven India that demands individual effort and initia-
tive rather than drudgery in the form of unrecognized labour. Whether
or not the ideology delivers on its promise, it has helped women from
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 199
traditionally agrarian communities see pathways to the future where men
may not. Like all other groups, dominant communities seek security for
the future, demanding jobs in state institutions—​in place of land—​as the
resource the community can circulate among themselves. But I have often
observed that Jat men felt entitled to dominate the post-​agrarian society
without always feeling motivated enough to chase opportunities. Their
failures as well as the competition they faced from women and individ-
uals from lower castes is leading to hopelessness, frustration, and rage.
The hopelessness of some men and the immense hope many women
held determine their individual approaches to marriage, especially love
marriage. Aspirations for future careers and marriage are linked as mar-
riage, social position, and prosperity almost always are. The discrepancy
between the achievements of men and women helps us get closer to ana-
lysing why some women might want to expand their horizons when it
comes to finding potential spouses, either outside their own castes or
through an insistence on motivated, well-​qualified men who believe
in mutual respect in relationships. The next section will include some
voices from the field who spoke at length on their thoughts and/​or deci-
sions on marriage.

Marriage as Both the Cause of and Solution to Crises

Sakshi was very explicit regarding her preference for arranged marriage
but this was not simply an attempt to uphold patriarchal values or local
customs. As I spent time in her company I noticed that during our con-
versations regarding the plight of women (financial or otherwise) in ex-
ploitative marriages, it was clear that Sakshi was worried about her own
uncertain future. She criticized patriarchy with the English term ‘male-​
dominated society’. She and her family were already adapting to the
changes in their personal and social situations. Sakshi’s mother stressed
that the young woman’s consent would have to be ascertained before a
match is finalized though she herself was never consulted when she was
wedded as an adolescent. ‘I was not asked because I was illiterate. I did
not know anything. But Sakshi is well-​educated’, the mother explained.
These were not empty words, for Sakshi had on one occasion reported
that she had recently turned down a ‘good match’, according to her
200 Rama Srinivasan
parents’ standards, because the suitor’s family-​owned buffaloes. ‘I cat-
egorically told my father that I cannot work with animals’, she explained.
Sakshi implied in this exchange that she was acutely aware of the sexual
division of labour in her community and its non-​negotiability—​as the
only woman among several male cousins and brothers, she performed
a lot of household chores in addition to pursuing higher education—​but
she had the option of aspiring for different horizons, a life far away from
home. ‘I want to get out of here. One keeps coming back to the same cir-
cles and conversations’, she exclaimed in frustration on one occasion. She
later added in the same conversation that she had told her father that she
wants to leave the region. Her aspirations, which included a desire for ad-
venture and intellectual stimulation, could only be met, in her opinion,
with either a (government) job that took her elsewhere—​or, more likely,
with marriage. In her framework, marriage was a rational decision that
should further her aspirations rather than circumscribe them.
Interviews with young Haryanvis with different ‘relationship sta-
tuses’—​those who are dating, engaged, waiting for their parents to arrange
their matches, recently married, and married for a while—​revealed that
their desires were not always paradigm-​shifting but rather an individual
negotiation to make the existing frames work better for them. Ravinder,
a young man from a Bishnoi family who was in a long engagement at the
time of the interview, had an undergraduate degree in commerce. Three
years, he claimed, had been wasted in a college that taught him nothing
useful. College for him and his friends had been about hanging around,
riding their bikes, and, for some, trying to court women. If Ravinder had
been interested in the last activity he did not reveal this as our interview
had been set up by his fiancée Kavita. At the time of the interview, he
was planning on establishing a dairy production unit. He told me that
farming was not a lucrative occupation and his family had many hands
involved in the occupation already. With dairy production, he was not
deviating too much from the family lifestyle but consciously resisting
the other, highly desirable course—​government jobs. He said: ‘I am not
scared of work (manual labour) or ashamed of it. I don’t want to be like
my college friends, who either want an “office job” or are willing to while
away their time. If my dairy business does not work out, I am ready to go
back to farming. The sun, heat or hard work does not bother me.’ When
I asked him if Kavita supported this plan, he replied that she was actually
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 201
the inspiration behind it. She regularly pushes him to not sit idle at home,
living off his parents’ money.
When his match was being finalized, he had, like other young men
in the region, sought to know his fiancée better before the wedding. ‘I
asked her brother for her phone number, which he refused despite being
roughly my age. But I had many friends in their village so I made it happen
anyway. Marriage is serious business, I needed to know what she was like,
whether we will be compatible. Now I am madly in love with her’, he re-
vealed. Ravinder accepted the match arranged for him because, he said,
family is an important factor in his life and he did not want to disappoint
anyone. And, although this is not underlined in his narrative, I could also
see that his aspirations required family backing, for both finances and
labour. Apart from the space required for such a production unit, ideally
within farms, I had also learned that, regardless of their caste, men in
the region did not work cows and having the family structure intact was
important for his future plans. He saw marriage as enabling in other ma-
terial ways: he noted gleefully that a car in dowry usually means a big one.
He also hoped that Kavita would find a teaching job with a public school
one day. He expected her to work fewer hours in a day, which a govern-
ment job at a public school allowed for, so as to ensure domestic work
does not suffer even as she brings in an assured income.
That Ravinder did not present any threat to the prevailing social norms
is apparent from his stated preference for a familiar gender-​based div-
ision of labour and the hope that his spouse will achieve the benchmark
of success that he had not—​the coveted government job. But the match
had had a positive influence in Kavita’s life as well. Her paternal uncle
had taken a unilateral decision not to send her to college and she had
been enrolled into a long-​distance degree course. According to her, when
her uncle had sought to finalize her match a few years back, her older
cousin Hardeep had intervened and argued that the (‘our’) girl was still
very young. He had stressed on a long engagement so that the girl would
at least finish her undergraduate degree before entering wedlock. Kavita
additionally accompanied Hardeep’s wife to teach in a private school for
a miniscule salary.
She had, in this way, been allowed both the time to experience adult-
hood outside the bonds of domesticity and develop a relationship with
her fiancé. It is in this latter experience that she had made a radical
202 Rama Srinivasan
departure. When she informed me of her first meeting with her fiancé
she mentioned several times that I should not tell her male cousins. ‘He
brought duplicates of my mark sheets (transcripts) from the university
to my school because I was planning to apply for another course. I kept
chasing him away once he had handed over the papers because I was
afraid someone would see us and inform my family. But the next time
I meet him I am not going to be so scared’, she said, describing the event. In
Kavita’s case, too, romance and life goals, which dictated that one should
not vegetate at home, had entwined. Ravinder had become an agent who
connected her sheltered life with the presumed world of opportunities
beyond. Despite having some misgivings regarding Kavita’s exploitative
job and its future prospects, Ravinder was clear that he was not going to
stall her educational goals. In fact, he disparaged at the family’s decision
to enrol her into a distance-​learning programme and claimed that he was
going to have her attend a regular Master’s programme after they were
married. It appeared to me that irrespective of the quality of education
that he had himself complained about, Ravinder held the attainment of
educational degrees an important aspect of what makes a person whole
and how people perceive them. Ravinder and Kavita’s marriage may con-
tinue to be a patriarchal one but it nevertheless sought to address some
persisting societal inequalities and achieve a companionship where both
parties could strive to maximize on their existing opportunities in each
other’s company.
Those who chose love marriages over family-​arranged ones also ex-
plained their decisions as rational decisions designed to achieve better,
liveable futures. Navjot, a lower-​caste Sikh woman, aspired for a more
collegial marriage when she was still in high school. Friends her age had
already been married and were reporting to her discomforting experi-
ences. In retrospect, she said: ‘I always knew I wanted to find a partner
on my own. With love marriages, you know what you are getting into . . .’
The fear of arranged marriages was already growing in her mind when
she came across Baljeet, who was from a locally dominant land-​owning
caste of Bishnoi. ‘It was so long ago’, says Baljeet, as he recalls with some
uncertainly that they had one meeting after which they embarked on a
primarily cellphone calls-​based romance. But Navjot is confident that
there had been no meeting; just phone conversations that were held sur-
reptitiously. When they met for the first time, Navjot insists, Baljeet had
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 203
proposed marriage unequivocally. But fears of whether she would be able
to adjust with a community different from her own prevented her from
accepting the proposal immediately. She says it was almost a year before
she finally came around to the idea. ‘I shared everything with him. He
used to listen patiently and respond/​advise. Eventually I realized woh
meri kitni care karte hain (He cares a lot about me).’
Navjot employed this intriguing phrase that has resonance in the
Hindi-​speaking belts of North India—​the English word ‘care’ is followed
by the Hindi verb karte, which means, ‘to do’. The sequence of words sug-
gests something different from the English usages (they/​he/​she) ‘care/​
cares’ and ‘take care’ (of someone). Navjot describes it as something her
husband does (so care is deployed here as a noun and not a verb). Navjot
and other women I met, like Radhika and Kusum, used the word ‘care’ to
articulate what they think their partners were doing right to inspire confi-
dence and trust. It was not just a feeling or emotion that people show with
subtle gestures and not the care work that is undertaken for the elderly or
sick. For Radhika, it is the gesture of doing housework that endears Jeet,
her husband, to her: ‘He supports me as I pursue my college degree and
motivates me in every way; he even does housework. Bahut caring hai
(he cares a lot).’
Radhika was the first woman in her lower-​caste community3 to have
started college, an accomplishment her parents were proud of. ‘My
parents only accepted his family’s proposal when they assured us that he
will not stall my education’, she explained. The fact that he not only en-
couraged her to study but also supported her by doing domestic chores,
despite the prevailing norm of rigid gender-​based division of labour, con-
vinced Radhika of his care.
As a poet and research scholar, Jeet had come into contact with pro-
gressive circles in the region and expressed strong views on gender parity.
Nevertheless, he felt obliged to marry within his caste, a trait I often
came across in smaller communities with less political and social cap-
ital. Few people in such communities achieved professional success, and
Jeet, a newly appointed junior lecturer in the public schooling system,
was a highly valued suitor. As ‘one of the best’ in the community, he was
expected to marry ‘one of their own’. He chose Radhika out of a strong
sense of obligation that he explicitly articulated. When I interviewed
him, he was hoping to enrol Radhika into a Master’s programme at
204 Rama Srinivasan
Chandigarh-​based Panjab University, an opportunity he himself did not
have. ‘I just want to set the child up for a good career’, he said. Using the
word child for his wife signified a considerable age difference between
the two as well as the nurturing role he had taken on for himself in the
relationship. Jeet’s interview regarding his marriage, which was non-​
normative in his own sociological context, additionally revealed a so-
cial and political commitment towards greater gender equality that had
translated into improving her individual prospects.
Kusum, one of the few women who spoke to me openly about her
phone-​based romance, has had few occasions to meet her ‘friend’ since
she started attending college. The friend was a peer from her school days
and they had remained together despite the distance and lack of oppor-
tunities to meet in person. ‘I like talking to him. I feel like I can share
everything with him. . . . Yes, I would like to marry him someday, but
that is far off in future. I must first complete my education and find a job’,
she explained in a narrative that had become familiar. In Kusum’s narra-
tive, which focused on her aspirations for a career, the friend constituted
a vital support system but marriage was not the ultimate goal. She does
expect to marry him some day and hopes that her parents would bless the
match. ‘At the moment, they don’t want to talk about it, although I think
they suspect. If both of us are already set up in our careers, parents are
less likely to object’, she explained.
For women from this region, which historically considered them
‘shoes for the feet’ (Chowdhry, 2007), the tendency among some men to
treat them as a real person, to patiently listen and engage with their aspir-
ations signalled a cross-​gender relationship different from what they had
taken to be the norm in their own families. They sought partners who
treat them as good friends, bestowing them with special regard, in a re-
gion notorious for its mistreatment of women.
Couples, who had attempted to negotiate for care in their relation-
ships, appeared to me more hopeful for their future than those interlocu-
tors who had been forced into arranged marriage situations. For some
of my interlocutors, this hope alleviates them from the current state of
uncertainty and social turmoil. This is especially true for eloping couples,
who experience both the upheavals in socio-​economic spheres and fear
for their immediate future, one that could include social boycott and/​or
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 205
physical harm. They still largely spoke with optimism when I asked them
about their life goals and future plans.
Baljeet’s locally dominant Bishnoi caste, for example, had initially not
taken kindly to his elopement and marriage with his brothers threat-
ening to evict and disinherit him from the family home and landholding,
respectively. For Navjot, experiences such as building their own house
after eviction and farming the land Baljeet had eventually wriggled out
of his brothers—​while he was busy setting himself up for trade—​signified
a success that, she believed, had eluded the brothers’ families. Today,
Baljeet is the only one of four brothers to have an income independent
of agriculture—​a successful shop in a nearby city. He did not get a ‘truck-
load of dowry’, he noted, or any kind of family support during his years
of struggle but looking back at their personal and financial travails he
quipped: ‘If you want to make something of yourself, love marriage can
be a good thing. But everyone prefers pre-​cooked meals.’
In a region where most parents today encourage their male offspring to
leave behind agriculture and ‘make something of themselves’ outside this
traditional occupation, Baljeet seems to claim that love marriage can give
you the sufficient impetus to do exactly that. Not everyone is, however,
granted the opportunity to make something of themselves. As bureaucrat
Ashok puts it, those who have are careful about not losing their positions,
especially if they have worked hard for it. ‘I notice that those who elope
and visit courts are the most abject set. People without much education,
daily wage labourers, and so on. Once you have achieved something in
life, the tendency is to conform to norms’, he quipped. For those who
have not had the opportunities (especially women and people from lower
castes) or were not able to maximize on them (Baljeet belonged to this
category), crises, such as the ones created by loss of land or by love mar-
riages, paradoxically allows them to live up to, in more complete ways,
this prevailing maxim of ‘making something of themselves’.
The neoliberal mandate of individual effort and initiative towards
securing a better future works in tandem with the state’s liberal founda-
tions, which guaranteed the individual liberty required to forge unusual
pathways. However, the individual’s commitment towards the liberal
values that guaranteed their liberties in the first instance is as uncertain as
neoliberalism’s efficacy in living up to its promise of a better life. Neither
can be overstated. Moments such as the introduction of new farm laws
206 Rama Srinivasan
may energise the collective to come together to fight an existential battle
even as the individuals configure their own individual battles. Although
these struggles, both at the individual and collective levels, are decidedly
political, they have not—​as yet—​translated into stable ideological affili-
ations for the individual or the community. These are instruments that
are deployed to surmount an intergenerational crisis that has been trig-
gered by transformations in the political economy. They may or may not
have a long-​term, sustainable impact on political affiliations but their im-
pact on marital and family patterns is clearly discernible.

Conclusion

North Indian communities have some legitimate fears regarding the fu-
ture as seen in the protests against the land acquisition ordinance of 2015
and the farm laws of 2020. But the campaign for affirmative action in 2016
also revealed a strong and violent resistance against the redistribution of
intangible resources that would secure the future of communities as a
whole and, in some cases, allow the continuation of local dominance. It is
too early to determine whether the farmer protests would lead to a more
progressive society—​news of Jat mobilizations against local Muslim
populations on the question of intercommunity marriages, popularly
known as campaigns against the so-​called ‘love jihad’, already function
as warnings against drawing any hasty conclusions. What is clear from
my ethnographic research is, however, that the society has already moved
away from agriculture at the level of family. While a majority of young
women and men attempt to negotiate their aspirations within the limits
posed by the ‘map of norms’ that will deliver them to the future, a sig-
nificant number is ready to take decisions that may not align with tra-
ditions and secure their individual interests rather than the future of
the community as a whole. Women, in particular, have less motivation
to pursue the community’s vision for the future, especially on the topic
of marriage. Men like Baljeet have shown that a non-​normative decision
on marriage can result in a short-​term family crisis but, in the long run,
might prove empowering. Whether it is an arranged or love marriage,
decisions on marriage are a symptom of and a response to the ongoing
socio-​economic crises.
 Familial Crisis and Marriage 207
Notes
1. According to a 2018 survey conducted by the Centre for the Study of Developing
Societies, between 2007 and 2016, the number of Indian youths who would prefer
a government job grew from 63 to 65 per cent. Sixty-​five per cent of young people
in small cities and 69 per cent in villages today seek government job. A whopping
82 per cent of rural graduates have this aspiration (Kumar and Gupta, 2018).
2. All names have been changed to protect the identity of the interlocutors.
3. Given that it is a very small, close-​knit community, I have opted to anonymize the
identity as well as the caste name of this interlocutor.

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 PART III
TRUST, BETR AYA L , A N D
SH I F TI NG R EL ATIONS
 7
Locating Friendship in Family
A Study of Indian Elites

Parul Bhandari

Dynamic Friendship

Friendship and family are often seen as different categories of relations,

wherein friendship is opposed to the essence of kinship (Pitt-​Rivers,
1973). At other times, it is claimed that friendship gets subsumed by kin-
ship in societies where kinship is strong (Cohen, 1961; Reed-​Danahay,
1999; Santos-​Granero, 2007). At a basic level, while it is difficult to de-
fine friendship, it is considered as a relation borne out of choice—​though
studies have queried this understanding as they explain that common
factors such as education, residential area, ethnicity, and religion bring
two people together as friends. Family and kinship relations, on the other
hand, are determined not by choice but by structures of marriage and
descent.
There are, however, also overlaps in both the essence and the ways in
which kinship and friendship operate, especially as both are defined by
reciprocity, feelings of mutual care and affection, and duty. In fact, Fortes
uses the word ‘amity’ to describe the quality of relationships between kin
(Fortes, 1970; Pitt-​Rivers, 1973). A pertinent research in the Indian con-
text is by Lambert (2000) in Rajasthan in which she argues that kinship
not only has a biological substance but is also governed by affections.
She explains that components of sentiment, substance and nurturance
govern interpersonal relatedness (2000, 87) in Rajasthan, and that kin
groups are also understood and experienced beyond descent connec-
tions or ritual kinship.

Parul Bhandari, Locating Friendship in Family In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford
University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0008
212 Parul Bhandari
These overlaps and differences between kinship and friendship beget
further questions on their interlinkages and entanglements. For instance,
what is the place of friendship in kinship networks and structures, and
can kin like relatedness be invoked in friendships? Rudolph and Rudolph
(1967) discuss the tendency to use fictive kin terms for outside-​kin rela-
tions, including friendship, or even general social interaction, in North
India. We see similar usage in contemporary India as well as, for example,
strangers as auto-​rickshaw pullers, shopkeepers are often referred to as
bhaiya (elder brother), and women referred to as didi (elder sister), es-
pecially in North India. In this chapter, I am primarily concerned with
exploring the former question, namely, what is the place of friendship in
kinship relations among the elites of Delhi, specifically the women mem-
bers of a family.
Much scholarship has focused on understanding the structures and
practices of friendship, especially in the context of growing number of
cities, rise of capitalism, and feelings of disenchantment and anomie in
consumerist society (Bauman, 2003; Beck, 1992; Giddens, 1993). In the
Indian context, research has studied friendship in cultures of leisure,
consumption, and education (university) in small towns (Osella and
Osella, 1998) as well as how friendship is linked to activities of ‘time pass’
and political identities (Jeffrey, 2010). Other studies have adopted a crit-
ical perspective to explain how friendship leads to reproduction of in-
equality and brings out the differences between social groups or identity
(Allan and Adams, 2006; Bell and Coleman, 1999; Bourdieu, 1987). For
example, Osella and Osella’s research (1998) comprehensively explains
how hierarchy is subverted, reversed, denied, and re-​affirmed in friend-
ship (and flirting) among young men and women in Kerala. They ex-
plain that while on the one hand men develop strong friendships around
a ‘college culture’ of sharing and caring, they also belong to different
caste backgrounds which create hierarchies within these friendships.
However, these caste hierarchies are also contested within the bounds of
friendship. Equally, studies also show how friendship among marginal
groups help overcome their feelings of subordination and provide hope
(Featherstone, 2008). Pertinent here is Ramaswami’s (2007) ethnog-
raphy on factory-​workers in Okhla Industrial area, Delhi, as he explains
the relevance of maza (fun) and mazak (humour) among workers to deal
with their working conditions and poverty. These bonds of friendship are
 Locating Friendship in Family 213
built on shared experiences of work, helping each other cope with dismal
situations of poverty, while also supporting dreams and desires, and in
turn, asserting and creating a sense of masculinity.
The interplay between work and friendship is also brought out by
Dyson’s (2010) research in Uttarakhand, specifically on the leaf-​collecting
practices of young girls. Though the girls are already related to each other
through kin networks, they prefer to see each other as friends because the
love, support, and care they provide for each other in this task is beyond
their kin identities. Leaf collecting is a physically exhausting task that is
given to them by their family members, and the one way in which they
cope with its demands, and also enjoy it, is by providing support and care
to each other (helping each other tie the branches or one girl working
more if the other is unwell) and having maza (fun) while undertaking
this work. This along with a ‘shared belief in the moral importance of
meeting village expectations’ (2010, 491) ties them in a bond of trust and
care, which they see as friendship rather than kinship.
Turning attention to Hindi cinema and how it unpacks this relation-
ship of kinship and friendship is the insightful perspective of Vanita
(2013), who argues how, in films, friendship encompasses both the inten-
sities of an erotic partner as a friend (tales of best friends falling in love)
and the friend as a sibling (friends who see themselves as sisters). A key
element is the sentiment of sacrifice, which was best exemplified in the
super-​hit Bollywood film Sholay (‘Embers’) (1975), where one friend is
willing to die for the other, as they consider each other as siblings and
not just friends. While Vanita focuses on how one friend sacrifices one-
self for the other, there is another typical storyline in Hindi (and perhaps
Indian) cinema wherein a friend gives precedence to the friendship over
romantic love.1
Building on the above themes, this chapter shows how friendship
creates an added sense of trust and confidence in family relations, es-
pecially between a newlywed woman and her in-​laws. In so doing, this
chapter focuses on how spaces and practices of socialization between
family members such as dining out, social events, and ‘kitty parties’ help
forge and maintain the bonds of friendships. It is through these activ-
ities that secrets are shared and suggestions and guidance provided on,
for example, how to navigate new family relations. While this research
delves deeper into friendship it also provides an insight into the modern
214 Parul Bhandari
iterations of kinship by shedding light on whether kin roles, duties, and
obligations are undergoing changes in contemporary Indian society.
Here, by ‘modern’, I do not mean ‘new’ or a clean break from the past
(Chakrabarty, 2000; Choukroune and Bhandari, 2018; Dube, 2012), to
in turn imply that emotional support or female friendships within kin
groups is a ‘new’ experience. Rather, the intent is to highlight how women
engage in a modern self-​fashioning through the formations of friendship
within their kin networks. Though this aspect is not discussed in-​depth
in this chapter, it serves as an interesting topic to explore in urban context
where there are fewer siblings, hectic work lives, and therefore greater
interest in forming longer lasting non-​kin-​like relations with kin.
These friendships, as we will see in the chapter ahead, are not un-
changing. They might be fostered on bonds of trust and dedication, but
they are also marked by jealousy, anger, and mistrust. As such, these
friendships are not neat narratives of support and trust. Friends can
cause deceit, stress, pain through betrayals, and these prove dysfunc-
tional for family relations because when relations sour between two
kin members who are also friends, their families relationship also gets
affected.2 Additionally, I also bring out how friendships operate with
hierarchies and inequalities leading to asymmetrical relations (Osella
and Osella, 1998). These hierarchies are at times reiterated in practices
of socializing and are subverted. My aim, however, is not to argue that
friendships are conflict-​driven or marked by deep inequalities. Nor do
I provide an extremely positive and optimist ideal of friendship. Rather,
I show how friendship fulfils contradictory functions (Dyson, 2010;
Phadke and Kanagasabai, 2023) in the context of kin relations—​it pro-
vides support but is also the source of betrayal. As such, this chapter
explores how the bond of love, albeit one steeped in friendship, defines
relatedness between affinally related women. Furthermore, by studying
why two female cousins or sisters-​in-​law see each other as friends, it sheds
light on whether there is a greater likelihood of friendship between spe-
cific categories of kin. Significantly, it lays bare the dysfunctionalities of
Indian families and the vulnerabilities of the privileged section of Indian
society, emanating from their affective and familial worlds.
This analysis is based on an ethnographic study of Delhi’s ‘super-​rich
housewives’ of Punjabi and Sindhi backgrounds.3 These elite women
primarily belong to business families and my focus has been on newly
 Locating Friendship in Family 215
married women. I spent over eighteen months with groups of elite
women, visiting their homes, attending their social events, including kitty
parties, religious gatherings, and weddings.4 I did not have uninterrupted
access to these exclusive worlds, given the class and status asymmetry be-
tween us, and in that it was a distinct and challenging experience of con-
ducting research ‘up’. Equally, there were times when women dropped
their guards and trusted in me and provided what seemed like an honest
and heartfelt account of their situations and incidents related to trust and
betrayal.5 While friendships between male family members is also an
important topic of enquiry, I chose to specifically focus on women pri-
marily on two counts: firstly, as a woman researcher I had easier access
to women and their intimate life worlds, and secondly, I observed that
as housewives or newlywed brides, women tend to reach out to other
female members within families to be a good wife or daughter-​in-​law.
This in itself provides an insightful account of modern role expectations
of women.
The ethnographic material is presented in two sections: the first sec-
tion focuses on how cousins and kin relations become close friends, for
which I draw attention to the activities through which they create this
bond (meeting up, going out) and how this bond is created, namely, by
offering support in times of distress, confusion, and providing general
guidance on navigating difficult family dynamics. In the second section,
I focus on the tales of distrust and betrayal by friends that are close kin
usually when confidence is broken by revealing secrets. I conclude by
bringing together a few key themes on the meanings of friendship in fa-
milial contexts.

Kin-​Friendship

‘I Never Thought I Would Gain a Friend after Marriage’

Among the business elites of Delhi, it is typical for a young couple to reside
with the husband’s parents (Ponniah, 2018). At times, this household
also includes the husband’s older brother and his family and/​or younger
brother/​sister. This is to say, these households are largely joint families
following the rule of patrilocality, according to which the wife (bride)
216 Parul Bhandari
joins the husband’s household. Kinship studies, especially of North India,
have well captured the tensions of joint family households especially be-
tween the mother-​in-​law and daughter-​in-​law, and at other times, be-
tween two sisters-​in-​law (wife and husband’s brother’s wife or sister)
(Das, 1976; Mayer, 1960). While the bases of such tensions are myriad,
a prominent one is regarding jointly held property. Typically, all prop-
erty and business are held by the male patriarch who details the property
division in his will, to be put into action upon his death. At times, a son
may insist on taking away his share at an earlier stage and establish a sep-
arate household before the passing of his father. Irrespective of whether
his desire is fulfilled, it certainly becomes a cause of strain between the
family members. This may lead the wives of two brothers or the sisters-​
in-​law (wife of brother and his sister) to be wary of each other as they are
locked in a potential property dispute. These tensions and the apprehen-
sion of such fights between siblings has particularly been on the minds
of business families since the 2005 amendment to the Hindu Succession
Act (retrospectively upheld by the Supreme Court 2014 verdict) that al-
lows daughters equal share in father’s property. Families now fear that
(married) sisters too will stake a claim in the father’s property. The wife
(daughter-​in-​law) is already seen as an ‘outsider’, and therefore someone
who might stoke the fire regarding property division. As a result, the rela-
tionship between sisters-​in-​law can be fragile, governed by mistrust and
misgivings. In this backdrop, it takes a lot more effort and time on the
part of sisters-​in-​law to establish a relationship of trust with each other.
It is in this context that I found it surprising when I come across Dina
(brother’s wife) who was full of praises for Tasha, her husband’s cousin
sister (mother’s brother’s daughter), and considered her more as a friend
than a sister-​in-​law. It is worth pondering if precisely because Tasha is
a cousin-​sister-​in-​law, and not her husband’s ‘real’ sibling that Dina was
able to trust her more easily.
I was introduced to Dina, aged thirty-​eight, mother of two (boys
aged twelve and six) by an art-​gallery owner. Dina invited me over to
her house–​a large farmhouse in Chhatarpur for afternoon tea.6 We began
our conversation by discussing how she came to choose her husband,
Nikhil, who was introduced to her by a matrimonial broker (Bhandari,
2020; Majumdar, 2004). Dina was initially sceptical about this proposal
because while she lived and grew up in Mumbai, Nikhil was from Delhi,
 Locating Friendship in Family 217
and upon marriage she would have to move to Delhi, the prospect of
which put her off the proposal. She was not very keen to meet Nikhil but
on her parents’ insistence decided to meet him for coffee, and he specially
flew in from Delhi to meet her. To her surprise, they instantly clicked, and
since their families were happy with the match, they got married within
a few months of courtship. Initially, she was a bit underconfident about
liking living in Delhi, but it was through Tasha’s guidance, support, and
friendship that she was able to transition smoothly to Delhi. Sisters-​in-​
law are always projected to be difficult, she said, but Tasha was quite the
opposite. She introduced Dina to Nikhil’s family’s way of being. She be-
came a confidante and a guide, assuaging Dina’s anxieties. Dina said,

It was really the little things like how the food is laid, when meals are
had, the protocol for inviting people over, and so on. These are really
very basic things, and every family has a set way of doing things and
you have your own way of doing things and that causes clashes. In such
times, if you have someone to talk to, on the inside, but not really on
the inside, I mean, not from the immediate family, then it is of great
help. [. . .] Tasha helped me by telling me about my mother-​in-​law and
husband’s eccentricities [said with a laugh]. . . . There were also difficult
times, but I did not want to tell my mother because that would unneces-
sarily worry her. So, I would confide in Tasha. It is such a boon to find
someone from within the family who you can trust!

Dina’s emphasis on finding someone ‘inside’ the family to trust is note-

worthy. Tasha not only knew Nikhil’s family history and complications
but their tastes, temperaments, as well as their dynamics with other ex-
tended family, and their ups and downs. This was far more revealing and
supportive for Dina than say, friends and relatives who would simply lend
an ear and provide generic advice. She added, ‘You don’t really expect to
find people who you connect with from your husband’s family. I was al-
ways told to be on my guard, not trust anyone easily. But Tasha is really
nice . . .. I found someone I could trust, and she helped me settle in Delhi.’
Women are routinely advised to not easily trust their marital family
(for fear of betrayal, manipulation) and so it is difficult to imagine being
friends with a relation within the kin networks of in-​laws. This is not to
say that sisters-​in-​law can never be trusting but that finding the courage
218 Parul Bhandari
to discover a relationship of emotional trust is not always easy. Dina was
aware of how rare this type of connection is and therefore labelled her
relationship with Tasha as friendship and not merely relations of kinship
because they provided each other emotional comfort in difficult times
(much like the girls in Dyson’s research), had a shared sense of belonging
to the family, and instantly ‘connected’ with each other.
An important aspect worth unpacking is the need that Dina felt to
create a bond of familiarity, trust, and confidence with someone on the
‘inside’ of the family. In a reverse way, her natal family, purely because
they are not well aware of her in-​laws’ family dynamics, become the out-
sider. Moreover, such a deep friendship with an ‘insider’ in the family
helps root a sense of familiarity in the new family and embeds the wife
(Dina) in her new kin relations. Additionally, Dina mentions that she did
not want to confide in her mother as she did not want her to be worried.
To that extent, she also cares for her natal family and does not want them
to be disturbed or concerned of prospects of problems that she might
be facing in her new family. Indeed, by discussing the everyday squab-
bles and minor adjustment issues with someone from inside her new
family she is protecting her mother from additional stress. In this way, by
forming a friendship in the kin network of in-​laws, a woman establishes
herself both as an efficient and able daughter-​in-​law who does not always
look to her parents for advice and instead is capable of handling any prob-
lems on her own (something that the in-​laws would certainly appreciate)
as well as a caring daughter who protects her parents from unnecessary
worries. In crucial ways, then, these friendships are about keeping secrets
and each other’s confidence both in the woman’s natal and new families.

‘It Doesn’t Feel Like Smita Is My Mami. . . . We Have a

Connection’

I met Bhairavi, aged thirty-​five, mother of two girls (aged five and seven),
at her house in Civil Lines. Bhairavi grew up in Delhi and met her hus-
band, Kshitij, through a matchmaker. Upon marriage, she joined Kshitij’s
family, comprising his parents, two elder brothers, who are both mar-
ried and have children. In our conversation, Bhairavi constantly praised
her in-​laws on how loving and caring they are. Most important, she said,
 Locating Friendship in Family 219
none of them ever ‘forced’ her to bear a son.7 Interestingly, while she
maintained this happy joint family picture, her other friends (members of
the kitty party) said that in reality there are many tensions in their family
due to division of their joint property. While Bhairavi never once men-
tioned this to me, she did say that despite having ‘good’ in-​laws, she felt
they did not like her as much as the eldest daughter-​in-​law (her husband’s
eldest brother’s wife). This clearly disturbed her for she believed that she
was the most dedicated of the daughters-​in-​law. It seems, however, that
her real problem was not so much about ‘dedication’, rather, the fact that
of the three daughters-​in-​law, she is the most educated and cosmopol-
itan, while the one that is most liked is the one who is least educated and
smart, and therefore, in her opinion is least deserving to be her parents-​
in-​law’s favourite.
At the same time, she could not openly voice this feeling for she did
not want to be seen as a resentful and a ‘bad’ daughter-​in-​law, who talks
ill of her in-​laws. In order to vent her frustration, she then identified a kin
who she felt was in a similar position, namely, her husband’s mother’s
brother’s wife (mami), Smita. There is not a huge age gap between
Bhairavi and Smita because Smita’s husband (Bhairavi’s mother-​in-​law’s
brother) is a late child. As a result, Bhairavi’s husband and his mother’s
brother (Smita’s husband) are closer in age. Bhairavi explained that Smita
is in a similar situation as she too is the youngest daughter-​in-​law (Smita’s
mother-​in-​law has five brothers and sisters), is the prettiest and the most
educated and precisely due to this the other sisters-​in-​law have an ‘infer-
iority complex’ because of which Smita is treated unfairly. Bhairavi said,

When I first came to this house and saw this dynamic between my
mother-​in-​law and her sisters-​in-​law, I brushed it aside as typical family
drama. But now I feel I can relate to it. At times I feel, I am unheard or
not given importance because I am the youngest bahu (daughter-​in-​
law). I could see that Smita mami is going through the same emotions
and behaviour. I started hanging out with her. I think we connected
with each other because of this. Though she is my mami, she is not that
much older than me and I relate to her as a friend. . . . We understand
each other. I also trust her and learn from her on how to handle this en-
tire situation.
220 Parul Bhandari
Bhairavi almost seemed proud to have found this ‘connection’, this friend-
ship, with a kin who is not only supposed to be a distant kin but also of
an older generation. Of course, Smita is closer to her in age, yet in the
structure of kinship, she is her mother-​in-​law’s generation. An appealing
aspect of this friendship is finding a common ground of emotions, al-
beit of having been unfairly treated and discussing how to navigate this
unfair treatment. It seemed that Bhairavi was proud of the fact that with
this friendship she had at a certain level subverted a kinship hierarchy.
This is to say, this friendship was created on a deep sense of trust that
they both will support each other in facing the challenges of a hierarchy
(among daughters-​in-​law). Significantly, this demonstrates that they re-
late to each other not simply through the prescribed role expectations
of their intergenerational affinal relation but more as friends, who are
secret-​keepers, trust-​upholders, and confidence-​providers. This account
is a unique story of how a category of kin that is unlikely to forge an in-
timate friendship ends up doing so precisely because of a shared hier-
archical position (youngest daughters-​in-​law), a similar age-​group, and
experiences and stresses of marrying into a family. An important factor
not to be overlooked here is that while both women have married into re-
lated families, their immediate family is still not the same as they are not
wives of brothers. Perhaps this position of marrying in but not into the
same family enabled a stronger possibility of friendship.

Fractured Friendships

Friendships forged in kin networks do not always last and I encountered

narratives where the bonds of friendship suffered due to betrayals typic-
ally of sharing one’s secret to an outside circle of kins and friends. In such
cases, not only is the relationship between the two women adversely af-
fected but also the larger kin relations.

‘She Betrayed My Trust by Leaking My Personal Information’

Through Dina, I came to know other members of her kitty party and
was at times invited to their gatherings.8 At one such event, hosted by
 Locating Friendship in Family 221
Esha, aged forty, I got to know that their group had split. The reason was
a breakdown of friendship between two members of their group: Surbhi
and Rani, who were also cousin sisters-​in-​law: Rani is Surbhi’s husband’s
father’s brother’s daughter. Indeed, it was Rani who had introduced
Surbhi to this group of women. When I first met Surbhi, she seemed a bit
hesitant to give an interview but as I was wrapping up my fieldwork, she
was willing to talk to me. She invited me for a one-​to-​one interview at her
house where for the first time she opened up to me perhaps because she
might have anticipated that we would not see each other again. Surbhi
was warm and welcoming, and as we began talking about her leisure ac-
tivities and the role of friends in her life, I hesitantly enquired of the ru-
mour that she was no longer ‘close’ to Rani. After giving it some thought,
Surbhi decided to ‘clear the matter’, and said,

Rani and I hit it off really well. [. . .] My marriage was not that smooth
in the beginning. Though it was an arranged marriage I knew of my
husband from before. He was a friend of one of my cousins’ boyfriend,
and was quite the Delhi heartthrob: tall, good looking and all that.
I remember when this rishta [proposal] came, I was so happy. What
I didn’t realise was that some habits take time to change. I think he was
not ready to give up his bachelor life [. . .] He would party out late, drink
a lot. [. . .] I was quite vulnerable, you see, because I was newly mar-
ried, and he wasn’t spending time with me. I used to confide in Rani
because she is his closest cousin [. . .] She provided me comfort and also
introduced me to this group of wonderful ladies who are now my close
friends.

Surbhi got a bit emotional at this point. She called for nimbu-​pani [lemon
water] and after a brief pause, continued,

What I didn’t realize was that she was leaking all the information about
my marriage to our friend-​circle, and worst of all, to my sister-​in-​law
[husband’s younger brother’s wife] who is very tez [cunning]. I really
did not expect that she would tell everything to her. This was a breach
of trust. I thought of her (Rani) as a friend, my friend, not just a (cousin)
sister-​in-​law. [. . .] My brother-​in-​law and his wife used this information
against us because they instigated my father-​in-​law against my husband
222 Parul Bhandari
saying that he is not a responsible man and should not be given a share
in property. [. . .] One time, my father-​in-​law also yelled at my husband
and said something like ‘you can’t even keep manage a marriage’. That
day my husband and I had a huge fight and in anger, I went to stay with
my parents for a few days. [. . .] All this drama was causing so much
stress. Eventually, my husband and I moved out of the joint household
and have our own house. [. . .] I can no longer be friends with Rani.

Surbhi blamed herself for being naïve to not be able to see through Rani’s
intentions. In hindsight, she said, she was convinced that Rani was being
nice to her only to gain her trust so that Surbhi would confide in her and
then she could pass on the information; after all, Rani is not the ‘real’
sister. Surbhi explained that her father-​in-​law and Rani’s father were
jointly involved in a family business, which they amicably split recently.
Yet, there is a latent competition between the two families. Surbhi is of the
opinion that Rani’s family secretly wishes to see that her husband and his
brothers feud over property and business and part ways. This was a shock
for her because earlier she genuinely believed them to be close friends.
She said, ‘I really cannot imagine someone who claimed to be my friend,
who would meet me almost twice every week, to betray me like this. It’s
just so nasty.’
This rift also caused both the families to stop interacting with each
other. She added, ‘When my family realized that Rani was instigating
these fights, they decided to cut-​off [from Rani’s family]. My in-​laws are
no longer on talking terms with Rani and her father’s family. We are civil
when we see them at family events but it’s not the same.’
I met Esha, after my interview with Surbhi, and she had more informa-
tion on this split between Surbhi and Rani. While sharing high-​society
grapevine on extra marital affairs, Esha mentioned that Surbhi’s husband
was into drugs and was having an affair with his friend’s wife. Surbhi
had caught them red-​handed, and this just in the first year of their mar-
riage. In a moment of weakness, she shared this with Rani, whom she
considered as a friend and not a nanand (husband’s sister), added Esha,
and Rani betrayed Surbhi’s trust by telling this to Surbhi’s sister-​in-​law
[husband’s younger brother’s wife], who shared this with other family
members. Since then, Surbhi and Rani fell out, and this caused a rift in
the friend circle too. While the friends are in touch with Rani, they do not
 Locating Friendship in Family 223
invite her to the same events as Surbhi. Esha added, ‘We prefer Surbhi.
Poor thing, she has been through a lot that too at a very young age.’

‘She Stopped Me from Getting a Good Rishta (Proposal)’

Matchmaking is a very common and popular topic of discussion among

the elite women of Delhi and the social networks of women are the most
ripe spaces to circulate biodatas of prospective brides and grooms.9
Throughout my fieldwork, I have collected several stories of match-
makings gone wrong where at times, ‘good’ proposals were sabotaged
by one’s family, kin members, and this, understandably, causes a break-
down of ties between family members, and as in the following case,
kin-​friends. One such incident is of Preeti, where it was her cousin and
childhood best friend, who sabotaged a lucrative marriage offer. I got to
know Preeti through another circle of kitty party, and while Preeti never
spoke to me about this, her sister-​in-​law [elder brother’s wife], Amrita,
discussed this incident with me. Aged thirty-​four, Amrita, mother of a
two-​year-​old boy, is warm and gregarious. She lives with her in-​laws at
a farmhouse in Chhatarpur, and until recently, her husband’s younger
sister, Preeti, aged thirty-​one, was also living with them. A few months
after Amrita’s marriage, her in-​laws began to look for a suitable groom
for Preeti (aged twenty-​six) for which they hired one of Delhi’s reputed
matrimonial brokers. This broker brought a real estate mogul’s son’s pro-
posal for Preeti. Amrita said that her in-​laws were thrilled at this pro-
posal. The first meeting between Preeti and the prospective groom was
held at a restaurant in a five-​star hotel. Preeti was accompanied by her
parents, brother, and Amrita, and the prospective groom came with his
grandfather (the patriarch of the family) and parents. Amrita thought
the meeting was a ‘hit’ especially because the prospective groom’s grand-
father seemed to approve of Preeti. It was suggested that Preeti and the
prospective groom meet a few more times to get to know each other.
Amrita said,

Everyone in our family was super excited about this rishta [proposal].
They said I have brought good luck to the family because Preeti wasn’t
receiving such good rishtas before. Papa [father-​in-​law] was so happy
224 Parul Bhandari
that he already started looking at dates and venues and told tauji [father-​
in-​law’s elder brother] and his family. At that time, we were all living to-
gether in New Friends Colony. Tauji’s family and my husband’s family
were very close. Tauji has two children, and all four kids [husband and
Preeti] grew up together. Preeti was very close to their daughter, Ritika,
who is seven years elder to her.

Amrita further shared that after Preeti and the prospective groom
met two more times, he told her that his grandfather would phone to
finalize everything; however, they never received a call from them.
Preeti’s father was anxious at the silence and asked the matchmaker to
find out more. The matchmaker said that the grandfather had taken ill,
but it was clear that this was an excuse. Finally, after a few days, the
grandfather called to say that his grandson did not like Preeti. Preeti
was heartbroken because she was certain that their meetings went well.
Preeti’s family was convinced that someone had sabotaged this pro-
posal. Amrita said,

Papa [father-​in-​law] went into depression and lost five to six kilos!
Later on, the broker [matchmaker] informed us that he had heard that
someone from our family had sent a message to the boy’s grandfather
that Preeti was not a good girl; that she drinks, smokes, and goes club-
bing. Honestly, this is all lies. Preeti does none of this. We knew that it
had to be someone whose opinion will be taken seriously by the groom’s
family. It had to be someone close. We tried to find out who it could
be and though we did not have evidence, it seemed that it was Ritika.
Ritika’s mother-​in-​law is well-​known to the prospective groom’s family.
[. . .] The thing is even if it was not Ritika herself but her mother-​in-​law
who went and spoke to the boy’s grandfather, it is not possible that she
would do this without Ritika’s knowledge.

Amrita explained that Preeti was very hurt by this because she con-
sidered Ritika more than a sister; she was Preeti’s confidante since
childhood and thought of her to be a close friend. In fact, Preeti has
never missed a single ‘function’ (event), lunch or gathering hosted by
Ritika. She added, ‘It’s so sad that someone who you think is your friend
can be so jealous of you and not want you to be happy.’
 Locating Friendship in Family 225
At the time of this proposal, the two brothers (Preeti and Ritika’s fathers)
were living in one house. However, when this proposal fell through,
Preeti’s father decided to move out of the joint setting into a farmhouse.
They did not attribute the move to this incident and simply used the ex-
cuse that as their families were expanding, they needed more space. The
two families continue to be cordial to each other, but the relations were
not the same as before. They do not visit each other as often, and after
this incident, Amrita and Preeti have become close to each other, and see
each other more as friends, while the relationship between Preeti and
Ritika has taken a backseat.

The Interplay between Friendship and Kinship

In this chapter, I explain how family and kinship intersect and overlap
with each other, in the context of women’s kin relations and how, what
I call, a kin–​friend relationship is formed and what its characteristics
are. The aim is not to argue if and how kinship relations are subsumed
by friendship. Rather, I ask, how these come together and in what con-
text. As I found out, the context is particularly ripe for two sets of kin
relations: between an incoming woman kin member (daughter-​in-​law)
and the daughter of that family (a cousin, not ‘real’ sibling of husband),
and between two cousin sisters, whose relationship transforms especially
once they marry, breeding competition and caution. This is not to say
that friendships can only be fostered between these specific categories
of kin relations, nonetheless there is a specific element of trust between
these relations, which, for example, is not found with a mother-​in-​law,
for her interests might be at odds with the incoming female member.10
Nor is this trust easily established with the husband’s brother’s wife
(sister-​in-​law), who is increasingly seen as more of a threat in the con-
text of her legal rights to her in laws’ property. It is in this situation that a
cousin of the husband emerges as a good compromise, as it were, where
there is both distance and closeness. The husband’s cousin sister is dis-
tant enough to not have direct stakes in the immediate family, yet she is
embedded in the family to understand the specific family dynamics and
can therefore advice or support appropriately. Therefore, this kin relation
seems most amenable and helpful to establish a friendship.
226 Parul Bhandari
Significantly, this desire of friendship also highlights the need that
women feel to find allies and support in their ‘new’ family. In forging
these friendships, women are in a way extending the familiarity of their
natal family to their husband’s family. When they form this trusted bond
with someone from their husband’s family, their natal family too is re-
lieved and not as stressed thinking of their daughter’s wellbeing because
they are convinced that there is someone trustworthy in the new family
who will extend support to their daughter. The women then relate to
each other in their kin networks beyond the structures of descent and
marriage and create another form of relationship based on sentiments of
friendship.
The other key theme that this chapter has explored is how exactly
these friendships are forged and who a good kin-​friend is. I have argued
that friendship is produced and affirmed through the shared practices
of negotiating family dynamics and keeping each other’s confidence by
way of not leaking secrets. This requires an added layer of trust and being
able to relate to each other not simply due to one’s kin position but be-
cause of love and care. In these situations, a good kin is one who is able
to go beyond their kin role and lend support and not break confidence
by loose talk or telling secrets to other. Significantly, unlike relations
within kinship structures, these friendships are based on a relationship of
equality, even though the kin roles of the two women might be asymmet-
rical. Of course, this is not to say that there are no asymmetrical dynamics
or hierarchies within these friendships. Rather, that at least in principle
no asymmetry is assumed or codified in these friendships as might be
the case with a purely kin relation (for example, between an elder and
younger sister-​in-​law). It is this superimposition of a sense of equanimity
on an otherwise hierarchical or asymmetrical order, which makes these
relations feel more as friendships than kin relations and make for a good
kin-​friend.
It is to be reiterated that friendships are also fractured, and this chapter
has revealed how these friendships are not sagas of unbridled happiness
and support. There exists jealousy and envy, which at times leads to acts
of betrayals that completely break down relations leaving little room of
reconciliation. Significantly, any fracture in this relationship not only af-
fects the two women but their families and impacts kin dynamics. Indeed,
the injuries of friendship in the context of kinship are more difficult to
 Locating Friendship in Family 227
overcome than friendships established outside the kin web, for with the
latter a complete neat break may be easier. As one woman said succinctly,
‘These friendships are not like a WhatsApp group that you can just exit.
Imagine, trying to exit a family WhatsApp group. It is nearly impossible.’
Women’s friendships within the web of kinship, then, is that much more
complicated and fragile as it is liberating and supportive. It is equally in-
tense and empowering, allowing women to find allies in family politics
and dynamics, while also risking the peace and honour of their family, for
if trust is broken, it impacts not just the two individuals involved but their
families. For all its vulnerabilities and complicated dynamics, friendships
within kin groups are fostered around ability to keep secrets and provide
guidance on how to navigate kin relations, and these friendships have
provided women with support and a sense of natal family-​like familiarity.
Therefore, these relationships are interesting to study not only from the
perspective of kinship studies but also from the lens of a growing body of
work on friendship in the Indian context.

Notes
1. Select films on this theme include: Chaudhvi Ka Chand (‘Moon of the Fourteenth
Day’), 1960; Har Dil Jo Pyaar Karega (‘Every Heart that Will Love’), 2000; Main
Prem ki Deewani hoon (‘I Am Crazy about Love’), 2003.
2. This is in contrast with Dyson’s work, where she notes that friendship between
girls can break due to family feuds (2010, 492).
3. This work now appears as Money, Culture, Class: Elite Women as Modern Subjects
(2019).
4. Kitty party can be defined as a group of women who meet for leisure purposes ei-
ther monthly or bi-​monthly. The basic idea is that they all contribute a set amount
to a ‘kitty’, and whoever draws the lot at the end of a set time period (three months,
six months), gets the lump sum. This amount can be used to spend on a social
event for the kitty group members. It’s an important mode of socialization for
women and is a phenomenon across classes. See Bhandari (2016); Biraia (2011);
Pant (2016); Waldrop (2011).
5. All names of interviewees have been anonymized, and I use pseudonyms instead.
6. Delhi’s rich have moved houses to sprawling farmhouses right at the outskirt of
the city, bordering Gurugram, a city in Haryana. See Bhandari (2023).
7. Scholarship has noted how son preference has impacted the dynamics of family,
marriage, and kinship, especially in North India. See Kaur (2016); Larsen and
Kaur (2013); Patel (2007).
228 Parul Bhandari
8. Organizing meetings/​interviews with elite women was not always my preroga-
tive. I could, at best, request to see them but they were in charge of deciding when
I would be allowed to their gatherings.
9. For a discussion on biodata and matchmaking, see Bhandari (2020) and
Majumdar (2004).
10. For a better understanding of the complicated mother-​son relationship, see Das
(1976).

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 8
Spilt Blood
Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence

Soibam Haripriya

In this chapter, I attempt to understand how in contexts of prolonged

political conflict and violence, intimate relationships of kinship and
friendship are inflected such that continuous negotiation with trust
and scepticism becomes foundational to these relationships. I attempt
to place friendship and kinship in this very scepticism that sometimes
also translates into suspicion. I trace this suspicion to the working of the
Armed Forces Special Powers Act, 1958 (hereinafter AFSPA) in Manipur.
Extrapolating from several studies such as that of Kapur, 2013; Roy, 2013;
Zia, 2020, I argue for the elusiveness of the idea of patriarchal protection
that families provide against the violence of the outside. The most ‘or-
dinary’ of kin relations wherein one expects patriarchal protection of the
domestic from the world at large is not a given, especially in disturbed
areas and spaces of violence. Employing conflict as the larger framework,
within which friendship breaks down and kinship based on notions of
shared blood transforms into spilt blood, I argue that AFSPA radically
changes and/​or marginalizes the space of relations of friendship and
family. The glorification of the heterosexual family as a sacrosanct unit
of the nation-​state falls short in sites declared ‘disturbed areas’ by state
laws. Foregrounding the state as a site of power, therefore, I interrogate
the consequences of living in sites of violence on family, kin relationships,
and friendships. For this, I take recourse to texts from other sites under
AFSPA as well as my fieldwork in Manipur.
Until recently social anthropology has looked at friendship as a ‘re-
sidual category’, lower in hierarchy as compared to kinship. Defining who
is a friend, or what it means to be a friend, is difficult due to the ambiguity

Soibam Haripriya, Spilt Blood In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press.
© Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0009
232 Soibam Haripriya
of the category of friendship. Many anthropologists have written on the
functional similarity of kinship and friendship (Allan, 1979; Ghurye,
1953; Weston, 1997). ‘Friendship in developmental history, in psycho-
logical analysis and in social fact, is an extension of the relationship
within the family circle’ (Ghurye, 1953, 148). One of the classic works in
sociology, Whyte’s Street Corner Society (1943), is not categorized as an
ethnography of friendship, though the ‘corner boys’ certainly were organ-
ized along peer group friendships, reciprocity, and mutual obligations.
For Desai and Killick (2010) ‘friendship is interesting precisely because
it evades definition: the way in which friendship acts to express fixity and
fluidity in diverse social worlds is exciting and problematic for the people
that practice friendships and the social scientists that study it’ (2010, 1).
Friendship as a way of relating cannot escape comparison to kinship.
Drawing from classical Indian thought, Bhikhu Parekh places friendship
at par with kinship. ‘A close friend is a brother; one not so close is like a
brother. In either case, friendship is assimilated into kinship. At its best,
friendship—​a purely voluntary relationship—​acquires the thickness of
blood and the solidity of natural ties. A friend is an adopted member of
the family. He shares food with the family, an important privilege in a
caste society with its rigid taboos’ (Parekh, 2008, 155). For Parekh, Indian
thinkers ‘conceptualized friendships in familial terms’ (2008, 155).
Parekh’s work points to the practices of close friends being incorporated
into kin relations—​friends as members of the family, to the extent that
rigid caste observations that prohibit eating together/​sharing food are
subverted. Thus, ‘friendship is familialized’ (2008, 161). A strict distinc-
tion between kinship, as formalized, socially, and legally legible fixed re-
lations, and friendship as voluntary, informal, and thereby ambiguous is
therefore not necessarily tenable.
In the context of my study, this is something that becomes evi-
dent when we look at some of the terms in Meiteilon (the language of
the meiteis and the official language of Manipur). The three terms that
are used to refer to friends—​E-​tao (gender neutral), E-​manaba (ba: the
male suffix), E-​manabi (bi: female suffix)—​are not very different from
kinship terms that use the prefix Ee. This prefix, as used in Ee-​manaba,
Ee-​manabi, Ee-​tao, signifies blood; manaba/​bi signifies sameness/​like-
ness. The equation of sameness of the blood of the self with that of friend-
ship places friendship on par with kinship. Usage of kin-​like terminology
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 233
suggests a kin-​like relatedness, the inevitability of the sameness of blood.
Other more formal terms such as marup refer to friends but the word
most commonly in circulation is E-​mannaba (ba: the male suffix) and
E-​mannabi (bi-​female suffix).
This kin-​like closeness of friendship gets an added inflection in the
highly militarized context of AFSPA in operation in the states of northeast
India as both friendship and kin relations face increasing state surveil-
lance. Works on kinship and friendship in such a field need to foreground
the law and the military–​administrative nexus through which these rela-
tions are governed. State regulation of friendship engenders mutual sus-
picion and betrayal by shifting the way in which mutual social obligations
are organized. This is not to suggest that mistrust is specific to friendships
fostered in this context. ‘Yet both trust and mistrust can co-​exist in friend-
ship relations . . . maybe because people distinguish several dimensions in
their relationships’ (Volker, 2019, 122). This chapter focuses on how state
practices further accentuate this ever-​present aspect of intimate relation-
ships such as friendship. I should add that in this chapter, I emphasize
friendships of male youth as their encounters with the state in the form
that I talk about are more pronounced than that of women. Young men
are thought to be more at risk of violence from the state as well as a more
risky population for the state and therefore are subject to surveillance in a
particular way. For women, the threat of violence is articulated as the risk
of sexual assault by the state forces and non-​state armed groups, and the
escalation in incidences of domestic violence due to the context of polit-
ical instability. Documentation of the same gets further emphasized as
opposed to other aspects and consequences of protracted violence1 (Das,
1995; David et al., 2017; Kipgen, 2023; North East Network, 2004; Tol
et al., 2013). Citing concerns for their safety, women’s mobility is more
restricted and their relationships are subjected to a different kind of scru-
tiny as opposed to that of men. Therefore, how young men and women
conduct their friendships is quite different in the given circumstances
and this chapter only focuses on men’s relationships.
A brief discussion of AFSPA in Manipur as one of the primary tools of
governance is necessary considering that my argument is centred on the
assumption that the context of militarization leads to a specificity in the
conduct of friendships. Exploring violence and practices of punishment
in the context of the state in twentieth-​century India, Taylor Sherman
234 Soibam Haripriya
developed the concept of ‘coercive network . . . to understand the inter-
connected institutions, laws, and practices that made up the state’s co-
ercive repertoire’ (Sherman, 2010, 1). The state is constructed and
constituted by its everyday practices. Disciplining the population and
reiterating its authority through processes that order space and time is
part of the everyday processes of the state. This also includes acts of cor-
ruption and coercion (Sherman, 2010). It is useful to understand AFSPA
as a law but also as a part of a coercive network that assembles into what
Baruah calls the ‘AFSPA regime’ (2020, 53). Manipur is one of the states
that comprise the northeast region of India, where the coercive repertoire
of the state is evident. The kin catchphrase ‘Seven Sisters’, originating in
the 1970s through which the region continues to be known, was coined
to unite the region as well as caution against the threat of dismembering
the nation-​state into separate constituents (Barbora, 2016).
Born at a time when new states were carved out by reorganizing the
state of Assam, Dowdy observed that the term ‘was presumably meant
to encourage coalition-​building among the newly born federated states
of the so-​called Northeast’ (Dowdy, 2022, 2). Dowdy examines this term
of siblingship as placing the northeast states in a daughter position vis-​à-​
vis ‘national kinship’—​which he uses to mean ‘the filial idioms through
which political belonging and mutual dwellings/​destinies are symbol-
ized, and how they organize latent assumptions about how one can and
should relate to others within the fait accompli of nationalized space’
(2022, 1). If the ‘daughter position’ with reference to national kinship is
one aspect of the state (given its location in the region), that of being de-
fined as a ‘disturbed area’ under the Disturbed Areas (Special Courts) Act,
1976 where AFSPA is operative gives this offspring an errant status. The
special powers given to the Armed Forces stationed in disturbed areas
under the AFSPA include the use of force ‘even to the causing of death,
against any person who is acting in contravention of any law or order for
the time being in force in the disturbed area’ and ‘arrest, without warrant,
any person who has committed a cognizable offence or against whom a
reasonable suspicion exists that he has committed or is about to commit a
cognizable offence and may use such force as may be necessary to effect
the arrest’ (Section 4, AFSPA, emphasis mine). It is one of the few laws
under which one can be apprehended or killed before one has committed
a cognizable offence. This law operates on the premise of suspicion rather
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 235
than guilt. The ‘seven sisters’ are in a relationship of kin hierarchy vis-​
à-​vis ‘national kinship’ and ‘have come to accommodate and absorb the
nation’s sexual, economic, geopolitical, militaristic, and increasingly
racialized anxieties and desires’ (Dowdy, 2022, 2). Given this context
of gendered belonging to the nation-​state, I look at the impact of state-​
engendered violence, and its coercive repertoire that includes the threat
of death manifested in relations of friendship and kinship in Manipur,
drawing similarities with other such sites of state-​engendered violence.
I do this through three sections in the chapter: in the first section,
‘Performing Familial Care’, I draw from secondary literature to look at the
repercussions of state surveillance on families to argue that familial ex-
pressions of care are at times performed under threat of torture and other
forms of violence. In the second section, ‘News of a Beloved Friend’, I take
recourse to fiction to underscore the precarity of friendship in this con-
flict zone. Using this interdisciplinary approach, I argue that fiction can
help capture how state laws are experienced in the realm of friendship.
In the third section, ‘Scheme-​ing Violence’, I analyse how rehabilitation
schemes for ‘militants in the North East’ pan out for youth caught in the
web of surrender drama and the wilful framing of male youths as primary
recruits to ‘militant outfits’. Through these three sections, I argue for an
understanding of friendship and kinship that moves from shared blood
to spilt blood. Overall, the chapter is concerned with examining the cor-
rosive effect of prolonged conflict on friendship and kinship.

Performing Familial Care

Care is a gendered role that is culturally experienced and performed. It is

a complex concept that is impacted by social and structural relationships
outside of the immediate setting of the family (Buch, 2015; England,
2005; Neetha, 2010). Differences such as that of caste, ethnicity, and the
larger context mark the way the role of caring is performed. ‘Care can
be a part of formal, loving, professional and friendship relationships.
It is fundamental to who we are and how we are viewed in both public
and private spheres of life’ (Phillips, 2007, 1). As Kumkum Sangari ar-
gues, in the context of social reproduction ‘the borders between the in-
sides and outsides of families are somewhat illusory’. Similarly, as care
236 Soibam Haripriya
(and welfare) are socially produced and performed in the context of a
patriarchal-​military regime the boundaries of family get entangled and
‘relentlessly erode the home as a safe and separable place’ (Sangari, this
volume, p. 103). At times ordinary acts of care need to be carried out
overlooking minor incidents of skirmishes with the state. Families find
themselves under the radar of suspicion by association and by extension,
entire families get targeted. I argue that familial care is performed at the
risk of suspicion of complicity or even death. In the following anecdote,
I illustrate how this co-​constitutes a coming-​of-​age moment for young
men living in such sites.
A friend of mine from Imphal narrated this story of coming back late at
night during the mid to late 1990s from a festive occasion as a young adult
with a group of friends from the same locality. They were stopped by the
police. When interrogated, their youthful brashness elicited flippant re-
sponses, because of which they were beaten up—​lashes on their calves
and buttocks. On reaching home and narrating the incident, the elders
responded to the situation with a statement: Phare noi laiming loure (It
is okay, your laming louba has happened). Among the Meiteis, Laiming
Louba is a rite of passage after which one enters the world of adulthood.
Though seemingly jocular, the elders’ statement suggests that, in a situ-
ation of political instability, with the inevitability of adulthood comes
the inevitability of confrontation with security forces (the army or the
police). So much so that confrontation with the security forces is itself
understood as a rite of passage through which boys become men. The
elders’ response implies the impossibility of families and kin protecting
the youth from state violence. ‘Thus family formation falls within the
purview of the state; its economic policies and legal instruments shape
the familial domain’ (Sangari, this volume, pp. 75–76). In the absence
of recourse against state violence, care translates as asking the youth to
be careful or to laugh off incidents of state violence regarded as minor
transgression.
In fact, rather than families and kin protecting one from state vio-
lence, it is possible that the very fact of being kin makes one susceptible
to violence. This is exemplified by the phase marked by ‘secret killings’
in another ‘disturbed area’—​A ssam. According to Baishya (2018) ‘the
term “secret killings” refers to a spate of extra-​judicial killings between
1998 and 2002 that targeted mainly militants, kinsfolk and suspected
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 237
sympathizers of the militant organization United Liberation Front of
Assam (ULFA)’ (2018, 15). During the phase of the secret killings in
Assam, family members were used by the state to pressurize ULFA mem-
bers to surrender, failing which entire families were murdered by death
squads, so much so that even the report of a state-​appointed commis-
sion termed the killings as ‘ulfocide’. The KN Saikia Commission set up
in 2005 to probe into the Secret Killings (1998–​2002) coined this term
to refer to the state conspiracy of killing family members of ULFA for
their failure to convince the ULFA member to surrender. The possibility
of extra-​judicial execution of family members of suspected militants re-
veals that the legitimacy of the family as a sacrosanct unit of society is
no longer tenable. The state gives legitimacy to the institution of family;
likewise, fear of the disintegration of the nation-​state can make the state
target the family as a microcosm of the larger ‘ills’ that ails society. Based
on my fieldwork at Nongmaikhong village, (one of the villages affected
by Operation Summer Storm) in 2011, about two years after the military
operation (see The Sangai Express, 2009), I found that the villagers had
not known about the operation. They had taken the presence of security
forces to be part of regular patrolling. Only when the firing and bombing
started did they realize that it was a counterinsurgency operation.
Nongmaikhong is a fishing village; many villagers have their ponds.
During the operations, arms and ammunition were put in gunny bags
and thrown into these ponds by the non-​state armed groups. After the
operation, villagers were interrogated for arms and ammunition found
on their property.
What is of significance for us here is that, as part of this operation, a
twelve-​year-​old girl was arrested by a combined force of Assam Rifles and
Manipur Police commandos on 14 August 2009. The police were looking
for her parents after a member of the Revolutionary People’s Front, one
of the many armed groups in Manipur, who had hidden ammunition
in their pond was caught. After he revealed the whereabouts of hidden
arms, the girl’s parents were accused of associating with armed cadres.
She was kept in police custody for five days to coerce her parents to sur-
render. At the same time, the family also started receiving threatening
calls from non-​state militant groups, warning them that the entire family
would be killed in case her parents surrendered. However, they surren-
dered after the sixth day of the police commandos stationed in the house.
238 Soibam Haripriya
The mother was put in Central Jail, Imphal, and the father in Sajiwa Jail,
Imphal for about three months each.
While it is difficult to gauge the deep impact that this incident has had
on the relations within the family and on the twelve-​year-​old girl, the fact
that the parents were forced into hiding, leaving the children behind,
speaks of the vulnerability of both, parents as well as the children. In such
a scenario, the grandparents usually take over the parenting responsi-
bility and protection. In this context, a simple familial act of protecting a
child means coming into the purview of the state. The girl’s grandmother
forced the state forces to take her into police custody, stating that if her
granddaughter was to be apprehended, she should also be taken along.
The fear of what would happen to their daughter in custody made the
parents finally surrender to the state forces despite threats from the non-​
state armed cadres. It thus seems that in ‘disturbed areas’ familial rela-
tionships are also fostered, and familial care is expressed in the face of the
threat to life. To care for one’s kin and to protect them is therefore to make
oneself vulnerable as illustrated by the actions of the young girl’s parents
and grandmother. Care work in disturbed areas means risking suspicion
or worse still, caring for one’s kin can result in torture or death.

News of a Beloved Friend

In this section, I take another approach to elaborating my argument.

In the context of violence, many social and political realities cannot be
recuperated in their entirety. In my article (Soibam, 2022), ‘Fraught
Fields: Doing Sociology in Violent Times’, I argue for an interdiscip-
linary approach, one that supplements field narratives by incorporating
poetry and fiction. In field sites of violence, the most important field vi-
gnettes remain outside of the writing-​up process due to reasons of safe-
guarding identity as well as for the fact that many of the stories are shared
in an understanding of confidentiality even if not stated overtly. Thus, in
‘fieldwork under fire’, representing the factual contents of ethnography
through fiction could be one of the methodological routes, especially
when the lives of informants depend on, and are endangered by what fac-
tual details are revealed. As Baishya argues, ‘literary narratives can play a
bigger role in such inquiries on the everyday in states of terror, especially
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 239
in a knowledge-​field like Northeast Indian studies that is dominated by
social sciences. Literary works impel us to readjust the scales of observa-
tion and analysis and to descend into and probe the minutiae of everyday
life’ (Baishya, 2019, 23). Several scholars have used such sources in
writing about conflict (Baishya, 2013, 2018; Kashyap, 2012; Matta, 2017;
Soibam, 2022).
Focusing on the genre of short stories emanating from sites of vio-
lence I explore the possibility of capturing how the state laws are lived
and experienced through friendship and kin relations. I do this through
Sudhiranjan Moirangthem’s (2004) short story titled Nungshiraba
Marupki Mapao (News of a Beloved Friend).2 Aruna (2008) has categor-
ized Manipuri short stories into four stages, the last being that of ‘The
Age of Meirik’—​1970 to the present. She derives the name Meirik (trans-
lated as Sparks) from a literary journal that stalwarts of Manipuri lit-
erature, such as Shri Biren, Yumlembam Ibomcha, and Nongthombam
Kunjamohan came together to publish. Their manifesto envisages the
task of writing short stories and sees it as a reflection of social changes
Aruna (2008). This provides further justification for the usage of such a
source for social scientific purposes. Moirangthem’s short stories collec-
tion can be aptly described by the categorization ‘age of meirik’. The short
story taken for discussion here demonstrates negotiations with trust and
mistrust that characterize friendships fostered in situations of prolonged
conflict. It shows how the custodial and legal apparatus of the state per-
colates down to the everyday, affecting not only families and family for-
mations but also other forms of relating, friendships being one of them.
It will be useful to briefly summarize the story here. In this story, the
unnamed protagonist is picked up by the state forces and is asked to
name his friends. He is released from custody after he gives the names
of his friends. The protagonist does not give much thought to his act of
naming his friends; however, when he meets another friend and apolo-
gizes for having given his name during interrogation, the reason for his
arrest suddenly becomes clear to him. Fearing the safety of his friend
Jeevan, he goes to warn him (though not revealing to Jeevan that he has
given his name during the interrogation). Jeevan laughs off the warning
and responds that no one can be caught and taken into custody for no
reason. He states that he need not worry on that count. The protagonist,
hurt by Jeevan’s remark, asks him: ‘So, there must be a reason that they
240 Soibam Haripriya
detained me as well?’ To which Jeevan replies in affirmative. In the later
part of the story, Jeevan is shot at on the imputation of being a police in-
former. He was involved in a small business of buying things from the po-
lice canteen and selling them in retail. The protagonist is surprised that
this violence happened to Jeevan who maintained that no one could be
under the radar of suspicion without any reason. Days after the protag-
onist is released from custody, he also hears rumours that he has been
killed (implying that he was killed by the state forces); versions of the ru-
mour suggest that the killed young man shared his name. The short story
ends with the protagonist contemplating on a sleepless night about his
fear of receiving such news about his beloved friends.
To be acknowledged as a friend in the process of interrogation might
be read as not a recognition of friendship but rather that of betrayal. In
the same vein denying friendships might be read as loyalty. In telling
this story of friendship, Sudhiranjan Moirangthem problematizes the
category of friendship itself. This is not to say that the relationship of
friendship is in crisis, but it puts into question a socio-​political forma-
tion wherein the network of friendships threatens life itself. One can be
arrested by association or coerced to become an informant or be killed
as one finds oneself in a web of suspicion by association. Friendship does
not stand apart from the larger context within which it locates itself: ‘in
certain and untrustworthy totalitarian institutional settings, people are
wary regarding whom to trust and whom to befriend’ (Volker, 2019, 122).
For instance, when the protagonist hears many versions of his detention
and torture, he asks himself, Thajasi kadai, thajaroisi kadai (‘to trust or
not to trust?)’.
Some time after the protagonist was released from custody, he heard
the news of his own death. Contrary to one’s death being an event in
someone else’s life, in sites of violence your death can become an event in
your own life; one can die many times as well. The protagonist laughs ab-
surdly hearing the news of his death. His curiosity brings him to the mor-
tuary to see his corpse –​the corpse was bullet-​ridden wearing combat
attire. The protagonist thought of the many men who had disappeared
wearing their everyday clothes but mysteriously seemed to change into
combat attire when dead. He mulls over the identity of this other he who
had died—​tortured and shot? The story implies that the person who was
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 241
killed shares the same name as the protagonist which leads the protag-
onist to think about his multiple names:

As for names, he has many. How many names does he have? With how
much love had those names been given to him! His grandfather called
him by one name, his grandmother by another, his aunts yet another.
On top of that, his birth chart given name, the locality, and the name on
his certificate. Many. That he is called by those many names according
to who is addressing him, isn’t that a sign of their love for him? At that
time, he used to think—​so many loved him dearly.
(Moirangthem, 2004, 83, translation mine)

For the state, multiple names suggest a lack of legibility, the subject be-
comes unknowable, moving between multiple names as it were. This
same gaze of legibility is turned inward. An oft-​repeated phrase (in which
context?)—​A lias pu yaamadi soidre (‘if one has many aliases, it is sure’)—​
encapsulates this. The phrase suggests that if one has multiple names, it is
sure that one is a suspicious character. It speaks of the practice of multiple
names that one gives to one’s kin and yet one is made to look at one’s prac-
tice with suspicion, suggesting that the overarching climate of fear trans-
forms the ways in which we look at each other through the lens of the
state. Contemplating on his multiple names brought forth by the death
of his namesake, the protagonist asks himself: in what process of inter-
rogation, acknowledgment, or betrayal of which friend has his namesake
lost his life? Whose friend, was he? Many of the informal names (as op-
posed to the formal ones colloquially called certificate names) are similar.
Therefore, there is a strong likelihood of finding another person with the
same name. The consequences of the innocuous coincidence of similar
informal names combined with tortured men blabbering out names of
‘friends’ during interrogation are life-​threatening. This is not something
evident only in ‘disturbed areas’. In the article ‘Muslim Mothers in the
Times of Terror’, Rumman Hameed (2016) describes how political cli-
mate transforms friendships. Muslim mothers fear their son’s friendships
with those within the same religious community carrying overt markers
of religion. Fearing their son’s association with cousins and friends, they
pay attention to the people they are befriending so that their sons’ names
will not be uttered when anyone suspicious is picked up and interrogated
242 Soibam Haripriya
by the police. Just as family formations fall within the purview of the state,
one can argue that the state likewise, though less directly, controls friend-
ships through the production of vulnerabilities and fear.

Scheming Violence

Sangari argues that ‘Violence does not sit obediently in a separate com-
partment or segregated place’ (this volume, p. 103). I explore this en-
tanglement of the violence of the outsides to that of the insides, enmeshing
state violence with that of familial and kin relations. This section points to
the manifestation of the state and its policies in the lives of young people
caught in the web of ‘surrender drama’ when friends isolate them for fear
of the gaze of both the state security forces and the non-​state.
Das’s (2013) work on violence foregrounds the corrosive effect of pro-
longed conflicts on everyday life. She demonstrates ‘how the category of
violence absorbed violent acts both against an enemy other and against
intimate others’ (2013, 798). Her work examines the delicate making of
relations post-​partition where ‘constant allusions to betrayal of trust, in-
fidelities, and the failure to live up to the high moral ideals of kinship
solidarity’ was part of the aesthetic of kinship (Das, 2007, 10). Such acts
were not spoken but were always at the edges of conversation. In her
work on friendship, Dungey (2019), who draws from Meinert’s concept
of ‘tricky trust’ among young people growing up in Uganda in a period of
instability, describes ‘distrust as a productive analytical starting point in
contexts . . . where a community has experienced prolonged and painful
war, instability and conflict’ (2019, 51). Her work on how negotiation
with trust and mistrust frames friendship in a context of post-​conflict in-
stability is useful especially as it is material insecurity that underlines why
schemes for the rehabilitation of militants get transformed into viable
employment opportunities for youth in Manipur.
Nongkynrih (2009) has argued that unemployment is one of the major
problems of youth in the northeast. He makes an interesting proposition
that, on the one hand, there is no government support for youth looking
for productive and gainful employment; the few existing employment
opportunities are negotiated through networks of nepotism and cor-
ruption. On the other hand, ‘the government has created “employment
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 243
packages” for rehabilitating those youths who had “surrendered before
the authority” after being in the insurgent movements’ (2009, 373).
Nongkynrih states that the opinion of community leaders is that such a
posturing from the side of the government would lead the youth ‘to think
and act differently to enjoy the benefits of such “employment packages” ’
(2009, 373). By act differently, the community leaders are suggesting that
youths might be tempted to avail the rehabilitation scheme as an em-
ployment opportunity. The immediate relationship drawn between un-
employment and militancy means that unemployed youth are looked
upon as troublesome figures. The young men without gainful employ-
ment in ‘News of a Beloved Friend’ fall in this category of troubled and
troublesome figures, one who is immediately seen through the gaze of
suspicion. I analyse a surrender drama in the context of a ‘Scheme for
Surrendering-​cum Rehabilitation of Militants in the Northeast’ to under-
stand not only how violence is anticipated as the only possible avenue
of youth but also how the state makes its presence felt through acts of
corruption. Indeed, corruption becomes one of the state’s coercive rep-
ertoires. Such schemes also become ways wherein betrayals, mistrust or
even explicit harm become part of friendships and kinship, creating an
ever-​widening circle of suspicion.
On 10 January 2013, local news reported that seven youths of Heirok
Part II (Thoubal district in Manipur) were taken to the camp of 42 Assam
Rifles by a woman Sagolsem Ongbi Purnima, on the pretext of giving
them jobs. In the camp, they were forced to sign a surrender document
embossed with the word ‘KYKL-​MDF’ (Kanglei Yawol Kunna Lup—​
Military Defence Force3). The youth were promised a monthly sum of
Rs 4000 to join the army ‘in the name of “KYKL-​MDF” (see The Sangai
Express, 2013a and also Imphal Free Press, 2018) and an additional sum
of Rs 2.5 lakhs a few months after their “recruitment” ’. The youth re-
vealed in a meeting with the media that it was only on repeated insist-
ence to be released from the camp that they were allowed to go back to
their respective families. This led to some scepticism as to whether the
youth would have been released by the paramilitary at all in the given cir-
cumstances without any tacit agreement. This ‘surrender drama’ led the
Revolutionary People’s Front (RPF), a non-​state armed group, to release
a statement warning and advising parents of youths ‘not to fall prey to
such surrender dramas or let their children trapped by false promises of
244 Soibam Haripriya
the Indian military’ (The Sangai Express, 2013c).The Assam Rifles main-
tained that the youth approached the 42 Assam Rifles for surrender, but
were returned after a preliminary investigation revealed that they were
not part of KYKL-​MDF (The Sangai Express, 2013b). IGAR (Inspector
General Assam Rifles) South described the youth leaving the camp as
fleeing the camp due to instigation by underground elements. It is under-
standable why a group of friends lured by a woman living on rent in the
same locality into the camp on the pretext of gainful employment will be
on the radar of both the army as well as non-​state armed groups.
While this case is not the only reportage of surrender dramas that fre-
quently unfold in Manipur, I use this incident to look at the rehabilitation
schemes that present a certain language with which youth are referred—​
surrenderee/​surrenderess/​recycled militant. What consequences does
this labelling have for the calibration of relationships of intimacy and
friendships? What should resonate for us again is the enmeshed nature
of mistrust of a community of people that AFSPA renders as suspicious,
whose presence renders the ‘nation in danger’ and the percolation of this
mistrust in interpersonal relationships such as that revealed by this inci-
dent reported in the newspapers as ‘surrender drama’ where a woman—​
in kinship terminology she will be a leikaigi ene (a fictive kin, an ene, i.e.
aunt of the leikai which can be loosely translated as locality), a supposedly
trustworthy figure—​had assured this group of friends of finding gainful
employment. The woman’s husband was reportedly a surrendered insur-
gent affiliated with the Assam Rifles in some capacity. A leikai is a fairly
close-​knit unit. It can be a settlement of kin and is sometimes named after
the surname of those settled there, though regardless of whether one is a
blood kin or not, one is surely a fictive kin and therefore marrying within
the leikai is not considered desirable. This act by an aunt-​like figure of
the same locality, a breach of trust, suggests the negotiation of trust and
mistrust that one must perform within kin relations and friendships. On
11 January 2013, it was reported in newspapers that some Assam Rifles
Personnel came looking for the youths who were supposed to take part
in the surrender drama. One can speculate that this was possibly done
to coerce them into false surrender. The Naga Regiment also came to the
same locality looking for Purnima, the woman who had organized the
surrender drama. Ibetombi, the mother of one of the young men caught
up in this incident, revealed that she has been struggling to ensure that
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 245
her son receives proper formal education (The Sangai Express, 2013a).
How young men from vulnerable family situations become easy targets
to be represented as beneficiaries of rehabilitation schemes can be seen
as part of the unfolding relations of militarization and material inse-
curity. Such vulnerabilities are easily exploited by trusted kin or friends.
In similar cases, once on the radar of the state and the non-​state, it seems
that joining either becomes the only way to ensure survival without being
hounded by either. Once youth become a part of this network, it is en-
tirely possible that others, out of fear, will dissociate from them. Ather
Zia’s ethnography Resisting Disappearance (2020) narrates the story of
Basit, a young man forced to join the STF (Special Task Force) cadre
due to various compulsions, including harassment by the army. His
friends understand the extreme pressure due to which he joined the STF.
However, they discontinued their association with him. Since joining the
STF is seen as an active collaboration with the Indian military apparatus,
the fear of coming into the army and the militant groups’ radar meant
that Basit, even if his stint in the STF has been quite short, was rendered
a social outcast. Such pervasive acts of non-​acknowledgment of friend-
ships can be similarly considered within the same framework. However,
rehabilitation schemes such as the above are also the only few possibil-
ities of survival. Thus, the likelihood of youth trying to avail themselves
of such schemes cannot be negated.

Conclusion

This chapter attempts to answer a simple question: how are relationships

of kinship and friendship fostered in conflict sites? While deceptively
simple, the lack of works on friendship pursued in a context of protracted
violence meant the necessity of reading them alongside documents that
exist in other registers, such as fiction. Within studies of kinship too, the
ways in which familial and spousal violence becomes more pronounced
in situations of violence while given heed to, especially by drawing from
data collated from civil society organizations, the actual work of family
and care, and the grain that make kin relations, are seldom inquired into.
This chapter sought to address some of these gaps by exploring relation-
ships fostered in conflict sites and how negotiations with trust form their
246 Soibam Haripriya
backdrop. Thus, rather than trust being foundational to relationships, ei-
ther familial or friendship, continuing negotiations with trust accounts
for life in disturbed areas.
Everyday violence frames kin relationships and friendships such that
trust and suspicion co-​constitute such relationships, as well as their pos-
sibility. I have traced this suspicion to the workings of AFSPA, a law that
radically changes and/​or marginalizes the space of domestic. The most
‘ordinary’ of kin relations wherein one expects a patriarchal protection
of the domestic from the world at large is not a given in the disturbed
areas. Instead of this, I have looked at the transformation of shared blood
as spilt blood for both friendships and kin. Through three sections in
the chapter, firstly, I looked at the precarious ways in which familial care
is performed in the context of being rendered suspicious by the state.
Secondly, I took recourse to fiction to underscore the precarity of friend-
ship and overturn the acknowledgment of friendship to suggest this very
act as being an act of betrayal or its possibility. I have suggested that mis-
trust and trust are elaborate and necessary negotiations. Thirdly, I juxta-
posed the rehabilitation scheme for ‘militants in the North East’, along
with an incident of surrender drama to bring out the framing of male
youths as troublesome figures. In the context of little or no avenues for
gainful employment, young people are induced to avail themselves of
such rehabilitation schemes either by duplicitous means or intentionally.
I have explored the ways in which this process leads to the ruptured fic-
tive kin relation in the leikai and also creates troubled youths who will be
shunned by friends. Through these sections, I have argued for an under-
standing of the manifestation of the state and its policies in relationships
of friendship and kinships. While this reflection on militarization as the
context within which kinship and friendship exist fills a gap in studies of
kinship and friendship and its negotiations with larger state processes, a
larger gap remains in the absence of work on friendship among women
in the same context. This needs to be urgently inquired upon, consid-
ering not only the preponderance of various kinds of violence, including
spousal and sexual violence against women, but also understanding the
meanings of how and what is entailed in the forging of gendered lives,
friendships, and kinship in these circumstances.
 Kinship and Friendship in a Regime of Violence 247
Notes
1. A lot of such documentation is done by civil society organizations.
2. ‘Nungshiraba Murupki Mapao’ (News of a Beloved Friend) is a short story in
a collection of the same name written by Sudhiranjan Moirangthem published
in 2004.
3. MDF is a faction of the proscribed KYKL. News of this new faction being formed
was first reported in 2009.

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The Sangai Express. 2013c. ‘Clandestine Operation, Says RPF’, E-​Pao: Now the World
Knows (10 January) https://​www.e-​pao.net/​GP.asp?src=​7..110​113.jan13 (last ac-
cessed on 21 September 2023).
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van Ommeren, and Claudia García Moreno. 2013. ‘Sexual and Gender-​based
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Oxford: Columbia University Press.
Whyte, William F. 1943. Street Corner Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Zia, Ather. 2020. Resisting Disappearance: Military Occupation and Women’s Activism
in Kashmir. New Delhi: Zubaan.
 9
Household Formation of Indian
Migrant Parents in Australia
Supriya Singh

Household Formation and Migrant Parents

The joint family household with at least one married son, his wife, and
children, residing with his parents is the main setting for elderly care
in India. The National Sample Survey (NSS) 2017–​18 found that 81.7
per cent of persons, sixty years and above lived in a joint family house-
hold (National Statistical Office [NSO], 2021). Elderly co-​residence is
also the norm in Asia with religious emphasis on filial piety across the
region. Some countries like India, China, and Singapore also have legal
sanctions that mandate that children, rather than the state, are respon-
sible for the care of their parents and older relatives.1 In Asian societies,
the joint family household remains resilient though the intergenerational
contract of care has been re-​interpreted and re-​negotiated (Croll, 2006).
A married son may now set up a nuclear household, with parents later
joining the son’s household. Parents and children may also establish nu-
clear households close to each other to form a ‘network family’ (Cheung,
2019; Kaur, 2022), so that they are ‘embedded’ or ‘enwebbed’ to provide
intergenerational care.
Even though there is a preoccupation with the issue of declining Joint
family living in India (see Vera Sanso, this volume), the existing data sug-
gests that Indian parents seldom live in their son’s house. They most often
live in a house they own, singly or jointly (90.6 per cent, according to the
NSO). The embedded nuclear household is also not common in India,
as parents seldom lived in nuclear households or alone. In 2017–​18, only

Supriya Singh, Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents in Australia In: Family Studies. Edited by:
Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024.
DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0010
252 Supriya Singh
14.1 per cent of persons sixty years and over, lived only with a spouse and
just 4.2 per cent lived alone (NSO, 2021). Old age homes exist but living
there did not rate in the National Sample Survey 2017–​18. Elsewhere,
it is noted that institutional aged care is taken up by less than one per
cent of India’s older persons (Kalavar et al., 2013). Overall, data and de-
tailed studies regarding the changing patterns of household formation
are sparse in Indian context.2
If there is such a lack of data regarding the patterns within India,
even less is known of household formation for older Indians who mi-
grate abroad to be with their children and grandchildren as well as those
Indians who have aged abroad. This is a notable gap considering how sig-
nificant the question of migration is for understanding household forma-
tion even within India. Literature on migrants has dealt with remittances,
communication, and physical visits as media of care (Baldassar, 2001;
Carling, 2014; Wilding, 2006). However, it has not dealt with house-
hold formation across different life stages. Recent research on parent-​
migrants, also known as the ‘zero’ generation, deals with dependent
parents migrating from Eastern Europe and Latin America to reside with
their children in Western Europe and the United States but it also ignores
household formation. The focus is on parents’ loneliness, a new culture,
and the joys and tensions of grandparenting (King et al., 2014, 2016,
2017; Nedelcu, 2017; Ramos and Martins, 2020; Treas and Mazumdar,
2002; Zickgraf, 2017). These parent-​migrants’ financial choices are re-
stricted to living with their children. Research on how migration policy
limits the migration of parents also does not get to the stage of household
formation (see Kilkey and Merla, 2013; Tu, 2023).3
Against this backdrop, this chapter examines how Australian migra-
tion policy, which offers less welfare benefits to parent-​migrants in the
first ten years of migration, contributes to shaping the household forma-
tion of older middle-​and high-​income Indians who migrate to join their
children in Australia, as compared to Indian migrants who have aged in
Australia. The analysis provided herein goes beyond conventional na-
tional boundaries to bring migration and ageing abroad to the centre of
understanding household formation. In highlighting the importance of
the embedded household for Indian migrants who have aged in Australia
and the upside-​down joint family household for older aged migrant
parents, the chapter argues for a greater focus on the study of household
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 253
formation in relation to migration, not just within but across national
boundaries.
The chapter begins by providing the background of the migration of
Indians to Australia, followed by the migration of Indian parents to join
their children.

Migration from India to Australia

Australia is one of the most multiculturally diverse societies in the

world. In 2021, nearly one-​third (29.1 per cent) of Australia’s popula-
tion was born overseas and nearly half the population (48.2 per cent)
had at least one parent born overseas. In 2020, Australia ranked ninth
by the total number of migrants and the highest in terms of percentage
of migrants in Western countries (Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2022a,
2022b). In 2021, Indians became the second largest overseas-​born group
in Australia, after the English. In 2021, Punjabi became the fifth most
spoken language in Australia, other than English (Australian Bureau of
Statistics, 2022a). The growth of Indian migration to Australia has in-
creased rapidly since the mid-​1990s (see Table 9.1).
The first phase of Indian migration from India to Australia, 1800 to
the late 1960s, saw Indians trickling to Australia. Between 1800 and 1860
lone males arrived to work as labourers, camel drivers, and domestic
workers. Indians, mainly from Punjab, arrived from 1860 to 1901 to
work in country towns as agricultural labourers and hawkers. Some also
worked in the goldfields (Department of Home Affairs, 2018). The White
Australia policy which began in 1901 limited migration to Europeans. As
Table 9.1 shows, migration between 1911 and 1933 was nearly static. The
number of migrants from India increased slightly with the Independence
of India in 1947, as some Anglo Indians and British citizens born in India
migrated to Australia.
The second phase of Indian migration to Australia—​late 1960s to the
mid-​1990s—​was dominated by doctors, teachers, and other professionals
and their nuclear families from Indian metropolitan cities who arrived
with permanent residence visas. The professionals migrated to progress
their careers, usually with a job in hand. The Indian-​born residents of
254 Supriya Singh
Table 9.1 Migration of persons born in India to Australia,
1911–​2021

Year of migration Number of persons Position among

overseas born

First phase: Indians trickle in

1901 7637 Not available
1911 6644
1933 6774
1947 8160
Second phase: Restrictions ease
1966 15754 Not available
1971 28656
Third phase: Broader temporary migration
1996 80470 Not available
2001 98070 Ninth largest
2006 169720 Sixth largest
2011 337120 Fourth largest
2016 489,410 Fourth largest
2021 710380 Second largest
Sources: Created by author based on Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2008,
2018, 2022b.

Australia nearly doubled between 1947 and 1966 and then again between
1966 and 1971.
Indian migration to Australia increased sharply in the third phase of
Indian migration which began in the mid-​1990s. This increase was due to
a change in Australian migration policy from an earlier emphasis on pro-
fessionals and their families coming to settle to privileging the temporary
migration of Indian students and skilled migrants as a pathway to per-
manent residence. This change broadened the criteria for migration eligi-
bility. Migration was also enabled by the opening of the Indian economy
in the 1990s. Foreign exchange restrictions that were in place from 1974
were progressively liberalized after 1998. The middle class in India grew
as incomes increased. They were able to pay for their children to migrate
to study and work in Australia for a better future. These migrants increas-
ingly also came from regional cities, small towns, and urban villages, par-
ticularly from Punjab.
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 255
These different phases of migration are marked by different patterns
of relationship between migrants and their parental families. In the first
phase from 1901 to the late 1930s Indian migrants came alone without
their wives and children. From the 1930s, sons began to join their fathers.
After 1950s, wives and children began to arrive (Bhatti, 2001). In the
second phase, late 1960s to the mid-​1990s men migrated with their wives
and children to further their careers. It was an individual, rather than a
family decision. In the mid-​1990s, migration became a family decision
with Indian parents funding their child’s education in Australia, seeing
it as a positive move for the social and economic mobility of the family.
The first and second phases of Indian migration were marked by one-​
way flows of money from migrants to their parents and family members
left behind. Travel and communication were expensive and flowed one
way. Even in the second phase, Indian migrants and their families went
once every five or six years to visit their families in India.
In the third phase, money, travel, and communication began to flow
two ways as middle-​class incomes increased and information and com-
munication technologies became more affordable from the mid-​1990s.
Foreign exchange restrictions in India began to ease after 1998. Parents
sent money to their children for education, living expenses, and settle-
ment costs. Indian students in Australia also sent money home when
they began to earn to repay loans and later as gifts. The mobile phone
enabled frequent communication, while families with digital literacy also
connected online and through social media. Indian migrants went back
more frequently. Their siblings and parents also visited (Singh, 2016).
Once the third phase of migrants gained permanent residence, mar-
ried, and settled in Australia, the next step was to explore the possibility
of parent migration to give and receive care. As increased numbers of
parents sought migration, the Australian policy framework for parental
migration tightened. Niranjan’s story below shows, he and his wife joined
their son in 1985. It took them a few days for an interview in India to get
permanent residence. There was no application fee. They were able to
migrate even when most of their children were in India. There was no cap
on the number of parent visas issued in a year.
As demand increased, the ‘balance-​of-​family test’ was introduced in
1994 (Commonwealth Consolidated Regulations, 1994). This test dic-
tates that at least half the number of the children are permanent residents/​
256 Supriya Singh
citizens of Australia or New Zealand citizens. It is unclear when parent
visas began to be capped. In 2003, parents’ permanent residence visa was
supplemented with a more expensive ‘contributory’ visa which contrib-
uted to the costs of ageing parents’ health care.
At present in 2023, parents of migrants can come to Australia on a
range of temporary visitor visas which enable them to stay for up to ten
years. There are conditions relating to continuing periods of stay. Unlike
permanent residence visas, temporary visas offer no health or social wel-
fare benefits. Parents cannot work or study in Australia. They cannot
sponsor eligible persons for migration.
There are two kinds of parent visas that enable permanent resi-
dence. The Parent Visa comes with a fee of AU$ 6,625 per parent. The
Contributory Parent Visa introduced in 2003 has an application fee of
AU$ 47,955 per parent. Under both visas, the applicant must meet the
age requirement for the Australian Age pension. In August 2019 when
the latest interviews with parent-​migrants were conducted, the pension
age was sixty-​six years. From 1 July 2023, the pension age rises to sixty-​
seven years for both men and women born from 1 January 1957 onwards
(Department of Social Services, 2023).
Under both visas, the parent will be enrolled for Medicare, the
Australian government health care scheme. There also must be an as-
surance of support given by an eligible Australian permanent resident,
Australian citizen or a New Zealand citizen (usually the son or the
daughter) living permanently in Australia. In 2003, parent visas were
also capped. For 2022–​23, the planned level of parent visas is 8500
(Department of Home Affairs, 2022).
Unlike the United States where parent-​migrants are eligible for social
security benefits, subsidized housing as well as other benefits, parent-​
migrants in Australia are only eligible for welfare support payments after
ten years. Australian migration policy focuses on parent-​migrants not
being an impost on the Australian taxpayer and assumes the parents will
be looked after by their children or will be independently financed.
Both kinds of permanent Parent Visas have not been able to meet
the demand. The latest review of the Australian migration system
highlights that ‘Families are waiting for parent visas that never come’
(Commonwealth of Australia, 2023, 135). It said, ‘Between 2010 and
2022, the backlog of Parent Visa applications increased from about
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 257
35,000 to 120,000, with some visa applicants facing wait times of 30–​
50 years (2023, 136).

Studying Household Formation among

Older Indians in Australia

This chapter re-​analyses data drawn from three studies of money, mi-
gration, and the transnational family (2005–​19) to focus on household
formation among Indian parent-​migrants and older Indians who have
aged in Australia. The first study ‘Money, Migration and Family’ covered
migrants who came to Australia between 1970 and the mid-​1990s as per-
manent residents, the second generation who was twelve years and below
when they accompanied their parents, student-​migrants who arrived
from the mid-​1990s on temporary visas, and the transnational families
of student and skilled migrants in India (see Singh, 2016). The question
at the centre of the second study ‘Money, Gender and Family Violence’,
was how money and gender intersected in family violence for Anglo-​
Celtic and Indian women who had survived family violence (see Singh,
2021). To further our understanding of elder abuse, this was followed by
a study of Money, Gender, and Ageing, where a group of us studied older
Anglo-​Celtic men and women, early Indian migrants who had aged in
Australia, and Indian parent-​migrants who had permanent residence or
had applied for permanent residence. We also studied parents who came
on temporary visitor visas (Singh, 2024).
The household was important for all three studies as it was the site
for the management and control of money. Household formation, how-
ever, was not at the centre of the original research questions. Housing
decisions emerged as an important issue in studying student and skilled
migrants. After attaining permanent residence, student and skilled mi-
grants from the mid-​1990s began to think of how their household in
Australia could be the site of intergenerational care. Their housing de-
cisions revolved around planning for their parents to come to Australia.
Household formation became an important issue in the third study for it
revealed the contrast in household formation between parents who had
aged in Australia and parents who had migrated to join their children in
Australia.
258 Supriya Singh
The crucial difference between the two groups was the timing of mi-
gration. Parent-​migrants migrated when they were older and most often
retired, whereas Indians who had aged in Australia migrated when
they were younger and in paid work. Their children had grown up in
Australia.
Additional data on parent-​migrants and persons who had aged in
Australia, were drawn from the first two studies to further examine the
contrasting patterns of household formation. The stories of persons who
had aged in place showed how the household form changed across life
stages.
The first two studies were based on open-​ended interviews, whereas
the third study drew on conversation circles of four to ten persons and
open-​ended interviews. The participants were predominantly Hindus
and Sikhs from India with a few multiple migrants, that is people of
Indian origin from Malaysia, Singapore, Dubai, Fiji, Hong Kong, and the
United Kingdom.
The data from all the studies had already been transcribed and
introduced into different versions of NVivo, a computer program
for the analysis of qualitative data. The data were re-​analysed for this
chapter with a focus on household formation, the development pro-
cess of the migrant family household and changes in the policy related
to migration.
I therefore draw on qualitative data covering 138 persons from 123
families to focus on a sub-​set of twenty-​one parent-​migrants (nineteen
families) and twenty-​four older Indians (twenty families) who had aged
in Australia.
In the following sections I analyse the data on household formation for
parent-​migrants in two phases of Indian migration—​migrants between
1970 and mid-​1990s and later migrants in the mid-​1990s to the present.
Parent-​migrants joined their children in both phases in an upside-​down
joint family household, that is, in homes owned by the children rather
than their parents. Older Indians who have aged in Australia, however,
prefer living in their own homes, preferably close to their children, rather
than a joint family household. This is true also for those who had their
parents and/​or their married children live with them in Australia in joint
family households.
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 259
Parents Migrate When Care Arrangements Fail in the
Source Country between 1970 and Mid-​1990s

As described in an earlier section, migration to Australia from 1970 to

mid-​1990s was a personal decision made by the adult son (usually), to
further his career, rather than a decision for family prosperity. The high
cost of travel and communication made it difficult for migrants to often
visit their families in India. Foreign exchange restrictions meant parents
could not bring substantial sums of money with them when they visited
their children.
Parent migration was not the norm. Only eight (seven families) of the
early migrants (twenty-​seven families) had a parent migrate to Australia
to live with them. In three of the seven families, parents migrated when
care arrangements failed or were inadequate in the source country. In the
remaining four families, parents migrated as the migrant was the only
son and/​or only child. Three of the four families had lived together in a
joint family household in India before migration.
All but one set of parents lived with their children in an upside-​down
joint family household. In the exceptional case, the parents of a Christian
Anglo-​Indian migrant stayed in a separate house provided by their sons.
Niranjan4 was an accidental parent-​migrant who arrived in 1985 with
his wife, when only one of their six children had migrated to Australia.
Niranjan said that after retiring in 1973, he and his wife were free to move
around visiting sons in India and their son in Australia. He had already
invited his eldest son and family to live with them, thinking they would
spend their older years together in India. It was the death of his wife and
the divorce of his son in Australia that led to Niranjan basing himself in
Australia.
Niranjan’s story shows that Australian migration policy was more en-
abling for parents in the 1980s—​in terms of no fees and fast processing
times. Niranjan said:

We only applied, and they called us for the interview. It was so easy.
There was no application fee. We did not have our medical examination
before the interview. He (the visa officer) said get yourself medically
examined tomorrow, and I will give you migration tomorrow.
260 Supriya Singh
Niranjan’s permanent residence visa, plus his facility with English and
sufficient finances enabled him to move between India and Australia
as head of a large transnational family. He was the elder of his clan and
was called on to approve every marriage or significant event in his four-​
generational family spread over India, Australia, United Kingdom,
Canada, and the United States. He travelled every year or every other
year to India.

Indians Who Have Aged in Australia Prefer Living

Separately Though Close to the Children

Indian migrants who have aged in Australia prefer living in their own
home as a couple household once their children have married or part-
nered and left home. A jointly owned home with children is also not a
preferred option. Separate living—​as long as possible—​close to the
children’s home is the preferred option to give and receive care. The
stories of Gargi, Hiresh, and Hira show this is a choice for separate living,
even when previous experiences of joint family living with parents, mar-
ried children, and grandchildren have been positive and are talked of as
cherished memories.
Gargi, seventy plus, and her husband, both doctors, migrated to
Australia in 1970. They left their young son with her parents-​in-​law for
a few years. Gargi’s husband was an only child. Gargi said it was taken
for granted that once Gargi and her husband had settled, the parents-​in-​
law would move with their grandchild to continue living in a joint family
household. After that Gargi sponsored her side of the family, who after
a transitional phase moved into their own homes. One of Gargi’s mar-
ried sons also stayed for ten years with Gargi and her husband. After her
son and daughter-​in-​law moved to their own home, Gargi and her hus-
band went to Singapore to stay with their younger son, daughter-​in-​law
and grandchildren. She said she thoroughly enjoyed Singapore but ‘I was
missing my social life here. We said, “We are going to our home. You look
after your children” ’.
Hiresh and Hira, both sixty-​seven, migrated to Australia as skilled mi-
grants in 1994. Hiresh’s mother, eighty-​six, joined them soon after in an
upside-​down joint family household. Hiresh said his mother’s migration
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 261
was taken for granted. He was her only son and they had lived together
as a joint family in India. Their household became a four-​generational
joint family household for seven years, when their daughter, son-​in-​law,
and grandson lived with them. Hiresh and Hira seemed to have worked
out joint family living. Yet, when their daughter suggested they buy a big
house and live together and later their son suggested he build upstairs,
Hira refused. She said, ‘I was the villain. . . . Everybody got very excited,
except me.’ She told Hiresh, ‘I don’t want to sell this house and put in
money when it belongs to everyone. I will definitely need to have one
house that belongs to us.’ She added ‘I would like to have time to myself
where I can do my own thing.’
Hira said she is very attached to her grandchildren, but joint living ‘can
get very messy and hotchpotch’. Hira told her son, ‘Things change all the
time. [What if ] we can’t afford to live here and need to sell this house,
maybe go to a smaller place, or go to aged care or whatever, then what
are you going to do? What if you want to move and live somewhere else?’
She added, ‘This is too joint, too enmeshed. You don’t know what life will
bring.’ They loaned their son money for a deposit to buy a house. As Hira
had foreseen, things did change. He divorced. When he married again, he
moved further away as his wife wanted more land.
Hiresh who had seen joint living as a ‘no brainer’ in time came to
agree with Hira. He thinks his children and their partners are ‘fantastic’
and respectful, but admits, ‘I can’t imagine living in my son’s house or
my daughter’s house. . . . If I am reasonably well off, why would I want
to plonk myself in my daughter’s house? Become a bit of a nuisance?
Whereas my mother staying with me was the most natural, normal thing.’
Hiresh’s ideal scenario is one where his daughter ‘had the next house and
we had a gate (in between)’.
The family household changes in composition and form with life
stages (see Shah, 2005 and Vera-​Sanso, this volume). This study shows
that early Indian migrants to Australia started off with a nuclear family
household. The nuclear family household became an upside-​down joint
family household when their parents joined them. The household may
then become a joint family household when a married son or daughter
and spouse lived with the parents before getting their own home.
The traditional choice in Australia is for a young married couple to
live in their own home (unless they cannot afford to move out). Parents’
262 Supriya Singh
aspiration then is to have embedded living with close connections to
the children and yet retain independent spaces. This choice can change
as parents get frail or are in ill-​health, leading to a variety of household
forms to meet the needs of parents and children.
Esha, eighty-​seven, who had migrated to Australia in 1975 with her
husband sold her home after her husband died and bought a house with
a ‘gate in the middle’ next to her son and daughter-​in-​law’s home. For a
while, she lived in an embedded lone person household. When her son
went overseas for work, her daughter-​in-​law and grandchildren moved
to a separate house on Esha’s land. As Esha has aged into her nineties, and
her son has returned, all of them have moved to the son’s and daughter-​
in-​law’s home. Esha now lives in an upside-​down joint family household.
Jasleen in her eighties, who migrated to Australia in 1987, has seen her
household change from a nuclear family household to joint when her
son got married, then to an embedded one as the mother and son built
houses next to each other. When her son got divorced, his house was sold.
As Jasleen aged and became frailer, her son (and his children when they
visit), live with Jasleen. So, her household again changed from embedded
to joint.

Parent-​Migrants Join Upside-​Down Joint Family

Households

Nearly all parent-​migrants across the years join upside-​down joint family
households. As Table 9.2 shows, only seven (five families) of twenty-​
nine parent-​migrants (twenty-​six families) did not live in upside-​down
joint family households. Of these, four parent-​migrants (three families)
lived in a house a son/​sons provided for them, two parent-​migrants (one
family) lived in a jointly owned house with their son and daughter-​in-​
law, and one planned to buy a house close to the son’s house. The last two
cases of the parents’ joint and separately owned house also involved the
only two non-​Indian daughters-​in-​law.
The difference across the years is the scale of parent migration. As de-
tailed in the earlier section, parent migration was not always taken for
granted in the period 1970 to the mid-​1990. Most recent migrants who
came as students or skilled migrants from the mid-​1990s onwards plan
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 263
for a joint family household. When a recent migrant gets his or her per-
manent residence visa and can afford a house or land, he or she buys a
four-​bedroom house that has space for the parents and a prayer room or
a theatre room. This has led Indian migrants to settle in the outer sub-
urbs of Melbourne where four-​bedroom houses are more affordable,
rather than buying a one or two-​bedroom apartment nearer the city
(Singh, 2016).
Recent migrants whose parents do not migrate feel compelled to ex-
plain why their parents are not moving to Australia—​because they do
not meet the ‘balance of family test’, have older relatives still living with
them or have business interests and/​or land in India. Recent migrants
see parents’ migration as essential to being a family again. Binod, thirty-​
eight, who migrated in 1999 as a student migrant first sponsored his
brother and his wife. The brothers then bought a five-​bedroom house in
an outer suburb so that their parents could visit and stay. In 2009, they
paid AU$ 84,000 for their parents’ application for permanent residence.
Binod said, ‘Without the family, one is alone and lost. The priority for all
of us is family, not freedom.’
Jasbir, thirty-​one, also had family as a priority. He came to Australia in
2003 as an Australian student. Once Jasbir got his permanent residence
visa, his brother migrated as a skilled migrant. After Jasbir got married,
he built a house for his parents to join them. He said, ‘to be able to be close
to someone, I need to see them, I need to stay with them. I need to be with
them personally and physically.’ Jasbir’s parents participated in designing
the four-​bedroom house to accommodate all of them. His mother was to
plan the garden. Jasbir organized for the keys of the house to first be given
to his parents and a religious ritual performed in their presence.

Parent-​Migrants Prefer to Live with Their Sons

Parent-​migrants in Australia prefer living with their sons in upside-​down

joint family households. This is true of parents who joined Indian mi-
grants who arrived between 1970 and the mid-​1990s as well as those
who joined recent migrants and includes those who came from metro-
politan as well as regional cities in India. As Table 9.2 shows, only one
264 Supriya Singh
Table 9.2 Household formation of parent-​migrants by gender (n =​29)
(twenty-​six families)*

Household formation Number persons (families)

Upside-​down joint family household 22 (21)

   Have son only in Australia 13 (12)
   Prefer living with son 4 (4)
   Have daughters only 3 (3)
   Live with both, son and daughter 1 (1)
   Prefer living with daughter 1 (1)
Joint house with son and daughter-​in law** 2 (1)
House provided by son 4 (3)
Plan to buy a house when they migrate 1 (1)
* This table includes data of the twenty-​one parent migrants (nineteen families) and another
eight migrants (seven families) who referred to parents who had migrated.
** They also have a daughter in Australia but prefer living with the son.
Source: Created by author.

of twenty-​nine parent-​migrants preferred living with his daughter even

though he had sons in Australia.
The traditional preference for living with the son remains over-
whelming in Australia unlike Indian parent-​migrants in the United States
(Lamb, 2009). This preference for living with the son is accompanied by
parents gifting substantially more money to the son than the daughter.
Chandana, 60–​65 years old and her husband from a regional city in
Punjab who have applied for permanent residence prefer living with
their son and daughter-​in-​law. Chandana lived in her husband’s joint
family household and says, ‘It is Indian culture to stay with the son only.’
Their son has no children as yet, though their daughter has two children.
Gita, in her early to mid-​sixties, from a metropolitan city in India,
runs a business jointly with her husband. She has two daughters settled
in Australia. They like staying with the younger unmarried daughter in
her house but intend to live with their son when he completes his studies
and is settled in five years. They are wavering because they don’t know
whether joint family living with their son will work despite having lived
happily in a joint family household in India for fifteen years. The prefer-
ence for living with the son is strong for Gita who says, ‘We want to be set
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 265
with our son. Of course, the daughters go to their house. How long will
they keep helping us?’
Ambika’s widowed father was exceptional for he lived with his
daughter and son-​in-​law, though he had sons in Australia. Ambika, sixty-​
eight, a multiple migrant from Singapore in 1989 said, it was her husband
who would tell everyone he would like Ambika’s father to live with them.
Ambika said her father was comfortable, though ‘he would pay half the
utility bills, and pay her AU$ 200 every month’. As Vera-​Sanso’s chapter
(this volume) argues, such a payment can be seen as converting his stay
with his daughter into that of a paying guest.

Negotiating Togetherness and Financial Resilience

Parent-​migrants join their son’s upside-​down joint family household in

Australia because they want to be a family again with their children and
grandchildren. But migration also reduces parents’ financial choices.
Often, after migration, financially resilient parent-​migrants become eco-
nomically dependent on their children for housing as well as everyday
expenditure for the first ten years. Unlike the United States where
parent-​migrants get subsidized housing and social welfare payments
(Lamb, 2009), in Australia, parents only get health benefits through the
government-​f unded Medicare scheme for the first ten years.
Parents sell all or most of their property in India before migrating.
Some of this money goes towards paying for permanent residence visas
for parents. Parent-​migrants in this study have paid between AU$ 84,000
and AU$ 128,000. This includes the cost of the bond and fees to migration
agents.
Indian parents feel morally obliged to help their children (particularly
the sons) in a timely way with the mortgage and/​or setting up a business.
Parents in this study gave most or all their money to their children, with
a preference for the son. Only two (a couple) of the twenty-​one parent
migrants had a business in Australia. This couple came as business mi-
grants. They were also the two who had a joint house with their son and
daughter-​in-​law. The other parent-​migrants found it difficult to find a job
in Australia.
266 Supriya Singh
Parent-​migrants’ pathways to economic dependence in Australia are
different from that experienced in India as parents age. NSO data for
2017–​18 show that 67 per cent of persons sixty years or over in urban
India and 72 per cent in rural India are partially or fully economically
dependent on others (NSO, 2021). But most (90.6 per cent) older people
live in a house they own singly or jointly with their spouse.
Parents of recent migrants come from the urban middle-​income or
high-​income groups. They were not only financially resilient in India
but had financially supported their children to migrate to Australia. If
they were retired professionals, they had a pension that sustained their
middle-​class lifestyle in India. Others were still active in their businesses.
In Australia, however, the parents stay in a house owned by their children
rather than their own home. Their children also provide and manage the
parents’ daily expenses and spending money. Some parents accept this
change in the management and control of money as part of the devel-
opmental process of the joint family household. The refrain that is most
often heard in the conversation circles is ‘The children have been very
good to us.’ It is as if parents compete to show how respectful their sons
and daughters-​in-​law have been. Parents, particularly as they get older
and require care are grateful to be with their children rather than alone
in India.
Inder in his early to mid-​seventies migrated with his wife in 2015 to
live with their only son. Inder sold all his urban property in India. He
was comfortable with the intergenerational contract of care, saying, ‘We
fulfilled our duty to look after and educate the children. . . . Now my son
looks after everything and is responsible for everything. We have no
problems.’ For others, the fear of economic and social dependence grates
against the desire to live together as a family again. Gita who was men-
tioned above, worries that even if they sold their three or four properties
in India, ‘Will we have the finances to stay separately?’ Joginder, 66–​70
migrated with his wife in 2017. He is still part of a joint family business in
India. He is finding it difficult to get a job in his area of expertise. He says,
he is more used to giving money than receiving it from his son.
When relationships are sound and caring, economic dependence can
seem to be a natural life-​stage and part of being a family. It may take some
adjustment, but most Indian parent-​migrants are making a choice for at
least temporary economic dependence. However, when relationships
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 267
within the upside-​down joint family household became difficult for two
parent-​ migrants, economic dependence may become fertile ground
for abuse.
Parent-​migrants’ economic dependence on their children can have
unintended consequences. Most parent-​ migrants in the study have
perhaps unknowingly assumed that Australia and India have the same
money practices and laws around family and property. Indian parents
give all or most of their money—​often undocumented—​to their sons,
thinking it is family money that will remain with them and their son. But
if a child’s marriage dissolves, they discover that unlike India, Australia
has a Community Property Regime, where the marital home and other
marital property are divided between the husband and wife.
Ashish and Firoz aged 60–​65, mentioned above, are the only set of
parent-​migrants in the study who have been able to give money to their
children as well as retain financial transparency and resilience. They
came as business migrants in 2011. They too sold their property in India
and gave money to their children—​two-​thirds to the son and one-​third to
the daughter. Instead of being part of an upside-​down joint family house-
hold, they set up a joint home and business with their son and daughter-​
in-​law. Ashish and Firoz say their jointly owned joint family household
and business deliver intense interaction with their son and family. It an-
swers their need to act morally in helping their son at a time when he
most needs financial help. At the same time, their joint ownership of the
home and business is transparent and legally documented.

Conclusion

This study shows that international migration and ageing abroad have
supplanted the Indian practice of ageing in a traditional joint-​family
household. Older Indians who have aged in Australia prefer living in their
own homes, preferably next to their children with a ‘gate in the middle’.
This change in the aspirational household for Indian migrants who have
aged in Australia translates to a change in the way they think of giving and
receiving care, dependence, and interdependence, and the balance be-
tween gifting money and financial resilience.
268 Supriya Singh
Indian parent-​migrants however move from a joint family house-
hold in India to an upside-​down joint family household in Australia. For
some parent-​migrants the resulting change in economic dependence
feels a part of the traditional handing over of the management and con-
trol of resources in the joint family household. For others, the change in
the household form is worrying as economic dependence may unravel
relationships.
The main thrust behind parent-​migration is the desire to continue
living together as a family as they did in India. The change in household
formation is partly due to the framework of Australian migration policy,
and partly because of the parents’ morality around helping children
(mainly sons) in a timely manner. Parent-​migrants are however finan-
cially exposed as they have seldom taken into account that Australia has a
different legal regime around money, marriage and property.
These issues go to the heart of how migrants maintain the intergenera-
tional contract of care across cultures and jurisdictions. This chapter has
shown how Indians who have aged in Australia have modified traditional
joint family living to prefer the embedded household. This preference al-
lows care and connection, while maintaining interdependence and trans-
parency. One set of parent-​migrants’ jointly owned home with their son
and daughter-​in-​law gives them joint family living, separate spaces as
well as transparent equity in the family home.
This chapter reveals the importance of connecting migration, family
studies, and the sociology of money to understand household formation
in migrant settings at various stages of the migrant’s journey. The focus
on household formation in a migrant setting is important for future re-
search because it triggers an examination of how money and family re-
lationships change in migrant settings. This leads to understanding how
migrants deal with the clash of cultures in defining and understanding
money, marriage, and family. It also leads us to ask: How do migration
policy settings and the law around money, marriage, and property shape
decisions and options around household formation?
The household is the site for the way we think of being a family, for
giving and receiving care. The form of the household also influences the
way its members manage and control money. It can change the way we
share money across generations as well as think of economic dependence,
 Household Formation of Indian Migrant Parents 269
interdependence, and financial resilience. These are the challenges of mi-
gration that are reflected in the households in which we live.

Notes
1. See chapters by Kumkum Sangari and Penny Vera-​Sanso in this volume for a crit-
ical evaluation of such policies in the Indian context.
2. However, see Breton (2019) for a recent analysis of changes in living arrangements.
3. Sarah Lamb’s research on Indian parents who migrate to live with their children
and grandchildren in the United States is, however, a promising beginning. See
Lamb, 2009.
4. Names of all participants are pseudonyms.

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 PART IV
N EW PR ACTICE S
Familial and Methodological
 10
Digital Mothering in Middle-​Class
Families
Shriram Venkatraman

Introduction

With double-​income nuclear middle-​class families on the rise, middle-​

school latchkey children,1 without nannies or grandparents to care for
them, are no longer a rarity in urban spaces. Parents, especially mothers,
in full-​time employment, for their part, face challenges in negotiating
expectations across different spheres of life, especially that of work and
home, and hence often employ personal communication technologies to
care for their latchkey children. This temporary digital parenting from
a distance also veils concerns over the media consumption patterns of
these children. Hence, their mediations pertain to discouraging and ban-
ning unacceptable media forms while actively encouraging acceptable
ones that are intertwined with intergenerational class aspirations.
Such active mediating responsibilities often fall on the mother, who
has to continually manage intergenerational expectations in the domestic
sphere and aspirations as an engaged employee at work.2 The father only
assumes the role of a passive agent. To perform well, these mothers often
seek inputs from social networks of similarly situated women through
digital platforms while manoeuvring constant inputs on motherhood
from their extended family networks (Firth and Firth, 2006). These
knowledge-​sharing platforms also act as competitive forums to show-
case good mothering, material capital, intergenerational attainment, and
aspirations.

Shriram Venkatraman, Digital Mothering in Middle-​Class Families In: Family Studies.

Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024.
DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0011
276 Shriram Venkatraman
This chapter, which arises out of a long-​term ethnography since 2013
in the city of Chennai in South India, will discuss how such contextual
influences and expectations take the form of active care, continuous sur-
veillance, and mediation of child’s media consumption patterns leading
to a notion of responsible digital mothering and, in a way helping middle-​
class mothers to reproduce class status. While the more extensive study
seeks to understand parenting across all classes in the digital world, this
chapter draws explicitly on data from upper-​middle-​class families with
middle-​school latchkey children. The data presented is based on four-
teen families where both parents work in Information Technology (IT)
or related fields. It only looks at nuclear households where the parents
are employees of large multinational firms and have different agentic
boundaries compared to entrepreneurial couples. Eight of these fam-
ilies were single-​child households; five had two children per household,
and one had three. These households in total had twenty-​one children
(twelve daughters and nine sons). Just over half of these families had
inter-​caste parents. Two specifically had at least one parent who identi-
fied in the governmental category of Scheduled Caste. However, they all
belonged to the upper middle class, and the findings reported are com-
posites (Willis, 2019) and do not tease out the caste variable. Besides data
obtained through typical ethnographic methods, many material and
digital artifacts (including WhatsApp conversations) were secured over
the years. The names of the participants featured in this chapter have
been pseudonymized to ensure privacy and confidentiality.
Since several of these informants were known to me over the years,
I obtained explicit informed oral consent from them. Interviews with
children were always conducted with adult supervision. Multiple inter-
views with parents were conducted face-​to-​face or over digital media
(WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom, and others) and could take the form of textual
chats, audio, and video. When analysed, the data accrued thus offers sev-
eral trajectories for exploration. However, the theme presented in this
chapter was arrived at through several rounds of data distilling and by
deducing commonalities and differentials between these families and
their behavioural patterns across a period.
The chapter delves into a composite ethnographic case study of a nu-
clear upper middle-​class family to showcase how intra-​family commu-
nication is mediated through digital media. It then moves to discussing
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 277
digital mothering, and how mothers regulate children’s media habits
while categorizing digital work contributing to educational capital and
contrasting these practices with digital play. Finally, the chapter discusses
how these mothers manoeuvre their extended family groups on digital
media showcasing their wards attainments and indirectly the impact of
their mothering, while at the same time seeking support from external
groups of similarly situated actors.

The Digital Household: An Ethnographic Foray into

Parent–​Child Interactions

A Typical Wednesday—​November 2019

Location: A multi-​ storeyed apartment complex in the suburbs of

Chennai
3.00 pm: Surya, a twelve-​year-​old, returns home from school, which is
just a few blocks away. He checks his family WhatsApp group mes-
sages as he does every day at this time—​his mother, Shravya, has
messaged at 2.30 pm that the snacks that she had ordered (through
WhatsApp) from a neighbour who operates a catering business had
already been delivered at the lobby, intending for Surya to pick them
up as always. Saravanan, his dad, has messaged—​‘Happy Snacking!’
Surya does not respond.
3.05 pm: Surya checks for his apartment number on the snack packet,
collects it, and goes to his three-​bedroom seventh-​floor apartment.
3.10 pm: Surya messages that he is home, has picked up the snack, and
settles down on the living room couch, ready to watch a Netflix series
streaming on the smart TV. This is a series that his classmates are cur-
rently binge-​watching.
3.13 pm: Surya messages his family group that the snacks are cold with a
frown emoji.
3.14 pm: Shravya calls him on his WhatsApp number. He does not pick
up. So, she sends a voice message asking him to microwave it and
saying she would remind the neighbour to deliver them at 3 pm. Also,
she asks him to change from his uniform to casual home wear—​no
reply from Surya.
278 Shriram Venkatraman
3.20 pm: Shravya checks with Surya if he is eating. No reply yet.
3.22 pm: Surya replies, ‘Yes—​Tastes okay!’ Shravya assumes that he has
microwaved his snacks.
3.30 pm: Saravanan suggests that Shravya remind their neighbour to en-
sure that snacks are hot when delivered. Shravya replies that she has
already done it.
4.00 pm: Surya, who has been binge-​watching the series and WhatsApp
chatting with his friends about it, sees that his grandmom, Vasanthi
(who lives in another part of Chennai), has sent a voice message,
as she does every day. This is to check on him, to see if he has come
home, is doing fine, and what his homework for the day is, if he has
any scheduled tests that week, etc. She tries calling him, and he does
not respond. She sends another voice note. Surya is irritated.
5.00 pm: Vasanthi has already sent three other voice notes asking him to
respond since he is online, and she knows he is chatting with friends.
Vasanthi also sends a voice note complaining to Shravya about Surya’s
attitude since he has been online for some time now and is not re-
sponding to her. Shravya does not respond immediately.
5.45 pm: Surya responds to Vasanthi with a thumbs-​up symbol and a
brief voice note, suggesting that he is on his way to his science tuition
class at 6 pm (just a few blocks away). Surya sends a brief text message
to the family group complaining of his grandmother’s surveillance
and her attitude of demanding an immediate response. He comments
that WhatsApp is not a phone but a messaging platform, suggesting
that his grandmother is mis-​categorizing it. Meanwhile, Shravya tells
Vasanthi that Surya has a history exam tomorrow, and he might have
been discussing the test with his friends. Vasanthi assents and checks
if he is well prepared for the test with Shravya. She replies, ‘Yes.’
8.30 pm: Surya returns home, greets his parents, complains once again
about the cold snack, and on his grandmother’s nagging surveillance.
Saravanan asks him why he was on WhatsApp for so long, and Surya
shows him his texts to his friends, suggesting that they were discussing
an Astronomy documentary screened at school. These chats are
alongside the others on the Netflix series, gaming, weekend hangouts,
and tests. He then takes his dinner to his room, binges on the Netflix
series through dinner, chats with friends, and browses an Astronomy
blog that reviews the documentary.
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 279
10.00 pm: Shravya drops into his room to collect his plates and asks him
to sleep. He once again tells her to ask his grandmother to keep off
surveilling him, as she has messaged him again at 9.00 pm asking if he
is ready for the History test tomorrow. Shravya says she will talk to her.
He then tells her what he is reading on the Astronomy blog. However,
she sees the Netflix series on his laptop and an Astronomy documen-
tary featuring the globally well-​known Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse
Tyson on his iPad. She nods, asks him to switch them off some time
soon, and asks about his History test, to which he replies that it is easy
and only a class test.
10.45 pm: Surya is on WhatsApp chatting with friends when Saravanan
drops in to ask him to go to bed. Meanwhile, Shravya tells Saravanan
that Vasanthi’s (her mother-​in-​law) actions can be seen as nagging
and constantly surveilling Surya to criticize Shravya. Saravanan nods.
11.00 pm: Shravya sends Surya a WhatsApp voice note, asking him to
sleep and saying she can see that he is online on WhatsApp.
11.30 pm: Saravanan drops in and issues a stronger warning to switch off
the Astronomy documentary, after which Surya nods off. This is after
Shravya tells Saravanan that she is worried that Surya is spending
much time binge-​watching a Netflix series and an Astronomy docu-
mentary instead of concentrating on his studies. However, Shravya
also drops a message about the documentary to the larger extended
family WhatsApp group, hoping Vasanthi gets the hint.
11.35 pm: Shravya sends a WhatsApp message to her friends’ group (all
consisting of mothers like her in her apartment complex)—​asking
for some advice on how she should tell Vasanthi (her mother-​in-​law)
not to surveil Surya since it is a sensitive topic and she does not want
Vasanthi to get offended. She also asks how others deal with similar
situations. Shravya also says that she needs to handle this tactfully, or
else she has to face criticism on motherhood and care from Vasanthi.
She then sends another message to this group—​saying that her
son has a History exam tomorrow. However, he has been browsing
Astronomy sites since evening, and she cannot get him off his interest
in Astronomy. How should she handle this? These attract comments
with indirect praise of Surya’s intelligence, how she should let this
happen, and allow for more since it is only a History test. This val-
idation from the support group helps Shravya sleep well. Of course,
280 Shriram Venkatraman
there are many more comments on how Shravya could handle
Vasanthi, to which Shravya only replies with emojis.

Scene Shifts to November 2020

3.00 pm: Shravya has ordered snacks from her neighbour and bangs on
Surya’s room door, asking him to collect them since she has a meeting
scheduled soon, which she would now be taking from the guest room
turned home office, and he has not replied to the messages she sent
him earlier.
3.05 pm: Surya collects the snacks, puts them on the dining table, and
returns to his room, taking his share of them. He sends a WhatsApp
message to his family group that he has brought the snacks from the
lobby. Saravanan replies with a thumbs-​up sign.

The scene from 2019 repeats itself for the rest of the day; the only
change is that now everyone is at home. However, Surya’s movements
within the house have now been largely limited to his room rather than
the living room. He rarely uses the smart TV in the living room. Though
his classes (school and tuition) are online, they are taken from his room.
Vasanthi still keeps checking on Surya.
The excitement of Surya’s family spending time with each other during
the initial months of the lockdown slowly reverts to each spending their
time in different rooms. Besides being under the same roof and having
physical proximity all day, their independence takes precedence. Shravya
and Saravanan follow up with Surya at various times of the day on his
online classes and, in this way, keep nudging him to study. Shravya subtly
checks Surya’s room at various times of the day. She checks on his media
activity in the guise of calling him for lunch, cleaning his room, and so on.
Saravanan, for his part, asks Surya about newer science documentaries,
gently pushing him towards educational content. Some of these con-
versations are on WhatsApp, while others are ‘offline’. For Shravya, the
worry is about Surya consuming a lot of digital media content, specific-
ally, those she categorizes as non-​educational media. This is also accentu-
ated by what her friends post on the common mothers WhatsApp group
about children binging on new media content, sometimes categorized as
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 281
adult themed. The parental posts do not expressly state that their chil-
dren do this but comment on how this happens in the larger society and
how, as parents and responsible mothers, they have to keep a watch on
the media content their children consume.

Scene Shifts to November 2021

Schools have now reopened in Chennai, and things go back to how they
were pre-​Covid in 2019.

Media Consumption and Digital Mothering

This composite vignette allows us to move to a more comprehensive

examination of this topic. Though the space is their home, the inter-
actions of parents and children within this space take a multitude of
forms through new media (Livingstone and Blum-​Ross, 2020). The de-
tails of what happens within such typified families after school could
differ and even vary by the gender of the child. However, the media con-
sumption of these latchkey children and the worry that the parents and
other immediate adult family members (such as grandparents) evince is
of note (Tufte, 2003; Uhls and Robb, 2017). While they believe that the
additional digital media content outside of the suggested school syllabus
adds to their child’s intellectual growth and becomes a topic of prestige
within their family and friends’ circles, the issue of categorizing media
content as digital work (helping build the necessary educational capital),
as opposed to digital play (engaging for leisure and entertainment), can
be problematic (Arora, 2019). Correlating digital and media content with
educational capital within these families can vary across generations and
by the aspirations each parental generation sets for itself and its children
(Bourdieu, 1986; Nisbett, 2020). In the case above, for Vasanthi, the test,
irrespective of the subject, was important, and if her grandson was in-
volved in a WhatsApp discussion of the test, as stated by Shravya, she was
convinced that there was no problem. For Shravya, on the other hand, a
simple confirmation from Surya about his preparedness was sufficient,
the worrying issue was the documentary and the Netflix series. What was
282 Shriram Venkatraman
her son consuming? But her reaction could have been different if it was a
Mathematics test instead of History.
Shravya is a composite of young, educated mothers who are in full-​
time professional employment and balance work and family in the new
economy. Taking a break from work after marriage or during pregnancy,
these breaks invariably extend to at least four years in caring for the infant.
Once the child reaches school going age, women return to work to meet
their career aspirations. A break from the workplace puts them at a disad-
vantage of not being considered equal to their male counterparts or losing
a chance at leadership roles (Fuller and Narasimhan, 2007). However,
extended family members favour the agenda of mothering their children
until middle school in several families. The father is invariably left alone
with a normatively assumed sense of patriarchy (Dube, 1997; Kapadia,
1994; Shah, 1998; Uberoi, 2005). The absence of an active mention of the
fathers in this chapter is not to undermine the role that they play in these
double-​income nuclear families, but to suggest that the intensity of hands-​
on parental-​care when compared to their spouses is lower. This pushes
the mother to the forefront. In the context of this chapter, this could be
attributed to several overt and nuanced reasons including patriarchy, fa-
milial practices of associating masculinity, educational and economic cap-
ital, and other middle-​class moralities (Säävälä, 2010). The father in these
families plays a performative role in helping build the educational capital
of the child (through both digital work and regulated digital play), and as
a nodal point in the network of extended family relationships, often acting
as a background support for the mothers.
This is coupled with the mothers’ feeling of guilt for not being there for
the child when it requires them. Hence, they use digital media strategies
to engage in ‘digital care’ (Hjorth et al., 2020). The continual extended
family digital check-​ins rupture the intimate family boundaries, which
are perceived as acts of micro-​surveillance. To thwart such inquiries
and avoid criticisms from the extended family, these mothers relay
their child’s schedule, which includes activities that can be perceived as
building the necessary educational or cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1986;
Lazard et al., 2019). This is to showcase that the mother is on top of what
the child does through extending digital care, albeit the physical distance,
displaying digital motherhood (Kehily and Thomson, 2011).
The issue of building and showing educational capital might need a
larger support group, and most often, they come in the form of similarly
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 283
situated workplace colleagues or mothers in the immediate neighbour-
hood (Anderson and Grace, 2015). However, showing vulnerability
to these groups, specifically concerning the child, can have a differen-
tial imagined effect. For these mothers, a negative attribution can show
limited maternal care, hence a judgement about the child and themselves.
Therefore, communication within these groups can be varied, those
considered normative and those that need to showcase the child’s edu-
cational attainment. Only in very intimate groups are the actual media
consumption issues discussed, for example, the porn consumption of
their pre-​teen children.
The intersection provided by observing the ubiquity of digital media
within these upper middle-​class homes, the media consumption patterns
of the children within these homes, the constant anxiety (both within the
immediate family and the extended family) about the kind of content being
consumed by the child and more specifically the child being at the cusp of
teenage, becomes the entry point for this chapter, which seeks to under-
stand how digital mothering is actively performed and displayed (Gibson
and Hanson, 2013).
Further, it explores the inherent push and pulls that these mothers deal
with on an everyday basis as it concerns their children’s digital media con-
sumption habits. It also looks at how mothers perform the mediating and
regulating role, even providing proxy consumer resistance (Fiske, 2010),

Extended Family All communication is facilitated and mediated through digital media
Members as (WhatsApp, Facebook, Telegram, and similar others)
censoring agents
and vigilantes

Mothers—as Scalable Online

mediators Support Groups

Children as digital
media consumers

Figure 10.1 The mediating role of the mother

Source: Graphic visualization created by the author.
284 Shriram Venkatraman
with children as active digital media consumers, the extended family as
vigilantes and censoring agents, and scalable online support groups to
help and validate their acts. Figure 10.1 shows the mediating role of these
mothers.

Regulating Children’s Digital Media Consumption

Most children in these upper-​middle-​class families own smartphones,

tablets, and laptops. While at the beginning of the last decade, sharing
gadgets was a visible trend, none of them seems to be shared now and
more specifically since Covid (Rainie and Wellman, 2012). Each family
member now has a specific password-​protected gadget. Further, though
some parents engage with the parental lock systems to ensure that they
control the media consumed, ironically, most of these IT couples do not
engage in use of parental locks, at least in the cases of these middle-​school
children. Sometimes, it is to portray that they do not favour an attitude of
continuous surveillance. But at other times, this is result of a sheer lack
of conscious implementation of such tools. Worse-​case scenarios arise
where ten-​year-​old latchkey children interact with Artificial Intelligence
(AI) voice platforms such as Alexa, Siri, or Google without parental over-
sight. Such interactions and the non-​surveillant, alongside a hands-​off
attitude of the parents, are treated as attainment, where the responsi-
bility for the quality of consumption is passed onto the child, treating
it as an independent, capable, and rational agent. However, one aspect
that is kept off children are the financials, so a child cannot operate an
online payment system or perform an in-​app purchase. Any online pur-
chases, including those within a multi-​player game, has to go through a
clear approval process from the parents. Such purchases are often made
through the mother’s credit card with her assent. This also applies to any
micro-​learning or online courses that charge the learner. If the parents
have already purchased a subscription to media platforms, these chil-
dren are automatically added to them as independent profiles (not with
a child’s profile that includes a lock). Though a few mothers often noted
the history within their children’s profile to see what content they were
watching, this act also doubled up to understand what was popular
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 285
among Generation Z then. For instance, Vatsala, a thirty-​eight-​year-​old
mother, stated.

When I look through my daughter Anaka’s Netflix profile, I pretty much

know what the Gen-​Z is currently tuned to. This helps me in several
ways . . . I am a digital marketer . . . so I am in on the latest popular show
trends, which helps at work . . . also Anaka is a huge fan of heist shows,
so I ask her for info on these and pass it on to my friends . . . I should
not be trumpeting my daughter’s choices . . . but my daughter has real
quality taste when it comes to amazing shows . . . see my friends also say
this. (Vatsala)

She then shows recent messages from a friends’ WhatsApp group, where
others have praised Anaka’s media choices. What is also being displayed
is Anaka’s taste in content and this also becomes an attribute of sociality
in Vatsala’s interactions with her friends. According to Vatsala, this has fu-
elled a sense of healthy competition within the group. She says, her friend
Meenakshi’s son, Vishnu, is the best for suggesting the latest sci-​fi and
horror shows on different platforms. Also, there was a clear difference
in prestige when recommending English shows versus those in regional
Indian languages. More specifically, the shows adapted from English
novels occupied the highest rung, being treated as an indicator of taste
in literature. These parents also understood fandom and popular digital
media and cultural consumption (Bolin, 2011; Jenkins, 2012) of their
children. They also preferred their children’s media consumption to be
more global than local. So, a screen saver of the Spider-​Man, The Joker,
or The Professor from the Netflix show ‘Money Heist’ or other global cul-
tural pop icons was preferable to a local one. However, as globally rec-
ognized brands, Bollywood actors Aamir Khan and Priyanka Chopra,
treated as global cultural icons, were ranked high and considered accept-
able as opposed to similar others. None from the Tamil industry found
traction except for Kamal Haasan, who was considered intellectually su-
perior to others and had sophisticated global tastes.
All of this, for the parents, shows how connected the child is to the
global culture. This also has to do with their future aspirations for their
children. All of these are seen as cultural capital-​building mechanisms.
Sometimes, these are the couple’s aspirations, and the mother tends to be
286 Shriram Venkatraman
hands-​on, enforcing and operationalizing them. However, such sharing
of the media recommendations of their children does not necessarily
happen often with their extended families unless they are well-​known
documentaries that would elicit a positive response about the child’s
knowledge—​ for example, YouTube cooking channels were popular
with these children—​both local and global ones. If independent women
vloggers were featured in these videos, and the daughter had recom-
mended it, it was seen positively even by the extended family members.
However, male chefs and large-​quantity cookery shows were positively
attributed to the sons. There seemed to be a gendered notion of what kind
of cooking channels their wards consumed and recommended. This is
best displayed in the message that Ambika, a forty-​two-​year-​old mother,
said was recently posted in a WhatsApp group where she was an active
member. The message stated that the mother who had posted was irri-
tated that her in-​laws and her family were worried that her son, who loves
cooking, was following cookery shows hosted by Tamil women home-
makers, also vloggers. Her brother-​in-​law had supposedly joked that it
was best to check her son’s sexuality, which deeply troubled her. She had
posted seeking support. Ambika contends this would not have happened
if it was a famous cookery show with a male chef in it. She also added that
probably the homemaker tag of these vloggers could have also played a
role in attracting such a comment.
However, concerns over their child’s other media consumption habits
give way to anxiety, more specifically when it relates to exposure to porn
content, though most suggested that they would be more worried about it
as their children become teens. Though issues of identity theft and others
were brought up and acknowledged, they were also brushed off callously.
Nevertheless, the parents seemed to have a clear grasp of what would be
considered digital work that helps build the necessary cultural capital to
help realize aspirations and what would be considered digital play that
does not necessarily pay off.

Digital Work and Digital Play

The need to build an educational capital for their children in a knowledge

economy punctuated by their experiences is inherent in the everyday
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 287
activities of these upper-​middle-​class families. Interactions with children
often circulate around such aspirations and dreams. Providing a child with
a laptop, a tablet, and a phone allows the child to have techno-​material
affordances to build a rich future. In a way, everything for them is working
for a promising affluent future. The techno-​material affordances are spe-
cifically meant for functions of building the necessary educational capital.
However, the parents know that these affordances play a more extensive
role than the function they were meant to achieve. Therefore, a media as-
semblage of sorts tends to be put forth and executed diligently. This media
assemblage arose through various sources of inputs, from family and
friends based on their exposure and perceived social truths of the world.
They often ensure that educational materials especially in the STEM
fields—​from prestigious universities and schools which are paid—​take the
highest rung, followed by open access and open-​source content, including
media on programming, coding, and the like, alongside skill sharing. This
is followed by educational science and technology documentaries and sci-
ence talks like that of Neil deGrasse Tyson or Bill Nye (another popular
science communicator) alongside those that mix evolution and history,
for example, series and talks by the popular author, Yuval Noah Harari.
Others in History followed these—​it had to be global or a biography of a
respected achiever. For example, biographies and documentaries on Steve
Jobs, Elon Musk, Nikolai Tesla, Einstein, and others of a similar nature
were popular. All of these were seen as providing the necessary educa-
tional capital. The bias towards content from STEM fields was overtly vis-
ible owing to the global shift towards STEM careers. This is coupled with
the upper-​middle-​class south Indian aspirations for global migration (en-
abled relatively easily by STEM fields). The media consumption is then
mirrored as knowledge accumulation of these children and then shared
with networks where they could have traction and speak to the child’s in-
telligence. YouTube consumption is encouraged only if they fall under the
criteria set forth by the parents (Burroughs, 2017).
Browsing through YouTube channels or the internet with no specific
purpose or watching a local language film or series, including those broad-
casted by the local television channels, is considered a waste of time and
is slated as digital play. The expectation is that the children only spend a
specific amount of time on multi-​player games; otherwise, they are con-
sidered a waste of time. However, online Chess, online Scrabble, and other
288 Shriram Venkatraman
similar games have a different status than the rest. In other words, any-
thing considered a ‘timepass’ (Jeffrey, 2010) was seen as having an adverse
effect and would not contribute to building the necessary cultural capital.
Such categorizations and media assemblages give way to noting what
these children consume. Pre-​Covid, assumptions on the consumption
patterns took the form of trust and a somewhat discursive notion of caring
from a distance. However, during the lockdown and being within the
same space allowed parents to witness and judge if the consumption pat-
terns of their children fell into what they classified as work or play. Such
judgements have consequences of mobility and spatial dispersion of
digital access for these children within their homes. For example, Vasisht,
a Grade 7 student at an international school, used to view most pro-
grammes on the smart TV (like in the case of Surya) in the living room.
However, his mother, Kala who within a few weeks of the lockdown, had
started suggesting that Vasisht study instead of wasting time in front of the
smart TV, had led him to constrict his movements to his room, away from
the prying eyes of his mother, seeking independence. The same trend on
physical boundary marking was also reported by a few other children,
who suggested they had better freedom pre-​Covid and were itching for
their parents to return to work. The case of Surya in November 2020,
where Shravya had to bang on his door to remind him know to pick up
the snacks, is another illustration of how this has played out during Covid.
However, this is not to say that Shravya had to engage physically to get
Surya’s attention. Mother’s often employ various functionalities within a
media platform to strategize their communication. For example, urgent
communication would see the use of voice calls. Voice notes and voice
messages often constitute priority items to get done, and text messages are
for communicating and interacting non-​urgent aspects. They do this over
multiple media platforms such as WhatsApp, Facebook Messenger, and/​
or Telegram. While one specific media is preferred, strategic and func-
tional use of the other forms of media and specific functions within these
different media forms to ensure caring irrespective of the physical prox-
imity point to the intersections of media multiplexity (Haythornthwaite,
2005) and polymedia (Madianou and Miller, 2013). Very often privacy of
these children is understood but not taken to the extremes where no phys-
ical proximity seems possible. They are strategically balanced.
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 289
Digital Mothering and Extended Family

The extended family, especially on the spouse’s side, is seen as a micro-​

political structure that needs careful agentic manoeuvring. These struc-
tures are viewed as inherently patriarchal and have a critical lens when
it comes to mothering, especially as it applies to latchkey children. In al-
most all the families considered for this study, the women of the family
occupied a corporate job that was at least three rungs lower when com-
pared to their respective spouses. The career breaks due to motherhood
and infant care could be seen as an obstacle and a glass ceiling that needs
to be broken to catch up to the career progression of their spouses. The
extended family viewed this as a competitive space. Since their spouses
were winning (regarding position and economics), the women are ad-
vised to further their care as a homemaker and take up hobbies instead
of finding an equally demanding job as their spouses do in the IT field.
Their career moves are viewed as transgressions, especially if it results in
latchkey children. It takes time for the extended family members to see
that mothering can also occur digitally and care can be extended through
technology. However, these acts are still viewed as transgressions by the
elders of the extended family and hence can be criticized. So, while these
mothers extend digital care, the extended family members, for their part,
extend help to these mothers, again using digital media. This ‘digital help’
can take the shape of constant check-​ins with children and mothers in
the name of safety and security. These constant check-​ins can lead to a
perception of being digitally surveilled, as reported by Surya. Further,
the mothers might perceive constant advice in the form of WhatsApp for-
wards and Facebook shares from extended family members as being crit-
ical towards them.
Though these mothers understand that these acts by the extended
family members are part of their concern for the child, the issues take
an active shape when micro-​politics in the form of praising another
extended family member’s child on a family WhatsApp group hints
at how homemakers make better mothers. For example, Vasudha,
a forty-​two-​year-​old, stated that both her sisters-​in-​law are home-
makers. Their children are of the same age as her daughter. When her
sister-​in-​law posted a video of her child performing a feat combining
290 Shriram Venkatraman
math and music that the child had learned from a German YouTube
video, the praise from the family members was first towards the child’s
achievements and how it learned everything online. Then it moved
on to how her sister-​in-​law had trained the child to do this, her devo-
tion towards the child accruing these skills, and so on. However, when
Vasudha posted a video of her daughter playing a song on the piano
(again learned from an online course), the extended family mem-
bers only praised her daughter. They never mentioned the efforts that
Vasudha had taken. For them, it was all gained through the self-​effort
of the child, and the mother had no role to play in this since the per-
ception was that she was away from home and could not have played
any role in the child gaining these skills. The lack of acknowledgment
of their contributions in helping the child gain cultural capital seemed
to be playing a role in how mothers handled and mediated relation-
ships with the extended family groups. They thought there was a kind
of performance orientation associated with this, where the extended
family comes together to showcase what is considered ideal as a family,
with hints of ideal homemaker motherhood too. Hence, for their part,
instead of moving away from the family groups on WhatsApp, they
increase the frequency of posts on the educational and other achieve-
ments of their children, hoping to make a point that many of these
achievements cannot happen without the constant support of the
parents and especially the mother. These would also showcase the cap-
ability of the mother who can care even from a distance and ensure
that the child attains what they set out to do. Displaying competitive
achievements becomes a vital aspect of building the necessary inter-
generational attainment. Showing how busy their children are with the
digital media in which they do digital work as opposed to digital play
also portrays the mother as being on top of her game. The praise for
the children is vicariously enjoyed as praise for mothers themselves.
These, in turn, also lead to frustrations in daily life, more specif-
ically in striving to grasp how motherhood should be performed
as it relates to media consumption of their children. This is where
mothers seek the support of scalable social networks on Facebook,
WhatsApp, Telegram, and sometimes even through online forums on
motherhood.
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 291
Digital Mothering and External Support Groups

Support, validation, and praise for mothers from their side of the family
(mother, father, sister, brother) does happen through family social media
groups. However, for them, support in terms of advice and praise from
other similarly situated mothers becomes more important, and their
empathy is a crucial factor here. They begin by seeking support from
large forums and Facebook groups with hundreds of other mothers.
Anonymous posting and reading through posts of others in a similar
situation, the advice offered, and how they handle themselves become
the key learnings that can be replicated in their contexts. However, the
groups are still too large. Though crowdsourced intelligence is helpful,
mothers look for groups within their city and their own localities where
deeper interactions can be made possible. This gives rise to them either
beginning their group(s) or joining another vibrant group(s) of similar
mothers. For example, Malini, a forty-​year-​old, suggested that she was
a member of a women-​only WhatsApp group that operated as a net-
work within the apartment complex she resides in Chennai. This group
operated on everyday transactions, including looking for house help,
electrician, plumber, the closest grocery shop, and others. It included
both homemakers and professionally employed mothers. This group
then transformed to provide emotional support for women. However,
Malini and a few other mothers in the group felt that while the issues
and problems discussed were fully valid, they did not somehow speak
to the contexts that these mothers faced. So, she initiated another group
with only professionally working mothers as members. This larger group
on WhatsApp functions as several subgroups with 250 plus members in
each subgroup. Though technically WhatsApp groups can afford to have
more members, these specific support groups still function as subgroups
based on earlier technicality and have not merged yet. They also have a
Telegram group where they function as one unified group. As one of the
administrators, Malini uses her corporate project management and lead-
ership skills to run these groups with tact, as she says emotions can fly
high when discussing children.
Though formed by members working for several multinational com-
panies, the group functions on the core idea of motherhood. This is not
to say that they do not discuss other things, but children become the
292 Shriram Venkatraman
constant function of sociality in these groups. In other words, the nodes
in these networks become closer to each other through sharing and
caring about each other’s contexts, and most often, children become an
essential constant in these contexts. Reciprocity is the social act through
which the group binds together. Members who become close initiate
smaller support groups, where intimate details about their families, es-
pecially children, are shared. What Shravya shared about Surya was in
one such group. However, they still visit those larger forums or Facebook
groups; some do very often. For example, content about different styles
of parenting posted in these larger groups with international members is
shared within these WhatsApp groups, and discussions and debates on
how these fit the local context ensue. Some of these upper-​middle-​class
families subscribed to differential parenting styles that were practised
globally and not oriented in the typical cultural parenting styles that they
grew up with. The contrasts in these styles were often discussed as a so-
phisticated evolution of parenting styles as compared to the earlier gener-
ations. Often this was also seen as a refined cultural evolution in treating
children as emotionally and rationally capable agents. Most notable were
adoption of practices from Scandinavian countries on education (e.g.,
Finland); another is an adoption of a gentle parenting style which treats
children with empathy and respect, while at the same time laying bound-
aries through fostering understanding. These styles often faced concerns
and ridicule from extended family members, most often the women’s
in-​laws. When faced with these issues, the mothers often relied on their
spouses to establish boundaries with the in-​laws and took to online
interest groups to help others realize the value of these parenting styles.
People raising unease over these differential parenting styles were often
seen as those who lacked both a global and empathetic understanding
of the evolution of humanity. They were seen as being too narrow and
driven by an insecure middle-​class norm of just accruing enough edu-
cational capital to convert that into economic capital to conform to the
societal standards by lowering the risk of an uncertain future. The ra-
tionale of moving beyond ones’ cultural confines were also seen as being
rebellious with a larger purpose of social good. However, women also
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 293
strategically manoeuvre the content and advice based on the platform
and the audience.
It is often within these groups that the media consumption habits of
their children are posted and discussed; however, most often, candid
postings only occur within the closest circles. Posting about the same
content would change based on the group they seek advice from. For
example, Vijaya, a thirty-​eight-​year-​old, posted a lengthy message on
a larger WhatsApp group on how her daughter Subhadra, has incred-
ible general knowledge of wildlife, especially the African lions, gained
through watching online documentaries. She was asking for advice on
educational tours to Africa to see them. However, within an hour, she
posted again that she was freaking out about her daughter’s obsession
with lions and how Subhadra ignored other subjects at school. This could
be perceived as strategic digital manoeuvring too. However, what also
becomes important is how they mask aspects of their children’s person-
alities. Protecting their child’s image becomes a priority. Like Shravya’s
act on Surya’s interest in Astronomy, Vijaya masks concerns across two
groups. These concerns are often masked as attainments in one field and
how one should be good at everything. Though Vijaya’s daughter had
failed in a few exams, she masks that with her attainment in another and
expresses concerns over such uni-​directional achievements.
Categorizations are not only about digital work and digital play. Within
the larger category of digital work, a hierarchical assemblage of what con-
stitutes worthy practices that lead to an accrual of educational, cultural,
and promised future economic capital is almost rank ordered. The act of
these mothers in masking concerns about their child’s digital play with
attainments in well-​acknowledged and socially acceptable STEM fields
are often rewarded with better comments from other mothers, and helps
attain a better social ranking within these networks. Such rank ordering
for these mothers also mirrors their competence as navigators of their
child’s future. Concerns expressed as failures attract sympathetic com-
ments and therefore are perceived by these mothers as personal failures.
As a central node with social responsibilities, balancing career ambitions
with that of the family can be emotionally draining.
294 Shriram Venkatraman
Conclusion: From Digital Play to Digital Work

While mothers as central nodes trying to regulate the media consump-

tion patterns of their children are discussed, this becomes aggravated
as schools and other educational systems (online courses) compete to
offer competence and skills at a greater level owing to transnationalism.
Associated competitive consumption of digital content from inter-
nationally well-​reputed and nationally reputed institutions are seen as
attainments by schools and social circles. This thus leads to a precise
categorization of digital work and digital play. The balancing act for
these parents, especially the mother, is to convert digital play to digital
work. Thus, rationalization tactics are employed to harness and direct
digital play to a digital work model. However, this can sometimes be seen
as surveillance by the latchkey children who now find the presence of
extra-​corporeal kin bodies in what was considered independent spaces
pre-​Covid. Parents accessing digital devices within homes is seen as
loss of freedom by the children, especially during Covid, since the space
exclusively belonged to them pre-​Covid. This was not perceived as in-
timacy. Communication of care (by the parent or another kin member) is
also seen as a surveillance tactic.
The expectation and rationalization that most techno-​material arti-
facts associated with the child are an educational capital-​building pro-
cess are stressed by mothers. On the other hand, the constant check-​ins
from the extended family member networks, which are perceived as
micro-​political structures, need to be navigated with a strategic agency,
where the inter-​generational attainment of the child (even its digital
media consumption) needs to be showcased. The praise for the child in
these groups is seen as an indirect praise of motherhood. Constant posts
in these groups also tell the extended family that the mother is on top of
her game and can have it all.
The mothers and the associated digital groups occupy new communi-
cative roles as they seek mutual support and validation from similarly situ-
ated actors. Children become sociality-​building factors and engines within
similarly situated groups at work, residential, and other interest commu-
nities. When the mother seeks advice and validation on her child’s digital
media consumption acts, concerns are masked with attainment. This
leads to a masked performativity of mothers speaking to the new NASA
science game their child spends much more time on than on their history
 Digital Mothering in Middle-Cl ass Families 295
textbooks. The comments they attract speak to the hierarchical ideas of
what constitutes educational capital for the child’s future within these cir-
cles and validate these acts as attainments. Digital mediation and regulation
help lead to a more processual kinship with their children and could poten-
tially develop fictive kinship relationships within these support groups.

Notes
1. A Latchkey child is one who returns home from school in the absence of both
parents and remains unaccompanied until the arrival of at least one parent from
work. See Padilla and Landreth, 1989.
2. Within the context of this chapter, the term ‘mothers’ specifically addresses those
mothers who hold full-​time professional positions.

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 11
Displaying the ‘Family’ Online
Reflections on Syrian Christian Visual Life

Nidhin Donald

Introduction: Visual Depictions as Family Displays

The tharavadu1 or ancestral home (see Figure 11.1) is a socio-​

economic and cultural marker in Kerala. The one who is born in a
good tharavadu is called a ‘tharavadi’—​a polysemic term which carries
a range of positive material and cultural attributes. More important,
the term is a conjoint code for ‘caste’ of an individual or group in
everyday transactions. It translates social and individual achievements
and failures into ascriptions of blood and operates as a convenient—​
often racializing—​e xplanation for a range of situations. The tharavadu
is also a key visual element in Keralan cultural production—​like in
the sketch below. The endurance of a tharavadu—​against the chan-
ging tendencies of the political economy and social relations, is valued
by Syrian Christians and other communities (Menon, 2003; Nambiar,
1998; Vahad, 2001). This endurance, a function of wealth, stands in
stark contrast to the sure death of the poor dwelling—​owing to chan-
ging weather, makeshift building material, and economic vulnerabil-
ities.2 The ancestral home is immortal and regenerative, it stands in as
an ‘ancestor’ with human qualities and emotions—​tranquil, solemn,
serene, and solid.3

Nidhin Donald, Displaying the ‘Family’ Online In: Family Studies. Edited by: Anuja Agrawal,
Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024. DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0012
298 Nidhin Donald

Figure 11.1 Modern nuclear family and the tharavadu

Source: Author, 2022.

One of the aims of Syrian Christian4 family associations or

kudumbayogams (a modern corporate entity mobilized due to socio-​
economic shifts, especially transnational migration) is to refurbish and
reproduce their ‘tharavaditam’—​which can be roughly but poorly trans-
lated as ‘good-​family-​ness’—​for themselves and a larger audience which
comprehends the vital signs of such reproduction. Historical transform-
ations such as fertility decline (and population decline), economic
mobility, and dispersed households, lie at the heart of this renewed invest-
ment in tharavaditam (see Zachariah, 2001, for Syrian Christian demo-
graphic changes). An array of collective identity works are put in place to
overcome the crisis of anonymity, dispersal, and family fragmentation.
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 299
My doctoral work (Donald, 2021) sociologically analysed some of them,
such as family histories, websites, and other audio-​visual productions,
all anchored by family associations.5 These cultural works tie together
memories, facts, and fancies to place the individual and his ancestors in
a superior social station within an imagined, hierarchical social matrix
of Keralan past and present (Donald, 2022). In other words, the descent
group displays its tharavaditam. In this chapter, I intend to explore how
tharavaditam is visually mobilized and disseminated with the help of a
few artistic impressions inspired by family association websites.
What families display (and depict) when they come together as a
modern association is my primary concern as a researcher. But what
do I mean by ‘display’? Janet Finch (2007, 67) proposes the concept of
‘displaying families’ as an analytical tool, wherein she defines ‘display’ as
actions of individuals or groups—​to convey to each other and to relevant
audiences that certain of their actions constitute ‘doing family things’.
Such displays shape what one may identify as family relationships. She
focuses on family practices, especially those which seek out an audience.
In developing the concept, Finch proposed three important questions,
all of which are relevant to my study: Why is display important to fam-
ilies today? How is displaying done? Who is the audience? (2007, 67). It
should be noted that the concept of display does not reduce the study of
family to mere social interaction; rather, it enables a middle way between
social interaction and structural contexts (Dermott and Seymour, 2011,
10). Moreover, a focus on display explores the issue of the audience—​
their reception, negotiations, and contestations (2011, 11–​12). This
chapter would expand the on-​going discussion on family displays in a
different historical and organizational context. Unlike everyday dis-
plays of domestic units and intimate partners, family associations stage a
constellation of themes, icons, images, motifs, and texts. In this process,
family displays achieve new meanings and occupy new technological and
ideological contexts.
A focus on what families do and display in a historically contingent
context also helps one appreciate family as a process which constitutes
social systems of gender, caste, and class. Family is a circulating and con-
tested category of perception—​an institution with a particular vision of
the world (Atkinson, 2014; Bourdieu, 1996a). Bourdieu (1996a, 21) ob-
serves that a family comes into being through acts of construction rooted
300 Nidhin Donald
in the ‘objectivity of social structures’ and ‘subjectivity of objectively or-
chestrated mental structures’. The ‘subjective’ in family can be identified
as a ‘matrix of countless representations and actions’, which reproduces
objective social categories and makes family a classificatory scheme
for other social institutions. One can think of family displays such as
printed histories or websites as representations. Here, representation
works like language or a system of signs and symbols which produce dis-
tinctive meaning for a given social group (Hall, 1997, 19). Drawing from
Atkinson (2014, 226), one can also call them routines of fostering which
work in tandem with the objective possibilities of a given group. While
printing family histories or launching family websites demonstrate new
levels of invention, they can also be recovered as offshoots of pre-​existing
family and caste relations. The unstated or understated doxa of the family
which distinguishes it from other families gets articulated in new ways,
using new means of expression (Atkinson, 2014, 227). These inven-
tions, though consequences of subjective interpolations and competitive
myth-​making, operate within the objective scheme of digital technology
(Bourdieu, 1990). Further, thinking of family as a process would help us
appreciate family as a product of the ‘labour of institutionalization’, which
involves inaugural acts of creation (origin stories, ceremonies) and their
logical reaffirmations and reinforcement through a variety of practical
and symbolic work (Bourdieu, 1996a, 21–​2). The structures of kinship
can only be perpetuated through continuous reinforcement of family
emotions and conditions. Families try to save themselves from conflict.
This is done by appealing to a ‘core minimum’ which every member pos-
sesses, irrespective of their differential locations. An appeal to an inali-
enable and inexplicable core constitutes identity on an everyday basis.
Thus, far from being simply a work of fiction or a social construct, family
becomes a real group when it is successful in transforming the explicit
obligation to love into an ‘implicit, taken-​for-​granted loving disposition’
(Bourdieu, 1996a, 22). It will be my contention that visual family displays
play a crucial role in assisting such a transformation.
This chapter focuses on digital images from kudumbayogam websites
as ‘family displays’ and analyses them with the help of my own artworks.
Though ‘impressions’ based on original photographic and non-​
photographic images, these artworks serve as useful tools to highlight
sociological patterns and visual elements. Raymond Williams (2014, 33)
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 301
argues that discovery of patterns marks the beginning of ‘useful cul-
tural analysis’ and helps the researcher to comprehend the relationship
between particular data objects and a ‘whole way of life’. It ought to be
noted that my drawings are conditioned by my own skills and priorities.
They are not accurate impressions of any single photograph or image;
rather, they are ‘fictional’—​informed by the visual patterns found on
websites.
The choice to make use of ‘fictional’ illustrations stems from both prac-
tical as well as political concerns. The copyright regime in India does
not allow the reproduction (or even re-​drawing) of images without the
permission of the right-​holder. On rare occasions, screenshots from
the internet are interpreted within the ambit of ‘fair use’. However, such
screenshots are supposed to be free of images and photographs. My re-
search is partly a work in visual sociology, an attempt to record and de-
scribe the visual culture of Syrian Christian families. I have attempted to
understand how families display and look. Thus, I generously made use
of screenshots from online and print sources in my thesis. However, the
same cannot be pursued for a commercial academic publication. Thus,
I had two options: (1) to go through the painstaking process of collecting
permissions from family associations and other individuals or (2) to not
use actual images but depend on my own representations. I opted for
the second, notwithstanding the challenges and problems therein. The
first option was dropped not only to skip the permission process but also
to save my research from unsolicited censorship and control. Control
through legal instruments and market mechanisms has always accom-
panied modern cultural production. Scholarly endeavours of critique
(such as this chapter) are schooled by these controls which sometimes
prove detrimental to individual actors or communities of actors. As a
researcher, it was my urgent need to navigate the marketplace in a way
that ensures minimum censorship and maximum freedom of expression.
Moreover, drawing as an exercise brings one closer to images and one’s
own judgement of them, achieving a sense of their shape, size, and tex-
ture. It is an error-​prone process involving various stages of corrections
and reflections, as John Berger (2011, 52) puts it: ‘draw, correct, draw’,
making them arguments autonomous of the original.
It is my aim to produce ‘an aesthetics of visual scholarly communica-
tion’ (Pauwels, 2012, 249). Putting it differently, this would mean a more
302 Nidhin Donald
engaged sociological treatment of the visual—​its processes, practices,
and technologies within our own limits. The process of visualization is
a combined result of an array of decisions—​many of which are opaque
to a digital researcher. According to Pauwels (2012, 259), scientific ana-
lysis of the visual—​at a fundamental level—​includes the study of visual
structures (building block, expressive means, and codes) and visual
cultures (production, reception, and practices). This would require us
to take note of the aesthetics and mediation processes of visual repre-
sentation within the wider context of their use. This chapter tries to ad-
dress at least some of these concerns. It seeks answers or possible leads
to the following questions: Can we learn about a group through their
visual displays? How does one analyse the visual life of a family-​caste-​
community-​religion? How do they want to be seen? What makes an
image or a juxtaposition of images identifiable? How do we as a society,
as members of different groupings, train our eyes (and those of others)
with visual cues that ensure identification? Finally, as a common strand
flowing through these questions: How do we conceptualize family web-
sites as sociological objects in the given context? The following sections
of the chapter would discuss: (1) the characteristics, affordances, and
anatomy of family association websites; (2) the visual life of family as-
sociation meetings, coupledom, and ancestors among Syrian Christians
followed by a few concluding thoughts.

Kudumbayogam Websites

With the advent of commercial internet in the late 1990s, Syrian

Christians (like others) started using digital platforms to display their
collective identity and realize the family. Family Association websites
have emerged as multi-​modal junctions, connecting family members to
each other and also to Church networks, matrimonial sites, family ge-
nealogy maps, and social media handles. It should be noted that family
websites could be: (1) personal blogs of individual members (e.g., Kavilai
Veetil Zachariah Family, n.d.); (2) websites of direct blood relatives who
shared/​share a common domestic arrangement (family household units);
(3) family association websites which are made up of several such col-
lateral family household units; and (4) maha-​kudumbayogam websites
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 303
which constitute family associations as their subsidiaries (Pakalomattom
Maha Kudumbayogam, n.d.). Most of the websites used in my study are
of the third variety—​kudumbayogam websites.
Family websites—​their inception and daily maintenance—​are a matter
of historically constituted, middle-​class leisure. One would always find a
class of individuals made up of white-​collar migrant men who shoulder
major responsibilities of these association. Designs, colours, images,
features, ease of navigation, interaction—​everything is governed by the
drive and resources of the association’s office bearers. Websites operate
within a network of digital protocols and are part of an online genealogy
industry. As opposed to a printed and archived family history, a family
website is neither permanent nor final. Its existence is impinged upon
by an array of commercial actors and their changing structures of com-
pensation. Further, a website’s affordance allows updates and revamps,
making it a constantly evolving object of sociological analysis. Thus, a
sociology of websites can never claim conclusiveness. It ought to be ready
for sudden disruptions and miraculous appearances. The value of the me-
dium, at least in the context of this chapter, lies in the fact that family as-
sociations can use them to display and depict. It becomes a small window
into the contemporaneity of familial representations. Accounts of how
websites were created and who contributed to what extent are sometimes
discussed (Maliakal Ettukettil Family, n.d.). Transnational migration is
the usual context that sets the stage for a website.
A typical family website is supervised by individual members attached
to a family association. They hire a local web-​designing/​building firm
which designs, hosts, and maintains the website for them.6 On rare occa-
sions, the web designer is a family member (Kuzhiamplavil Family, n.d.).
Since most of these family associations (with websites) are located in cen-
tral or southern districts of Kerala (Kottayam, Ernakulam, Alappuzha,
and Pathanamthitta), they engage web builders from these very districts.
Family websites are a business vertical/​niche for small-​town firms who
also serve local industries (of all hues) with branding, professional pho-
tography, and digital marketing. Many of them exhibit family websites in
their portfolio or services menu. Certain Christian-​centric firms of this
region specialize in customized websites, applications, and logo-​designs
for parishes, schools, and families (Glorious App, n.d.). The family asso-
ciation defines and deliberates the purpose and strategy of their website
304 Nidhin Donald
with the web developer. This consultative process unknots the range of
possibilities in terms of budget, features, and visual depictions. It will not
be off the mark to imagine experienced family website developers as art-
ists or ‘creators’ who objectify and aestheticize the tastes of the concerned
family (Bourdieu, 1993, 109).
It would be worthwhile to recreate the anatomy of a typical family
website (Figure 11.2). The homepage of a website usually has a family
logo and an adjacent header which states the name of the family in both

Figure 11.2 Impression of a family website homepage

Source: Author, 2022.
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 305
English and Malayalam. The header may frequently include a feature
image or what is known among designers as ‘hero image’. This has a de-
finitive symbolic function. The feature image could be a photograph/​
sketch of a family ancestor, ancestral home, church, icon of Thomas the
Apostle or the pictorial depiction of the holy family—​infant Jesus, Mary,
and Joseph. However, the latter is found mostly among Syrian Catholics.
Just below the header, the navigation bar of a family website usually con-
sists of family history, family tree, photo gallery, contacts, family associ-
ation details, and family directory. One may add or subtract specific
pages such as priests and nuns, bishops, who’s who, charitable activities,
churches, downloads, matrimony, and bulletin to this list—​depending
upon the digital assets and orientation of a family association. The side-
bars usually involve ‘call to actions’ or CTAs—​such as ‘click here’ or ‘read
more’. CTAs are simply instructive buttons or links which help the user
with effective navigation. Sidebars and footers may also include advert-
isements and links to other sites such as matrimonies, web-​builder com-
panies, family YouTube channel, religious websites, Wikipedia pages,
commercial or open-​source genealogy platforms, and social media com-
munities. Thus, the website helps family members access other collective
or communal spaces on the internet. There are many ways to arrive at
and proceed from the family website.
Visual depictions (photographs, tables, figures, page-​ layouts in-
cluded), are not simply illustrations. Taking a lead from Fyfe and Law
(1988), one may conceptualize them as stabilized products of processes
of work. Any visualization constructs difference and performs work.
Through inclusions and exclusions, juxtapositions and combinations, a
visual depiction creates an imagery. As Bourdieu (1984, 3) puts it, ‘the eye
is a product of history, reproduced by education’. To see is to discern and
differentiate—​a process all of us actively engage in. Any product of iden-
tity, be it an image, a website, a video, or a printed book, are collective
pedagogic actions. The emotions attached to one’s family, caste, or race
is not a result of genetic persuasions; rather, they presuppose ‘an act of
cognition, a decoding operation’ (1984, 3). Family websites, with their
images and content, train our senses in distinction. Distinction lies in the
ability to confer aesthetic status on objects that are banal.
The impression of the web-​page (as realized in Figure 11.2) contrasts
images and texts to create a stabilized, objectified Syrian Christian visual.
306 Nidhin Donald
While individual icons (such as the ‘Holy Family’ or Thomas the Apostle)
have a life beyond the said family association, when combined with pro-
vincial images of material and cultural significance (the ancestral home
and church, founder, patron, and family logo), they add up to something
more than the sum. One may argue that the process of mobilizing distinc-
tion fundamentally schools and contains signs. For example, the meaning
of the iconography of Thomas the Apostle—​when interpreted in the con-
text of the family—​is limited to the Syrian Christian caste origin-​myth
(Visvanathan, 1986, 1995). Thomas is an iconic figure who inaugurated
the Christian life of a few upper-​caste families at the dawn of Christianity.
Thus, the internal relation of images, achieved through apposition and
lay-​out, mobilizes the narrative of the family. Art historians have argued
that the image of Thomas was introduced to Christians in Kerala only
after the advent of colonialism. Until the fifteenth century the cross was
the predominant icon of daily use (Nangelimalil, 2018). Nevertheless, it
has historically developed a life of its own among Christians of Kerala
and Tamil Nadu. The Apostle is now an object and subject of church
murals, statues, billboards, book covers, websites, bulletins, and so on
(Kallarackal Kadavil Family, n.d.). Interestingly, the home page lends the
perceptive viewer a scheme to understand the visual life of caste among
Syrian Christians. The complex of caste displays does not come across
as a baggage from a Hindu past; rather, it tells us a story of historically
constituted caste position tutored within the specificities of Kerala’s
Christianity.

Kudumbayogam’s Dais, Actors, and Props

An important component of websites is the kudumbayogam albums

mostly archived in their ‘gallery’ sections. These albums cover a select
range of contact situations, particularly the annual family association
meetings which have now emerged as a systematized practice among
middle-​to-​upper class Syrian Christians. The documented images are
part of a selective tradition, to use the words of Raymond Williams
(2014, 36–​7). Selective traditions (or cultures) lie between lived and re-
corded cultures. They are cherry-​picked in a way that combine the al-
leged universality of modern familism and the specificities of the
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 307
relationship between the family, community, region, and the Church.
Kudumbayogams archive new rituals with the help of changing technolo-
gies if they yield agreeable outcomes. For example, family associations
were quick in embracing the possibilities of digital printing to bring out
printed family histories, calendars, bulletins, and other literary cultural
works. These works are then formally inaugurated or launched in family
meetings. Photographs of such inaugurations are prudently archived
on family websites. Inaugural images earmark individuals, roles, rela-
tions, and the collective will to legitimize new cultural objects. Let us go
through a few impressions of such images.
Figures 11.3, 11.4, and 11.5 are impressions of characteristic depictions
from the kudumbayogam album. In Figure 11.3 priests launch the
printed family history as part of the annual kudumbayogam meeting, or-
ganized usually in public or quasi-​public spaces—​it could be the family

Figure 11.3 The Kudumbayogam dais and the launch of the Family History.
(Translation of the Malayalam Text in the Image: 67th Annual Meeting of
Tharavadi Kudumbayogam)
Source: Author, 2022.
308 Nidhin Donald

Figure 11.4 Formal introduction of a family branch in a Kudumbayogam.

(Translation of the Malayalam Text in the Image: 67th Annual Meeting of
Tharavadi Kudumbayogam)
Source: Author, 2022.

courtyard, public hall, or increasingly posh resorts or one’s own family

association hall. Laymen or laity organizers crowd behind them. Lamp,
mementoes, flowers, and chairs decorate the stage in the aesthetic con-
ventions of modern associations. Unmarried daughters (including nuns)
and daughters-​in-​law perform prayers or songs, occupying the margins
of the dais. The gendered nature of the family (and in our case family
association) photography is a persistent pattern pointed out by several
scholars (Chambers, 2001; Rose, 2012).
The poster (hand-​painted or digitally printed, depending upon the pe-
riod) carries the family-​logo and the famous ancestor along with other
details. The ancestral figure overlooks the event. The family association—​
year after year—​recreates this spectacle.
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 309

Figure 11.5 The Kudumbayogam Arch-​gate. (Translation of the Malayalam

in the Image: 67th Tharavadi Kudumbayogam. Felicitation (swikaranam) of
elected representatives of Tharavadi Family)
Source: Author, 2022.

Priests and to a much lesser extent nuns—​and thus the Church—​play

a significant role in lending meaning to the family project. One often
finds them as ideologues, office-​bearers, and patrons of associations. As
a result, they dominate the frames of inaugural moments. They form an
element of what Richard A. Peterson (1982, 143) calls the ‘organizational
structure’, which constrains cultural production. It also brings home the
crucial point that Christian familism (of this variety) operates in tandem
with the polity of the Church. Here, the Church should be treated as a
shape-​lending institution which fulfils religious-​ideological (conceptual-
izing family—​its commitment, duties, crisis, gendered roles, and aspir-
ations) and secular-​f unctional (bureaucratic and physical infrastructure)
roles. The family association is perceived as a grass-​roots organization
of the Church, aligned with its political and economic goals. However, it
is critical to appreciate the difference in the social standing of the priest
310 Nidhin Donald
and the nun. While the priest occupies key organizational positions, the
nun operates as a special class of visible unmarried daughter within ex-
isting gendered norms. Their ‘visibility’, drawing from Patricia Uberoi’s
work on representation of womanliness, does not disturb the internal
hierarchy of the group; rather, it ties well with the projected familism of
Syrian Christians (Uberoi, 1990).
Like the family history launch, images of website inaugurations are also
a common feature of family website galleries. Such photographs also cap-
ture ecclesiastics and sometimes politicians—​mostly men—​‘publish’ and
launch the website in the presence of the family association. The website
(like the printed history) is placed on a public pedestal and is counted as
a significant, ‘forward-​looking’ feat for the association. The technological
and cultural interventions of the website are welcomed and ritualized.
Figure 11.4 is an ordinary depiction of a group of individuals (men,
women, and children) on the dais with one (or two) of them holding
a microphone. This is a frequent imagery in websites and videos. In a
family association meeting, members of different branches or collateral
units are invited to formally introduce themselves. In fact, the purpose of
the kudumbayogam is to be able to identify one’s kind and forge internal
uniformity. In family meetings, we encounter discursive practices like
formal introductions which are overt and photographable. On one hand,
they are practices, and on the other, they enable new forms of practices
and transmissions (informal connections off the dais). They are practices
which reproduce practices (Bourdieu, 1990). They assume and enable
certain ‘patterned dispositions’ when it comes to family, relationships,
intimacy, community, and ancestry. There is a broad consensus, among
families, that blood ought to identify blood—​forming the vital condition
for differentiation. It is a belief deeply rooted and creatively verbalized
in cultural productions. The inability to recognize blood relatives (due
to migration-​induced dispersion) is a fundamental problem for family
associations (Donald, 2020). Families lament non-​recognition and alien-
ation from one’s own kind. If one fails to identify ascriptive sameness,
claiming distinction becomes dubious. Family associations overcome
this problem through the ritual of formal introductions. In websites, it
also takes the form of directories, interactive family tree applications,
personal log-​in facilities, census, and so on. Once the introduction is
done, one may get started with tacit assumptions about the bloodline
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 311
(tharavaditam). Intrinsic, inalienable, irreducible qualities are then as-
signed to each other. Coming back to the impression, one realizes how
the family is reframed and ‘identified’ against the perceived isolation of
modernity and modernization. Family meetings become fields of identi-
fication and thus clarification.
Albums also document physical structures such as the family associ-
ation buildings (Maniyampra Kudumbayogam, n.d.) or busts (Thayillam
Family, n.d.), collectively owned by the lineage. The emergence of such
spaces, especially the family association office, is an important chapter
in the institutional history of Syrian Christian kinship. They operate as
family outposts, often located in marketplaces, transacting with the outer
world as members of a distinguished clan. The process of building an of-
fice space creates new grounds for communication and socialization. In
the next impression (Figure 11.5), one finds a permanent kudumbayogam
office and a temporary arch-​banner or arch-​gate, welcoming the elected
representatives of the family for the annual meeting. It is accompanied
by the picture of a high clergyman (to the right corner), who symbolizes
the association as one of its chosen spiritual ancestors. Like other public
associations which advertise their events, family associations put up pos-
ters, billboards, and arch gates in full public view. As one can see, the arch
frames the public road and no passer-​by can really miss its sight. They
are modern, public rituals with the express intent to display information
to a non-​family, uninvited audience (the locality, neighbourhood, vil-
lage, etc.). The publicness of such displays needs special attention—​they
are examples of how families are objectified for public interactions. The
spectacle of the arch-​gate (and other material cultures) engenders new
conversations and attracts political attention. The association emerges as
the public face of the lineage in the given locality, often competing with
similar such associations.

Kudumbayogam Album: Lineage,

Couple, and Ancestor

Among all the photographs of the kudumbayogam, none immortalizes

its spirit like the family group photo or ‘kudumba photo’ (Figure 11.6).
The group photo presents a layered, pyramid-​like pattern of the lineage,
312 Nidhin Donald

Figure 11.6 Kudumbayogam photo

Source: Author, 2022.

classified by gender and age—​the family priest and elderly men are at its
heart, seated on chairs; the youngest generation on the floor and young
men/​women behind the seated family members and often the tharavadu
or ancestral home in the backdrop (as was the case in Figure 11.1). The
tenacity of the visual pyramid is vital in the kudumbayogam archive. This
visual order which predicates the priest at the heart of the family union is
also recreated on the kudumbayogam dais. Parayil (2014) in his excellent
analysis of family photographs observes that by the late colonial period,
social change in Kerala was mediated by the visual image. Photographs,
he writes, became performative spaces and a public act. And the
earliest examples of such mediation were family group photographs fo-
cused on the unity and stability of the kin. Photography was co-​opted
as mechanism to stabilize dominant narratives on family during times
of turmoil (Namiko, 2004). Later, we find photographs which captured
interpersonal relations, small family forms, new domestic hierarchies,
material symbols of aspirations as part of a family’s visual depictions.
Nevertheless, group photos of the extended kin continue to be the main-
stay of the family archive. They are often made part of home-​page sliders
or appear as feature images (as in Figure 11.2).
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 313
An image’s distinction is ensured by the website’s multimediality.
If not for the separate webpage, design, line vector image, and texts—​
photographs would never stand out on their own. If we leave aside mem-
bers in communal outfits, famous personalities, or decorated high priests
with costumes that give away their rank and influence, photographs of
Syrian Christian men, women, and families require additional infor-
mation. It is multimediality—​or an apposition of two or three media
forms—​which brings out peculiarities. There is no racial specificity
which distinguishes a Syrian Christian family’s studio image with that of
other Malayalees or South Asians (notwithstanding counterarguments
made by family DNA groups). This is especially clear in depictions of the
small-​family form and heteronormative coupledom.
J. Devika (2008), in her exquisite analysis of shifts in family forms
and interpersonal relations in Kerala, identifies the ‘small family form’
with the ideology of responsible parenting (child-​crafting), gendered
division of labour and domestication of individuals. She argues that
the new dwelling made up of the husband–​wife and parent–​children
axes often loosened their ties with the extended kinship and com-
munity. Undoubtedly, this analysis resonates with Syrian Christians.
Nevertheless, Devika does not discuss two issues which have a bearing on
Christian families: (1) the Church and (2) the repurposing of extended
kinship into family associations. The family portrait (man, his wife and
two children) in Figure 11.1 is an example of the historically constituted
small family. The family association does not deplore the nuclear family;
rather, it ties it to a larger unity of similar families spread out globally.
The husband–​wife axis (of the nuclear family) has a special place in
the kudumbayogam album (Figures 11.7 and 11.8). One would find ump-
teen examples of photographs of newly wed couples on family websites.
In fact, family association meetings felicitate the newly wed and even de-
vise games and cultural programmes specifically aimed at kindling ro-
mantic love and conjugal display (Kandathil Family, n.d.).
Ancestors who lived and died without ever facing the camera as a ‘mar-
ried couple’ are often stitched together by their descendants using photo
editing softwares (Figure 11.8). Palpably, visual engineering of this sort
suits the genealogical text of the family website. It is interesting that family
associations have popular heteronormative notions of the small family
at its heart as against the multi-​generational joint family. No association
Figure 11.7 Impression of a studio photo of a newly-​wed couple
Source: Author, 2022.

Figure 11.8 Impression of an engineered couple photo

Source: Author, 2022.
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 315
aims to rekindle multi-​generational households—​even when they may
appeal couples to break the ‘two-​child’ norm in response to the falling
population of Syrian Christians in Kerala.
In the final portion, I wish to discuss the ancestor, or rather the famous
ancestor/​s in the visual life of family associations. As one may have no-
ticed, the ancestor’s image (mostly legendary or historical humans but
also non-​humans like the tharavadu) make up the background of other
depictions or are portrayed separately, with or without special effects. In
digital cultures of Syrian Christians, ancestors could be fabled Brahmins
who stood against orthodoxy or men close to the royalty. They could
be medieval church builders (Velliaveetil, n.d.), feudal lords, purifiers
of agricultural produce, ‘controllers of tenants’, but also ‘broad-​minded
philanthropists’ (Maramon Kolathu Family, n.d.), Ayurveda practi-
tioners, or Syriac and Sanskrit scholars—​generally men with elite tastes.
Ancestors of the more recent times are landed capitalists, high priests,
government servants, transnational migrants, members of elite clubs,
civil contractors, and so on. In fact, it is this class of modern ancestors
who founded the first batch of family associations in the late nineteenth
and early twentieth century. They were a combined consequence of colo-
nial modernity and more specifically capitalist agriculture in Travancore
(Tharamangalam, 1984). Failed, unsuccessful or ordinary male ances-
tors (and all women ancestors) are marginal to the Syrian Christian story.
Memorializing the distinguished, well-​ resourced ancestor is not
unique to Syrian Christians. In modern genealogy websites, customers
register with the hope of finding a distinguished ancestor—​somebody
famous or inspiring in the bloodline (McClure, 2003). This ‘inspiring an-
cestor’—​their qualities and ambitions—​are then projected onto the lives
of the customer, as a genetic-​given or tharavaditam. The customer can
seek solace in the idea that some day, quite inadvertently, she may turn
out to be like the chosen ancestor. On the contrary, if a customer ends
up finding something embarrassing about his roots, he may by the same
logic explain his own embarrassments and failures as part of a larger gen-
etic pattern. Either way, the triumph of genetic explanations is ensured.
Founding fathers or kudumba-​sthapakan are deified and assigned
special qualities. They are commemorated through images, symbols,
legends, which invariably invoke their physical features, cognitive abil-
ities, social station, and connections. Consider the example of Kandathil
316 Nidhin Donald
Mathulla. The Kandathil family website’s section on founding fathers
(n.d.) describes him thus:

Mathulla was a sincere, god fearing and hardworking man. Pleasing,

easily approachable, yet intelligent and shrewd, his humble and gentle
nature impressed people like ‘Thahsildar’ (the local town adminis-
trator) and others of high rank in the then society. Mathulla’s hand-
writing is also worth mentioning for its neatness and legibility. He had
a guided destiny and fortune bestowed upon him the best things in life.

Families uphold the forefather’s qualities as benchmarks for individual

family members. They are repeated—​through text, visuals, and sounds—​
as distinctive traits which members need to uphold at all times, notwith-
standing changes in life. In the passage above, Mathulla’s gentle ways with
the elites of the society is highlighted. There is also a mention of his ‘neat
handwriting’. Kandathils, being a major business family in Kerala (and
India) always highlight their tacit shrewdness to explain success and
wealth.
In Syrian Christian productions, the unmistakable quality of the
forefather’s image is its constancy. It neither grows old nor obsolete.
Discursive continuity is central to both family and religion. They com-
bine continuity with a sense of order. This order determines daily prac-
tices, duties, obligations, and social transactions. The forefather becomes
a set of stories and images—​all tethered together with text and talk. While
the dead cannot do anything on their own, the family members can in-
voke their life as a moralizing force to establish a normative order. This
way, the ‘forefather’ can remind and even warn family members of their
duties as men and women of distinction. He can fix how the family inter-
acts with other families, communities, and classes. Family websites and
videos aim to fix social relations in a world made up of ranks and orders.
This order cautions against deviations. The forefather’s image is then a do-
mestic symbol par excellence for continuity and caution. In Figures 11.9
and 11.10, I present impressions of modern and legendary ancestors re-
spectively. When families visually recreate the legendary ancestor—​a
figure from a distant, undocumented past—​they tend to use visual/​racial
tropes of Brahmin-​ness (tuft, light-​skin, sacred thread, etc.). Again, these
tropes are a combined result of Brahmin imageries in popular culture,
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 317

Figure 11.9 Impressions of modern ancestors

Source: Author, 2022.

Figure 11.10 Imaging a legendary ancestor

Source: Author, 2022.
318 Nidhin Donald
modern reconstructions of Syrian Christian past and the dormant pres-
ence of the Aryan typology and its Dravidian other (Thomas, 2018).
The best example of such visual recreation is the installation found
at St Thomas Syro-​Malabar Church (Palayur Palli) in Thrissur, Kerala.
Considered to have been founded by Thomas the Apostle, this church
has a permanent, life-​size installation depicting the inaugural miracle
and contact which apparently led to the conversion of Brahmins (and
other upper-​castes). The miracle is also depicted in popular paintings
and murals circulated within the Syrian Christian sphere. These paint-
ings, murals, and installations (often by unknown artists) imagine the
interaction between Thomas and a handful of Brahmin men, near a
temple pond. The demonstration of the ‘water miracle’ is the key visual
theme. It is believed that with this miraculous act the Brahmin men were
convinced to embrace Christianity. The official website of the Trichur
Archdiocese (n.d.), describes the story as follows:

St. Thomas landed at Palayur and witnessed the Brahmins offering

prayers at the Thaliyakulam (pond) adjacent to the then Palayur
temple. Amused by the sight of water being thrown up by the Brahmins,
he challenged the Brahmins stating that the water they were offering
was not being accepted by the Sun god as it was falling back into the
tank. He made a deal with them stating that his God would accept the
offer of water if he threw it up in the same way as they did, but water
would not fall back. If he proved this then his God was superior and the
Brahmins would have to embrace Christianity.

He was supposedly proven right and the Brahmins embraced Christianity.

Colonial missionaries have left behind a collection of writings which
document conversations between priestly Brahmins and missionaries—​
both real and imagined. Public disputation with ‘learned Brahmins’
on the relative merit of religions was a commonly used strategy by
Missionaries in the early days. Robert De Nobilli, the aristocratic Italian
missionary, crafted his entire career on this premise—​a point argued per-
ceptively by Dr B. R. Ambedkar (1995). T. M. Yesudasan (2010) observes
that mission work in the early nineteenth century Travancore attempted
to convert the ‘best’ among the heathens. This strategy was a failure and
led to a restrategization by late colonial period. Though contested and
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 319
dismissed by historians, the story continues to be retold and reimaged
among Syrian Christians. It has a cultural and material ecosystem of cir-
culation. The digitally circulated images are a part of this ecosystem. The
photographs of murals—​especially, new murals depicted on the walls
of refurbished churches—​are used widely by Syrian Christian families
(Pakalomattom Maha Kudumbayogam, n.d.). Transnational remittance
has led to a real-​estate boom—​refurbished churches are part of this real-​
estate political economy. These new structures adorn their walls with
old stories—​the miracle story being one of them. Families, often trans-
national migrants, pose with the installation or rather their legendary an-
cestors (Figure 11.11).
Clearly the image produces surplus meaning, a consequence of our
socio-​political circumstances which perceive religious conversion as a
trap, fall from glory, or a ploy to unsettle demographic balances. Such

Figure 11.11 Impression of a middle-​aged couple posing with the

installation
Source: Author, 2022.
320 Nidhin Donald
interpretations are beyond the control of individuals, family associations
or Syrian Christian denominations. Syrian Christians invest in the image
to cushion and endorse their claims to a superior social station (which,
according to them, remains unhindered even after conversion). It is also
a way for them to underline their ‘ancientness’ as opposed to the majority
of Christians who trace their beginnings to European colonialism.
However, meanings are context-​bound, tied to spaces and actors. It is im-
portant to understand the Syrian Christian imagery within its historically
contingent context, even as they respond to national and global changes
in their visual depictions. While the Brahmin (or upper-​caste) ancestor
connects the community to the regional and sometimes national caste
structure, religious conversion of the same ancestor marks a dangerous
discontinuity—​an aspect which rarely finds space in Syrian Christian
written or visual accounts.

Concluding Thoughts

Bourdieu (1996b, 6) observes that irrespective of the level of automation,

the choice of taking a picture ‘involves aesthetic and ethical values’. Such
choices cannot be attributed solely to individual imagination. Rather,
the group places the practice under its collective rules. This makes every
photograph a site of interpretation, challenging the objectivity of the
camera (Fyfe and Law, 1988). Making sense of a photograph would in-
clude both recovering the meanings which it proclaims and ‘deciphering
the surplus meaning which it betrays by being part of the symbolism of an
age, a class or an artistic group’ (Bourdieu, 1996b, 7). Thus, photographs
can both elicit a theory of social reproduction as well as the contradic-
tions therein (Wright, 2017, 20). In case of family association photo-
graphs, one clearly senses a certain burden of convention. They follow a
set of visual rules and ordering of spectacle. Impressions analysed in this
chapter were based on self-​presentations of families. I have tried to ap-
proach these images as ‘visual gestalts’—​a term used by Douglas Harper
(2012, 9), which inform the everydayness of identity formation among
families. Websites have a lot in common, including their visual cultures.
Impressions of the dais, ecclesiastics, group depictions, couples, nuclear
family, arch-​gates, homesteads, and the website were chosen to provide a
 Displ aying the ‘Family ’ Online 321
glimpse of this visual culture as family displays and capture the ‘structure
of feeling’ that informs them (Williams, 2014).
In family association websites, photographs capture the high points
of a kin network. The idea is to reinforce the integration of the family
group. Families, through websites, actively archive their collective lives,
notwithstanding the actual temporal, spatial, or emotional distances be-
tween them. Clergy and famous ancestors become crucial visual tropes of
such albums, serving as charismatic actors who lend integrity to the pro-
ject. These digital or digitized albums operate as pedagogic tools in de-
fining the ideal Syrian Christian family and its relationship to the larger
kin network. Photography, along with websites, videos, and printed his-
tories, fulfil functions that existed before their appearance—​the solem-
nization and immortalization of important areas of collective life. In a
caste-​valorized context, it also affirms the endogamous nature of the col-
lective. When the family repurposes itself for new conditions, when the
old is dissolving and breaking, and the new is unformed and unclear, im-
ages offer a flicker of stability (Bourdieu, 1996b, 28).
Further, family photographs play an important role in the continual
exchange of information among family members. The order of photo-
graphs (combined with the adjoining text) follows the bloodline ge-
nealogically, revealing relationships and a system of viewing. Family
associations photograph and enlist images which must be photographed.
So, we can argue that photographs are socially planned. Finally, our re-
lationship to photography, for that matter, with any visual practice is a
mediated one. Implicitly or explicitly, it includes references to how other
classes approach the practice (Bourdieu, 1996b, 9). The aspirations com-
municated through photographs or any other visual practice cannot
be dissociated from the objective situations in which they are consti-
tuted. These conditions, according to Bourdieu, exclude the possibility
of desiring the impossible—​thus setting the range of possibilities. The
Syrian Christian attempts to ennoble their families and formulate a dis-
tinct visual practice ultimately tell us about their class habitus (concrete
particularity of the objective situation, ways of being, acting, and oper-
ating in the social environment) and the ensuing web of possibilities and
impossibilities. The study of photography or other forms of visual data
can illuminate aspects of habitus which are otherwise beyond the sphere
of articulation (Sweetman, 2009). This chapter was an attempt to provide
322 Nidhin Donald
a critical description of what images of tharavaditam can tell us about the
family and its habitus.

Notes
1. The term tharavadu has found some academic elaboration within discussions on
Nair matrilineal households, inheritance, and reforms in Kerala. This chapter is
concerned with the generic, present-​day use of the term by Malayalees, which may
have its historical roots in matriliny but definitely has a life beyond it.
2. I am reminded of the Kerala corner in Indira Gandhi Rashtriya Manav
Sangrahalaya, Bhopal which has reassembled spacious, specimens of Nair and
Namboothiri houses and downhill a set of thatched, temporary structures of
fishing community houses.
3. Commercial family websites convert their ancestral home to heritage homestays
and resorts. Such tharavadu resorts, as they are popularly known, stand at the
confluence of tourism expansion and transnational migration of the 1990s.
4. Syrian Christians form a multi-​denominational community, largely made up of
native, upper-​caste Christians in Kerala with a powerful diaspora. One also finds
a small percentage of lower-​caste Christians within Syrian Christian denomin-
ations, some of whom have taken up the ‘Syrian Christian’ identity (Abraham,
2019; Visvanathan, 1993).
5. The use of the term ‘family’ in family association denotes patrilineal collateral
lines of descent made up of numerous, globally dispersed household units.
6. Websites are made up of files and these files need to be stored in specialized
servers. Hosting primarily facilitates such storing and ‘serving’ as per our re-
quirements. There are several hosting services such as GoDaddy, BlueHost,
DreamHost, HostGator, and so on, used by Syrian Christian Family Websites.

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 12
‘Seeing’ Family through
Wedding Albums
Suryanandini Narain

This chapter examines the photographic documentation of Indian wed-

dings and the role of these images in formulating civil, class, and cultural
identities at the same time as they offer readings of intergenerational and
gendered relationships within families.1 In modern times, the wedding
has been appended by photographic images that visually enshrine the
rite of passage in the form of individual portraits, albums, and videos,
in analogue and digital formats. These images reside in institutional and
personal archives, gaining an afterlife through retrospective viewing and
circulation, reviving and affirming the cohesive role of families at each
spectatorial moment. Keeping in view that ‘among the vast majority
of India’s people, a wedding is at once a culmination and a beginning,
a demonstration and a test, a stage and a theatre, an affirmation and a
consolidation’ (Mandelbaum, 1970, 652), the chapter traces the role of
photographs in shaping this rite of passage. Based on material and visual
readings of these images, it examines the methodological potential of
wedding photographs to read familial particularities in north Indian
urban society.
The chapter’s structure follows an enquiry into the interface between
the photography’s own transforming status as a modern technological
device, and changing familial configurations in India. In the first section
I contrast an analogue format, colonial period royal wedding album with
an immediately post-​Independence middle-​class wedding album. I note
the differences in the display of conspicuous consumption (Bloch et al.,
2004) at the two events, as visualized by the camera, hoping to read into

Suryanandini Narain, ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums In: Family Studies.
Edited by: Anuja Agrawal, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2024.
DOI: 10.1093/​9780198930723.003.0013
328 Suryanandini Narain
this the claims of social status made by the families. In the next section
I look at the concurrence of economic liberalization with the digital revo-
lution in India during and after the 1990s, impacting the ways in which
both weddings and wedding albums have been executed. Familial config-
urations and ritual practices have been aesthetically reformulated for the
lens for sanctifying matrimony.
The photograph references larger tropes in media and popular visual
culture besides being a mnemonic device for sacred and legal purposes
in the family. It testifies how ‘families need to be “displayed” as well as
“done” ’ (Finch, 2007, 66). The final section dwells on a few exceptions
to the norms of conventional marriage and related photography, namely
in the form of the ‘court’ marriage and the ‘candid’ photograph. I enquire
into the alternative modes of familial representation that such photo-
graphic spaces have to offer. This is followed by a conclusion on the po-
tential use of the photograph as a visual method in research, for familial
and other fields of study. Overall, this chapter is a study in the intersec-
tions between class, visual aesthetics, and familial configurations as re-
flected in wedding albums. It is also a study of the construction of gender,
in that family photographs act to negotiate individual and social iden-
tities of the marrying woman. While the scale of my research remains
limited to Hindu rites in urban north India, it is important to consider
the ‘pan-​Indianness’ of the Hindu model as an archetype informing other
ethnic and regional rites, resulting in the standardization in wedding
photography as a representative visual practice.
The title of this chapter borrows from the editorial of a 2017 special
issue of the journal Photography and Culture, which addresses how def-
initions of ‘family’ and ‘family photography’ can be expanded in visual
studies. The guest editors of the journal claim that the contemporary
family has been redefined, needing new methodological approaches to
study its fabric, ‘thereby raising methodological questions about ways
of seeing, feeling, hearing, and collecting that have informed interpret-
ations of family photography thus far and suggest new modes of inquiry
and interpretation’ (Orpana and Parsons, 2017, 95). Towards this goal,
while studies on family photographs from South Asia are very limited,
there is significant international scholarship in the domain (Bourdieu,
1990; Brown and Phu, 2014; Goldchain and Langford, 2008; Hirsch,
1997, 1999; Kuhn, 1995; Rose, 2016).2 Recent works by Banks (2018)
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 329
and Perera (2020) have consciously explored the methodological poten-
tial of personal photographs, with Karlekar (2005) and Majumdar (2009)
having successfully employed images to comprehend social dimensions
of modernity, gender, and the colonial subject in India. I position this
chapter in the context of a specific rite of passage within this larger dis-
course, regarding photography as an aid for the ‘doing’ and ‘display’ of
‘familyness’.3 Wedding photography is an attempt to visually address a
disciplinary gap identified by Carol Smart, where everyday family life
re-​engages with certain events and rituals such as festivals, traditional
family holidays, and reunions, which have ‘fallen outside the framework
of sociological interest’ (Smart, 2007, 35). The South Asian context offers
a case of complex intersectionality where the family can be studied for
its visual self-​display, its aspirations to class and status, entwining with
everyday lived realities as they are revealed in family photographs.4 The
chapter tries to establish the wedding album as a heuristic device to
bridge enquiries into the family for larger topics of sociological interest,
such as class, gender, and globalization on the one hand with more recent
studies of memory and intimacy on the other. Certain pressing questions
beg answers that are centrally addressed in the chapter.
While a wedding strikes its own balance between convention and im-
agination, is the camera’s role merely documentary or can it also be con-
structive, spectacular, or imaginary? Or as Janaki Abraham asks while
examining wedding videos from Kerala: ‘What newness have cam-
eramen and videographers brought to marriage ceremonies and rituals?
And related to this, how do videos represent the wedding and conju-
gality?’ (Abraham, 2011, 265). How exactly does the camera participate
in both the cultural homogenization and innovation of a fundamental
social institution? This chapter hypothesizes that wedding photography
as a practice in ‘displaying’ family is instrumental in constructing the very
notion of family, as much as in documenting it.

The Wedding Album: Historical Forms

The album is the proper home of a photograph, its format enables one
image to be explicated by its neighbours, the past and present in se-
quence. Arranged carefully, photographs are safe between heavy covers,
330 Suryanandini Narain
preserving memories of weddings, holidays, birthdays, and ceremonies
for families that grow and scatter in the course of life. The images are
key to the role that families perform as ‘mnemonic communities’ (Smart,
2007, 40), as they seek to document objective history, but they are also
aids to subjective memory, invoking nostalgia amidst known audiences
while instructing newer members. In belonging to an album, individuals
gain membership to families and collective memories.5 The physicality
of an album, more pertinent in the pre-​digital era, lends it a function and
character that lies beyond the potency of individual images. With the
arrival of digital photography, the album takes the dual format of being
virtual besides being tangible, populating social media, inviting new pos-
sibilities for visual intervention, alteration, and the unprecedented speed
of creation and instantaneous sharing.
Wedding albums are a variety of personal albums that focus on a cru-
cial rite of passage, when the families gain and loose members under
ritual guidelines. Professionally compiled wedding albums produced
by photographic studios involve a template-​like, orderly arrangement
of images that see through this transition. The visual narrative is more
or less chronologically aligned to the event, with a proportion of pages
dedicated to portraits, another to group images, photographs of spatial
arrangements, and a focus on rituals. They are often accompanied by
text, allowing for better recall. The names of the marrying couple, the
dates for the events, and even the wedding invitation, are often inserted
into the album, indicating a conscious effort towards historicization. The
wedding album is hence a serious acknowledgement of families in the
making, occupying a visual, physical, and memorial space in households.
While it is difficult to pinpoint the first wedding album that was pro-
fessionally made in the subcontinent, a copy of one of the earliest ones
from the Alkazi Collection of Photography in Delhi, gives a possible
history. The Kapurthala wedding albums6 dating to the early twentieth
century are an illustrative example of the portrayal of an elite visual his-
tory and politics of matrimony. Judith Mara Gutman emphasizes that the
reason for weddings of the royalty to be photographed was chiefly to do
with the fact that ‘weddings were crucial to a Court or State, since they
involved an exchange of property (in earlier times armed processions
marched to weddings with the possibility in mind that they might need to
ward off war)’ (Gutman, 1982, 86). The earliest album in this collection
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 331
documents the wedding of Tikka Raja Paramjit Singh of Kapurthala,
dating back to 1911 (also called Rani Brinda’s wedding album), compiled
by the famous photographers Bourne and Shepherd.7 The album con-
tains thirty-​seven platinum print photos, seventeen of which are devoted
to various events at the wedding, such as the State Ball and Banquet,
Hindu and Sikh wedding rituals such as the Sehrabandi, and several im-
ages of a spectacular wedding procession.
These photographs capture the physical dimensions of space but do
not focus on the couple or any other members of the party, who remain
largely at an unidentifiable distance. The family is inseparable from
guests, courtiers, and musicians, the typed titles at the bottom of images
only alluding to the visualized event. Reputed for their landscape photog-
raphy, Bourne and Shepherd are in fact not seen to change their format
for the Kapurthala wedding album, taking wide-​angle shots of the scenes
at hand.8 The albums in themselves are thus not of a personal nature,
with a large distance separating photographer and subject, mirroring
the formal aloofness a subject of the royal state may also feel. The royal
marriage thus does not only belong to the family, but to the kingdom,
its people, and their larger claim to socio-​political status. The physic-
ality of the album indicates its role as a state souvenir, with high-​quality
silver gelatine printing, its leather-​bound cover embossed with the state’s
crest. Album copies are known to have been issued for official presenta-
tions, making it essential for the photographs to foreground orderliness
and grandeur over and above intimacy or spontaneity at a royal wedding
(Figures 12.1 and 12.2).
In contrast to the patronage of royal families, wedding albums in or-
dinary families were not produced until photography itself became
more affordable and the camera, democratized. The family members of
late Vinodini Srivastava, a middle-​class woman from Delhi, recall how
Vinodini’s parents, who married in 1928, had no photographs of their
wedding due to the expenses involved, the absence of a personally owned
camera, and also the limitations of photographic technology indoors or
in the failing light of evenings.9 They add how Vinodini’s wedding in the
1960s was not professionally photographed for some of the same reasons,
but on the following morning a photo-​shoot via a relative’s camera within
the precincts of her natal home took place. Before she left with her new
husband, her brothers pulled out the sofa from the drawing room into
332 Suryanandini Narain

Figure 12.1 ‘The Hindu Marriage Ceremony’ from Bourne and Shepherd,
‘The Wedding Album of Sri Tikka Paramjit Singh of Kapurthala with
Princess Brinda of Jubbal’, Platinum Print, 2 February 1911, 175 × 308 mm,
ACP: 98.57.0001(8)
Source: The Alkazi Collection of Photography, New Delhi.

Figure 12.2 ‘The Wedding Procession (The Bride and Bridegroom’s

Carriage)’ from Bourne and Shepherd, ‘The Wedding Album of Sri Tikka
Paramjit Singh of Kapurthala with Princess Brinda of Jubbal’, Platinum
Print, 2 February 1911, 183 × 303 mm, ACP: 98.57.0001(11)
Source: The Alkazi Collection of Photography, New Delhi.
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 333
the veranda’s morning light. In the first image Vinodini stands beside her
husband, clasping a sindhaura (box of vermillion). The couple stands
formally, bearing the markers of marriage through garlands and jewel-
lery. Towards the extreme left, a number of arms and elbows of family
members spill into the picture, indicating that there were others close
at hand, waiting to be included in the photographic frame. The isola-
tion of the couple in family photographs marks a modern moment in
familial relationships, where the extended family ideal had previously
superseded the conjugal tie. Images such as those from Vinodini’s wed-
ding appear to be at the cusp of a shift, from the extended family ideal
towards the modern preference for the nuclear unit. They recall a pre-
vious moment in the turn-​of-​the-​century photographic portrayal of the
bourgeoise couple that Rochona Majumdar writes of as the ostensibly
projected modernity in Bengali society. She writes that ‘this image of the
couple was firmly set in and circumscribed by the context and the ideal
of the reconstituted extended family, in which the couple lived with the
groom’s parents and their relatives, sharing the same home and eating out
of the same kitchen. A perfect marriage was one that performed this com-
promise’ (Majumdar, 2009, 127).
In fact, the extended family features prominently in the images after
the conjugal photos in the album, and the bodily comportment of bride
and groom reflect a demure stance even in the conjugal photo, perhaps
indicating its presence outside the frame. Thus in one photo, Vinodini
sits with her sari covering her head and part of her face, while her hus-
band sits leaving a significant gap on the sofa, his hands drawn together
in his lap (Figure 12.3). In subsequent images, one by one, the frame fills
with family members (Figure 12.4). In two other images, not shown here,
the bride herself is displaced by the children of the family who cram onto
the sofa, embedding the groom as if to almost obscure him. The final
photographs in this album have the groom seated in the front veranda of
Vinodini’s colonnaded natal home. In this series of images, thus, he has
travelled outward from the innermost quarters of the house, the back to
the front, from female to male occupied areas until he departs with his
new wife. The images terminate at this point, marking the conclusion of
this rite of passage. The entire wedding was compressed into eight im-
ages, paring down the rite to a few iconic frames. Wedding albums from
the following decades, even from within the same family, unravel the
334 Suryanandini Narain

Figure 12.3 Wedding photograph of Vinodini and S. C. Srivastava; c. 1970s,

Lucknow
Source: Author’s private collection.

Figure 12.4 Wedding photograph of Vinodini and S. C. Srivastava; c. 1970s,

Lucknow
Source: Author’s private collection.
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 335
sequence of events into hundreds of images, owing to the increasing af-
fordability of the camera as well as general familiarity with its presence.
Vinodini’s wedding album, on the other hand, calls for memory’s role in
reconstructing the unseen elements that remain outside photographed
frames and between pictorial sequencing, making oral narratives im-
portant. As photographs manifestly ‘display’ family, their retrospective
viewing and discussion adds to the notion of ‘doing’ family, confirming
the importance of photography in Finch’s claim for the ‘sociologist’s
toolkit’ (Finch, 2007).

Changing Photographic Technologies, Aesthetics, and

Familial Understanding

Since the late twentieth century, weddings and their albums in South Asia
increasingly simulated heterotopias borrowed from cinematic frames,
seamlessly intermixing fantasy with the reality of the rite of passage.
A family’s decision to hire professional photographers familiar with the
spectacles of Hindi cinema reveals a shared inter-​ocularity and a common
vocabulary between the two lens-​based media.10 New technologies after
the digital turn of the 1990s have further enabled albums to become
glossy, colourful productions of considerable cultural capital, portraying
the bride and groom as the stars of their movie-​like wedding. Film his-
torian Sangita Gopal (2011) aligns the emerging post-​liberalization
citizen-​subject with visual depictions of the couple in cinema, shown
within the vagaries of marriage.11 The wedding is no longer a conclusion
to the filmic storyline, but opens into exploring the domestic and pro-
fessional spheres where the couple and nuclear unit dwell. The couple is
individuated, extracted away from the family and community, to depict
the independent citizen who can exercise free choice.
Concomitantly, wedding albums since liberalization have devised
complex and elaborate ways of depicting this couple outside the context
of family and in a vastly different social order from the generations be-
fore them. These albums are a fascinating admixture of visualizing con-
jugality in both familial and non-​familial backgrounds, leaning towards
one or the other depending upon the choices made by their producers,
that is, the families themselves and the lens-​bearing photographers.
336 Suryanandini Narain
The examples that follow illustrate the ways in which wedding albums
visually locate conjugal relations in personal and social realms inhabited
by the family. A model of Indian social stratification can be suggested on
the basis of the types of photographic intervention commissioned by the
families. The uppermost, elite classes patronize a dual mode of wedding
photography, with candid as well as documentary albums of the event
suggesting wealth, status, and an emotional charge. The middle classes
emulate the elite by creating an imaginary photographic space that sim-
ultaneously projects safety in conformity, reinforcing socially expected
propriety, extended family participation and ritual precision. This emu-
lation matches Dwyer’s reflections on cinema among Mumbai’s middle
class, that ‘extends its reach through its anonymous representations in
the press, literature and other cultural manifestations, whereby it be-
comes the norm or the aspiration’ of the classes below (Dwyer, 2000, 4).
I add wedding photography to the list of representative practices through
which visual culture and aesthetics transfer between upper, middle, and
lower classes. The different modes of wedding photography index what
Dwyer calls the enjoyment of love, wealth, and equality in the domain of
the postmodern family engaging with capital and consumption (Dwyer,
2000, 13).
During the wedding, the photographer has a shifting position of
proximity to the couple, as one who does not belong to the family or
the officiating ritual agency, but nevertheless has unmitigated access to
the marrying couple, performing the role of the primary witness with
his recording device. Ankit Sharma, owner of a photo studio in Delhi’s
Chandini Chowk, explains how the photographer at the time of the wed-
ding takes on the role of the visual director, intervening to make a ‘good
picture’ that conforms with expected social norms.12 For instance, he
induces the repetition of actions, the freezing of poses and expressions,
irrespective of the overall temporal linearity of the rites, suggesting a
‘non sacred ritual’ constructed via photography. Clients accommodate
the intrusiveness of a photographer in order to extract the most repre-
sentative image, although a primary selling point for studios is the claim
of performing their job ‘un-​intrusively’ or ‘without making the sub-
ject feel uncomfortable’.13 The larger family’s legitimizing role as wit-
ness to the wedding is mediated through photography, as they may only
‘get a glimpse of things happening though the crevices in the screen of
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 337
cameramen. . . . The audience for the ritual then are the cameramen (and
the immediate family which is on stage), because few others can see it.
The audience in their seats only manages to see the marriage ceremony
later through the photographs and the video, i.e. through the eyes of the
cameramen. The social prescription of witnesses who legitimize the
marriage by not only being present but seeing the ritual is thus reformu-
lated’ (Abraham, 2011, 268). Such an album is typical of the kind that
emigrating couples or spouses require for their visas during interviews in
embassies. The conviction of the married couple to appear as such rests
heavily on the claimed originality of the wedding album, and the appear-
ance of the couple as truly being locked in matrimony.
Exemplifying this kind of visual construction, Mala and Sandeep’s
wedding album from the year 2005 bears a red hardbound cover, with
equally sized plastic sleeves holding their photographs. ‘These albums
are available by the dozen in Camerawalli galli (lane) behind our shop.
They are supplied from here to all over India. This is the most common
form of the wedding album’, explains Sharma.14 The clients coming to
such studios are not expecting to be offered visual innovation in their
albums which may set them apart from their larger community, instead
they are seeking social inclusion through conformity with established
formats. In her preference for the same type of album as all her other
married relatives, Mala, the bride, gains a sense of belonging that she, as a
second-​generation migrant into the city of Delhi, derives a sense of root-
edness and confidence from. Her family belongs to a middle-​class back-
ground with her father working as a government clerk and her mother, a
homemaker. Mala says that her parents had in fact made a greater finan-
cial investment in the pre-​wedding matrimonial photograph than in her
wedding album.15
Most of the 330 photographs in Mala’s album are straightforward
shots of people posing for the camera, midway in their participation in
a ritual, standing or seated next to the bride and groom. The first page
shows Mala and the groom, Sandeep, in double portraits, dressed in their
wedding attire with ‘Happy Wedding’ and the date of the event inscribed
above them (Figure 12.5). The next few pages have up to six full and
half individual portraits of the bride, and a couple of the groom, taken
just after the jaimaal or the exchange of garlands. Mala recalls having to
pose for these shots, tilting her face and directing her gaze following the
338 Suryanandini Narain

Figure 12.5 Wedding photograph of Mala and Sandeep Guleria; 2003,

New Delhi
Source: Author’s private collection.

photographer’s commands. A standard patterned floral border surrounds

most images, with some special portraits marked out in a double border.
The general tendency is to capture full-​length portraits, filling the frame
to its optimum capacity. Every relative on-​site is clearly documented for
his or her participation and presence, in anticipation that they will be
acknowledged when the album is viewed later. Up to ninety photographs
focus on the religious ceremony of the wedding; the photographer from
his frontal position has an unobstructed view of the rites. Mala relates
how every detail in the ritual is not necessarily comprehensible to its per-
formers, yet the presence of the priest and photographer ensures a degree
of sombre compliance, which in turn validates the marriage. The pausing
for photographs thus reminds family of the fact that they are being
watched and recorded for their consent to the marriage that they witness.
Of special interest are some interspersing pages that show portraits
of the couple, using digital elements for borders and backgrounds, re-
locating the couple outside the context of the wedding venue. These
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 339

Figure 12.6 Wedding photograph of Mala and Sandeep Guleria; 2003,

New Delhi
Source: Author’s private collection.

anticipate the couple’s honeymoon, associating marriage with a meta-

phorical journey to dreamscapes where husband and wife play out their
conjugality privately (Figure 12.6). Natural elements such as flowers and
forests signify fertility, heterotopic fantasy, and pleasure, jettisoning the
couple away from the reality of the wedding. These rupture the flow of
the narrative by referencing an atemporal moment outside the overall
order of events, and empty the frame of the larger family, in favour of the
emergent identity of the couple as a unit. But the embeddedness of these
portraits within the precincts of the weddings album retains them within
the larger familial context, as a visual negotiation with the traditional ex-
tended family ideal. Bonnie Adrian (2003) observes a similar sentiment
in albums of bridal portraiture in Taiwan from the late 1990s, where the
artifice of the image was the very reason for its appeal. Aligning the figure
of the bride and groom along global notions of romance, these images
are a symbolic departure from the reality of patriarchal, familial living,
340 Suryanandini Narain
especially existing as a consolation for the wife who subsequently loses
her youth and beauty.16
Concern remains regarding the portrayal of the modern couple as a
bearer of pre modern familial values. David Halle (1987) and Gillian
Rose (1996) regard the modern couple as being inherently unstable, the
larger family appearing to support its survival in pictorial as well as lived
reality. In the Indian context the instability of the modern couple would
stem from the burden of expectations of a transforming nation in the dec-
ades surrounding Indian independence, the socialist ideal of nation and
family in the Nehruvian era and thereafter, the economy of the global mo-
ment in the 1990s. The conjugal unit became the bearer of familial and by
extension, national values of happiness, stability, and growth of the new
citizen, as an index of economic and political progress. One can suggest
that the fragility of the conjugal unit as a surviving concern in the post
liberal moment is flagged by the incremental investment in weddings and
in conjugal photography. The post 1990s institutions of marriage and
family struggle on the shifting terrain of new economic, technological,
and administrative transformations that seek to redefine its role, while
also drawing on its assumedly stable identity as nurturing citizens and
consumers.
The selection of symbolic elements such as foreign landscapes, luxury
vehicles, and palatial interiors for couple portraits in wedding photo-
graphs seem to indicate a limitless fantasy, although this selection is far
from random. They are, as Bloch et al. (2004) enumerate in their research
on conspicuous consumption during weddings in rural India, modelled
on the lavish celebrations in urban areas where the ‘celebrations by poor
families imitate the more extravagant patterns common in richer fam-
ilies’ (Bloch, 2004, 676). Visual elements from weddings of the wealthy
become the very symbols to be digitally included in albums of the eco-
nomically lower classes, in full acknowledgement of the actual absence of
those objects in reality. The upper classes compete to socially claim nov-
elty and unprecedented luxury, entailing the hiring of designers, event
managers, exotic destinations abroad, and unbounded expenditure on
food, clothing, and entertainment.17 The mediated visual transference of
knowledge of these phenomena to other social classes sets the ideals by
which they may wish to align their own aspirations. The photographic
album is the space for the visual articulation of these aspirations, made
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 341
possible through the digitally montaged symbols of wealth used by the
upper class.

Alternative Practices

The simultaneous co-​existence of frameworks that seek to foreground fa-

milial propriety and conjugal love and freedom is exemplified by the mul-
tiple albums that a single event may produce. This dual operation of the
camera at weddings, producing different kinds of photographies, plural-
izes the understanding of conjugality and the family per se. A particular
feature of the millennial wedding is that of candid photography, con-
structing an album that challenges previously laid out norms, marking
a generational difference. While the parents of marrying young men and
women usually opt for the conventional studio photographer and a vo-
luminous album, the bride and groom themselves wish for a more per-
sonal engagement with memories, hiring a photographer who captures
images behind the scenes, foregrounding romance and intimacy be-
tween the couple, family, and friends. Candid photography is at liberty
to record the wedding against the grain of familial propriety, conven-
tion, and ritual focus, foregrounding the conjugal unit rather than pic-
turing an inventory of the guests and ceremonies. The phenomenon of
pre-​wedding photography falls into this domain, as an attempt to docu-
ment love and romance between man and woman before they are to be
married. Quite commonplace for contemporary couples of middle-​and
upper-​middle-​class urban India, these shoots are usually set in outdoor
natural surroundings, monuments, hotels, and heritage sites, neutral-
izing domestic or ritualistic contexts associated with matrimony. The
couple dons modern clothing, often casual and Western wear, and are
guided by the photographer to emulate gestures and postures common
to song and dance sequences from Indian cinema. In their isolation from
the family, this is the opportunity for the couple to articulate their emo-
tional and sexual proximity, and the pleasures of companionship before
they are weighed by the responsibilities of marriage.18
The discussion on weddings, thus far, has been around cases in which
the ceremonial is prescribed by religious method. Alternative to com-
munity sanctioned marriages are those that occur under the aegis of the
342 Suryanandini Narain
legal system, often transgressing marital prescriptions of caste, religion,
and community. The types of photographs that emerge from such mar-
riages, colloquially termed ‘court marriage’ or ‘civil marriage’ or ‘registry’
raise different questions. Mody (2008) in her ethnography and analysis of
love marriages in Delhi speaks of the ‘not community’ that such couples
belong to, at least temporarily until they are re-​incorporated into their
larger families.19 Agrawal (2022) draws attention to the recourse that the
Arya Samaj ceremony in urban north India provides to defiant couples,
equating this kind of arrangement with ‘love marriages’ among those
that belong to Mody’s ‘not community’. With those who wish to marry
under the Special Marriage Act of 1954, part of the cumbersome legal
procedure involves photos that appear as passport images of the girl and
boy, posted on the notice board outside the ‘marriage room’ of the court,
in public announcement of their wedding, something that does not stand
to suit couples who elope to get married. In court, the marital rite itself is
not elaborate, hence photographs of the wedding are numerically fewer.
The context may be more sombre with less of a celebratory spectacle and
the budget of an eloping couple may not be as generous as a wedding that
is sponsored by family.
These reasons usually shrink the album to a few photographs, or even
just a single image. The poignancy of the single, unadorned, free-​floating
photograph in these cases is striking, as seen in the infamous 2007 story of
Rizwanur Rehman and Priyanka Todi. The inter-​faith marriage between
Rizwanur, a Muslim, and Priyanka, a Hindu, was recorded in a single
photograph from their court wedding, with no insignia of matrimony
(Figure 12.7). Yet its circulation in The Times of India when Rizwanur
was found dead on Kolkata’s railway tracks, for which Priyanka’s family
was implicated, made it a communal icon. Rizwanur’s own passport
photograph, ‘indexing the corruption of justice and its threat to the per-
sonhood of the citizen became the “face” of leadership for a public outcry,
concretized in peaceful, soundless and essentially visual candle light vi-
gils’, writes Dutta (2009).20
Modi regards the procedure for court marriage in India as being far
from a secular event, revealed in her conversations with touts and law-
yers of the lower courts in Delhi. Couples are encouraged to take the path
of the Arya Samaj weddings under the Hindu Marriage Act (1956) in
which the saptapadi or seven steps around the sacred fire deem the union
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 343

Figure 12.7 Rizwanur Rahman and Priyanka Todi at their civil wedding
Source: Published in The Times of India, 13 November 2008.

legitimate. The court thereafter grants a certificate to the couple, with the
image taken by the temple photographer acting as a crucial validating
agency. She observes that ‘the photographer and the actuating priest per-
form their expected functions at a temple, but often extend themselves
to become the witnesses to sign at the certification of the marriage in
the courtroom. In the absence of community that grants legitimacy and
sanctions the union, they are the step ins for family and friends, the pho-
tographer in one case even playing the role of comforting the bride as
she cries, telling her not to shed tears in a marriage of consent’ (Mody,
2008, 128).

Conclusion

The various types of wedding photographs discussed above help gauge

the multitude of marriage and family formations within the urban milieu.
Differences in visual conceptions exist along the lines of class, aesthetic
taste, and social permissibility, producing albums that perform a variety
of functions. Wedding albums are not regularly perused nor discussed in
everyday life. They are heavy investments at the time of making and often
344 Suryanandini Narain
get stored away on the tops of bookcases, inside box beds and trunks,
their unwieldy nature being prohibitive of easy access and handling.
When posted online, wedding photos are scrolled in singular non-​
repetitive ways, as is the case with much social media imagery. The ex-
cess of such images also compounds the task of actually viewing a whole
album, the repetition of visuals inciting boredom rather than interest.
The osmotic exchange between rituals and photographic practices re-
veals what Julia Hirsch (1981) in her writing on photography calls the
atemporality of wedding photographs in the making, which have a dif-
fuse import rather than a more specific recall, eschewing the actual se-
quence of events that the marrying couple underwent.21 What then is
the use of a wedding album to the family? It demands special investment
of time, thought, and money, as explored here, for it outlives the rite of
passage and retrospectively stands as a key testament to it. It can best be
identified as a symbolic capital of ‘display’, an investment that anchors a
marriage as the nucleus of family life. Its function is documentary, but
also to complete the family and give it a sense of itself, as a reminder of its
origins and the reason for its belonging together. The significance of the
album is existentially determined by the knowledge that it was made per
se, rather than any later, post-​photographic engagement with its contents
on a regular basis. The overall reason for the wedding album relates to its
role in the extension of class values and aspirations that carry over from
the wedding, into family and home. It forms part of the ‘presentation’
quota of the event, affirming the social prestige of families, since ‘status is
a value in itself ’ (Bloch et al., 2004, 677).
In the sociological context, the wedding album can be seen as a record
of the cohesion evoked between social groups during a time of upheaval
and change in family configurations, chiefly caused by the realignment
of membership. At marriage, two families come together in the public
visual space as they negotiate their private exchange amidst newfound
social proximity. The photographer and his camera act as the agents
smoothening this transition, articulating family relationships by making
people pose appropriately, thereby producing an image of familial con-
geniality through a culturally sensitive visual representation of the tran-
sition. Deliberately composed family montages of otherwise distant
members render real an imagined cohesiveness. Photography acts as a
representative agency in ‘doing’ and ‘displaying’ family in the most direct
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 345
way. The camera crucially translates the public witnessing of a private
event, almost guiding through Van Gennep’s identifiable stages of a rite of
passage, separation, liminality, and incorporation, to reach the final one
of ‘incorporation’ of the new member (Van Gennep, 1960). This means
that families entrust photographers with the interpretive powers integra-
tion, aspiration, and display at the wedding. The very necessity of photo-
graphing a wedding indicates its elevation as a secular ritual paralleling
religious conjugal rites (Abraham, 2011). The album thus completes the
wedding by producing a hagiographic visual foundation for the marriage
that is to follow.
Reviewing the contributions to family and household studies in the
region, Patricia Uberoi (2003) notes the shift from what she called the
rather ‘sterile debate on the prevalence of joint versus nuclear families in
India and the impact of the modernization process on this relationship’
to newer questions, such as the household’s function ‘as an important site
for the reproduction of class status in contemporary India’ (see Beteille,
1991). I contend that the wedding album enables nuclear and extended
familial articulations, while simultaneously reflecting class aspirations,
making it a multi-​pronged tool for family studies. Photography’s gen-
eral assistance to early sub-​continental anthropology can be noted in
works such as W. H. R. Rivers’ documentation of the Todas, which he
claimed was ‘not merely a record of the customs and beliefs of a people
but also a demonstration of anthropological method’ (Rivers, 1906, v).
A study of urban Indian contemporary family systems through photo-
graphs, while it evokes such lineage, is also a departure from the colonial
anthropologist’s approach as documenter, taking his or her own images
of the field. The post-​colonial sociologist works with photographs already
produced and archived by the community, exploring new methodo-
logical possibilities such as collaborative camera work (see Banks, 2018).
Wedding albums belong to the latter category, bearing the potential of
making important theoretical contributions to the study of marriage and
family, ‘both as event and as structure, that offers the most creative scope
for the integration of sociology and anthropology in Indian family and
kinship studies’ (Uberoi, 1993, 36).
In conclusion, the varieties of wedding albums, their photographers
and their viewers may provide sociologists a range of aesthetic, eco-
nomic, and socio-​cultural codes attached to marriage as key to familial
346 Suryanandini Narain
identity. The extent to which digital technology is used in pre-​and post-​
production phases, for instance, is a yardstick for this measure. While this
chapter attempts to address questions regarding the visual agency that
records the wedding, it does not plot the precise history of wedding pho-
tography in India, nor does it cover every type of wedding photographed
in the country. Those topics would require an extensive examination of
wedding rituals themselves, their regional, religious, and social differ-
ences, and a chronicling of the long history of the camera in India. The
focus here has been on the variations within wedding albums, keeping
account of differential aesthetics, technologies, and economics attrib-
utable to families, as they embed their tastes and aspirations within the
images.22 Wedding photography can thus be treated as a visual index to
study the social factors that intercept and determine familial life.

Notes
1. I discuss conjugal relations in Narain (2022).
2. That any family photograph is a viable index for sociological readings into the
family unit is supported by observations made by Julia Hirsch, who notices their
similarity and interchangeability when she writes: ‘their conventional and pre-
dictable poses make them largely interchangeable. They carry meaning within
the family’s own narrative and are emptied of that meaning outside that narrow
circle. But family pictures are often so similar, so much shaped by similar con-
ventions, that they are readily available for identification across the broadest and
most radical divides’ (Hirsch, 1981, xiii).
3. Janet Finch (2007) makes an important point about how families manifest them-
selves by not only ‘doing’ family, but by ‘displaying’ of family, important empiric-
ally and theoretically for the ‘sociological tool kit’. The initial shift from just ‘being’
family to ‘doing’ family is credited to the work of David Morgan (1996), infusing
the scholarly understanding of familial relationships with the observation of ac-
tive roles performed by family members in playing out their familial identities;
being family as a quality, not a thing. ‘Familyness’ is used by Michael Haldrup
and Jonas Larsen (2003) in their work on tourist photography, who argue that
‘Rather than being an alienating add-​on, photographing is an integral compo-
nent in producing identity, social relations and “familyness” ’ (2003, 25–​6).
4. Kapur (2009) suggests that ‘The family photo both displays the cohesion of the
family and is an instrument of its togetherness; it both chronicles family rituals
and constitutes a prime objective of those rituals. Because the photograph gives
the illusion of being a simple transcription of the real, a trace touched directly
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 347
by the event it records, it has the effect of naturalizing cultural practices and of
disguising their stereotyped and coded characteristics’ (2009, 7).
5. Carol Smart (2007) emphasizes the importance of memory in studies of per-
sonal life as being one of the crucial yet academically neglected domains. She says
‘families provide the context in which we learn what to remember and what to
forget. Hence photographs and later also videos are taken of “special moments”
as memory aids’ (2007, 40).
6. The kingdom of Kapurthala was established in mid-​eighteenth century by Sardar
Jassa Singh Ahluwalia. Thereafter ruled by the Ahluwali or ‘Walia’ dynasty,
Kapurthala became part of the Punjab States agency in 1930.
7. Incidentally, this was also one of the—​if not the first—​Indian weddings to be
filmed on a camera developed in France by the Lumière brothers, although the
film is not known to have survived.
8. These images are more akin to those in presentation albums rather than wedding
albums, presentation albums defined in Sophie Gordon’s words as ‘created by the
kingdoms to present an image of the state to the colonial administration. These
consisted of fairly unremarkable architectural and landscape views, prefaced by
a portrait of the ruler, designed to show the progressive nature of the princely
state through photos of libraries, hospitals and the new administrative offices’
(Gordon, 2008, 110).
9. Interview with the family of Vinodini Srivastava, Delhi, June 2012.
10. Defined by Christopher Pinney as ‘the “conversation” between idioms of chromo-
lithography, theatre, and photography in late nineteenth-​and early twentieth-​
century India (that) created mutually reinforcing expectations. These different
visual fields crossed each other through processes of “inter-​ocularity”—​a visual
inter-​referencing and citation that mirrors the more familiar process of “inter-​
textuality” ’ (2004, 34–​5).
11. Gopal (2011) writes of how Karan Johar’s directorial reinvention of the family
in lengthy films with rich song and dance sequences is popular for the audiences
while also counterbalancing the forces of globalization within the country. The
depiction of familial authority and the forbidden love of a couple is reconciled in
his films that foreground sentiment amidst luxuriant settings within and outside
India, smoothening familial discord with glamourized representations of trad-
ition and ritual. Invariably, Johar’s song and dance sequences have found takers
in weddings of the rich, who structure their events on a scale that is akin to his
films, complete with the performative sequences involving the couple and their
families.
12. Interview with the author, July 2012.
13. Abraham makes the following observations in her field, ‘Cameramen often inter-
vene in the wedding ritual . . . in fact a number of people spoke about how the
ritual revolves around the convenience of the cameramen! The cameramen often
suggest that some part of the ceremony be repeated: parts of the garlanding or the
exchange of bouquets. . . . Some parts of the rituals at a wedding are then opened
348 Suryanandini Narain
to repetition. . . . Sometimes the cameraman or a video man may actually become
one of the people conducting the marriage ceremony’ (Abraham, 2011, 268).
14. Interview with the author, July 2012.
15. ‘I am one of three sisters and a brother. My parents wanted me married and well
settled so they spent more on the matrimonial photos. The wedding itself as an
event had several other expenses, so they did not spend too much on the album’,
she explains. Her matrimonial photograph was thus taken at the more expensive
and sophisticated Studio Prem of Kamala Nagar market in North Delhi while
the wedding album was produced by a modest studio in Chandini Chowk in old
Delhi. Interview with Mala Negi in New Delhi, August 2011.
16. Adrian writes that ‘people see romance as modern in its individualism in con-
trast of marriage and family, which are traditionally bound’, promoting the use of
‘visual clichés that say ‘romance’ even in the absence of narrative text’ (Adrian,
2003, 182).
17. The Times of India, Crest Edition for Saturday, 26 May 2012, is one of many media
reports on the luxuries that the super-​rich indulge in for weddings. The class
of people that this article enumerates include celebrities and business families,
with expenses exceeding the double-​digit crore mark. Articles in this issue of the
newspaper are titled: ‘Faraway Pheras’ (p. 5), ‘From Lehenga to Lagan, by Design’
(p. 7).
18. Perera elaborates how ‘pre-​wedding images elicit a clear sense of informality and
relaxation, while the wedding photos construct a much more conscious sense of
formality . . . ensuring that the contemporary idealised prerequisites of marriage,
which oscillate between love to passion and desire, have the space to express
themselves in the photos’ (Perera, 2020, 171).
19. ‘Not community’ is Mody’s generic term for all those who by will to marry in
opposition to community sanctions find themselves at its margins. She examines
the tensions between the community and the State as agencies validating mar-
riage and the mutual exclusiveness of the two in making their decision on the
union. This exclusiveness reflects in the nature of the albums that are produced
from marriages held in the court. The courts of the Indian legal system allow
for adult marriages with mutual consent of the marrying couple across social re-
strictions, providing an alternative to those who wish to marry outside the sanc-
tions of their community. Several marriages of the former kind thus seek recourse
to the court for marriage when families refuse to undertake the religious rite of
uniting them (Mody, 2008).
20. Dutta writes: ‘Rizwanur’s picture is charismatic. Ninety-​nine percent of the
people he (Rukbanur, Rizwanur’s brother) came in touch with told him that it
was that face that had brought them into the movement. Rizwanur’s visual cha-
risma emerges from the frontality of the face that shines a boyish smile fully into
the camera, as if it held no secrets and harboured no grudges’ (Dutta, 2011, 300).
21. She says, ‘wedding photographs—​ pictures of families obeying custom and
religion—​also subordinate a personal sense of time and place to the demands
of the ritual . . . we don’t mind if wedding pictures lie as long as their decep-
tions uphold the tradition that the photograph is meant to honour . . . we are
 ‘Seeing’ Family through Wedding Albums 349
not concerned whether the couple is in rented clothes, in a rented hall, in a
photographer’s studio, or in its own living room. It is the ceremony of their union,
not their relation to the particular place that is important’ (Hirsch, 1981, 62).
22. In this regard, Bourdieu’s conclusions in his work Photography: A Middle Brow
Art (1990) lend clarity on the subject of image-​class relationships, when he says,
‘the norms which organize the photographic valuation of the world in terms of
the opposition between that which is photographable and that which is not are
indissociable from the implicit system of values maintained by a class, profession
or artistic coterie, of which the photographic aesthetic must always be one aspect
even if it desperately claims autonomy’ (1990, 4).

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 Index

For the benefit of digital users, indexed terms that span two pages (e.g., 52–​53) may, on
occasion, appear on only one of those pages.
Figures are indicated by an italic f following the page number.

Agnes, Flavia 124, 146 betrayal 25–​26, 214–​15, 217–​18, 220,

agrarian crisis 24–​25, 99–​100, 188, 194 226–​27, 233, 240, 241–​43, 246
agrarian economy and lifestyle 187–​88, Bharatiya Muslim Mahila Andolan 128
191, 195–​96 see also post-​ Bishnoi 189, 190, 194, 200–​1, 202–​
agrarian future 3, 205
alimony 114–​15, 140–​42, 146, 150–​51 bonds/​bonding 79, 92
ancestor(s) 67–​68, 298–​99, 301–​2, 304–​ emotional 91
5, 308, 311, 313–​15, 316–​18, 321 familial 93–​95
Anganwadi 85, 105n.9, 197 of friendship 212–​14, 215, 218,
Anglo Indians 253, 259 220, 226
anthropology see social anthropology with non-​kin 17–​18, 96–​97,
Armed Forces Special Powers Act, 1958, 197, 213–​14
(AFSPA) 26, 95–​96, 231, 233–​ Bourdieu, Pierre 149, 305, 320–​21,
35, 244–​45, 246 349n.22
aspiration(s) 24–​25, 81, 96–​97, 100–​2, Brahmin(s) 3–​4, 315, 316–​20
139, 154, 188, 190, 193, 195, priest 318–​19
196–​97, 199, 200, 201, 204, 206, Buddhism/​Buddhists 116, 180n.37
261–​62, 267, 275, 281–​82, 285,
309–​10, 311–​12, 321–​22, 328–​ care see care work; childcare; elder-​care
29, 335–​36, 340–​41, 344–​46 care work 17–​18, 56, 80–​81, 85, 87–​88,
class aspirations 345 96, 97–​98, 203, 238
intergenerational 275, 289–​90 caste 2, 4–​5, 6–​7, 20, 21–​22, 73–​74,
navigational capacity for 193 75, 76, 78–​79, 82, 83, 94–​95,
Assisted Reproductive Technologies 9–​ 100–​3, 161, 194–​95, 232, 276,
10, 17, 169–​70 297, 305–​6
Assisted Reproductive Technologies caste endogamy 12–​13, 79–​80, 94–​95,
(Regulation) Act, 2021 170 188, 321
attachment Census of India 51–​52, 67–​68, 130n.25,
conjugal 92 178–​79n.3
emotional 99–​100 data, limitations of 60–​61, 67–​
see also bonds 68, 188–​89
Australian Migration Policy 252–​53, data, misuse of 48–​49
254, 256–​57, 259, 268 child marriage 10–​11, 127
352 Inde x
childcare 57, 58–​59, 60–​61, 65–​66, 77, cultural capital 152, 282, 285, 286, 287–​
79, 82, 83, 98, 99–​100, 126, 197 88, 289–​90
children
adopted 90–​91 daughter(s) 80–​81, 86, 87–​88
adult 53–​54 marriage of 171, 175–​76, 194
agency of 291–​93 married 56, 58–​59
biological 90–​91, 93 unmarried 262, 307–​8, 309–​10
caring for see childcare daughter(s)-​in-​law 56, 60–​61, 78–​79,
without custodial fathers 139–​40 80, 81, 86, 88, 140, 144, 147–​48,
education of 83 214–​16, 218
entitlements of 87–​88 demographic dividend 17–​18
latchkey 275, 276, 281–​82, 284–​ demographic transition 15–​16, 17–​18
85, 289 demography 15–​16
legal definitions of 86 discrimination 24, 94–​95, 98, 162–​63,
media consumption of 275, 173, 176–​77
276, 281–​84, 286–​87, 290, direct/​indirect 160–​61, 164–​65, 176
293, 294–​95 marital status 159–​85
as digital play 276–​77, 281–​82, division of labour 78
286, 287–​88, 289–​90, 293, 294 caste-​based 84
as digital work 276–​77, 281–​82, familial 17–​18
286, 289–​90, 293, 294 gendered, sexual 75, 80–​81, 200, 201,
negligent 53–​54 203, 313
obligations of 87–​88 transnational 80–​81
parents’ ambitions for 59 divorce 9–​10, 11–​12, 90–​91, 92, 93,
parents’ obligations 114, 118–​21, 123, 124, 137–​38,
towards 56, 58–​59 140, 141, 145–​46, 148–​49,
school-​going 27 150–​51, 154, 169–​70, 175 see
survival of 61–​62 also Irretrievable Breakdown of
unmarried 56 Marriage, Khulc, triple talaq
violence against 103 domestic work 58–​59, 66, 79, 82, 83,
Christian(s) 129n.7, 259 see also Syrian 102–​3, 106n.18, 201
Christians domestic worker(s) 17–​18, 78–​80, 83–​
cohabitation 51–​52, 79–​80, 114–​15, 84, 85, 97–​98, 99–​100, 253
120–​21, 175, 177–​78 Dower see mahr
non-​marital 9–​10, 12–​13 dowry 10–​11, 23–​24, 75, 80–​81, 126–​
companionship 154–​55, 201–​2, 341 27, 140, 201, 205
conjugal family 50–​51 Durkheim, Emile 3–​4
conjugal relations/​conjugality 12–​13,
92, 137, 143, 313, 329, 331–​36, economic dependence 54–​
338–​40, 341 see also non-​marital 55, 266–​69
relations; non-​conjugal relations elder abuse 26–​27, 54–​55, 86–​87, 89,
conjugal rights 147 100–​1, 257, 266–​67
restitution of 22–​23, 113–​15, 116–​20, elder-​care 81, 83, 88, 97–​98, 100, 144
121–​22, 123, 124, 126, 128 for-​profit organization for 88
conspicuous consumption 327–​ emotional dependence 167,
28, 340–​41 168, 177–​78
cousins 214, 215, 225 emotional Support 77, 213–​14, 291
 Inde x 353
emotions 2, 203, 219–​20, 282, 291, 297, 206 see also family, alternative;
299–​300, 305, 335–​36 family, queer
endogamy see caste endogamy normative 1–​2, 6, 11, 12–​13, 20, 22,
Engels, Frederick 2–​3 75–​76, 93, 96–​97, 153, 159, 169–​
exogamic ensemble 79–​80 70, 172–​73, 174, 313–​15 see also
exogamy see village exogamy family, heteronormative
nuclear 5–​6, 48–​52, 57, 58–​61, 62–​
familial coercion 91 see also domestic; 64, 139, 143, 147, 251–​52, 261,
violence 275, 276–​77, 282, 298f, 313, 331–​
familial dependence 54–​55, 57–​58, 62–​ 33, 335, 345
65, 63t, 67–​68, 267, 268–​69 patriarchal 5–​6, 12–​13, 21–​22, 49–​
familism 306–​7, 309–​10 50, 74, 78–​79, 80–​81, 87–​88, 96,
family/​families 100–​1, 102–​3
alternative 11, 96–​97, 149, 150–​51, queer 153, 160, 166–​67, 173, 176–​77
153–​54 see also family, non-​ transnational 16, 18–​19, 257, 260
normative; family, queer unclear 9–​10
bordered 73, 74, 83–​84, 103, 104 see family associations 298–​99, 301–​12,
also family boundaries 313–​15, 320–​22
definition(s) of 1–​2, 20–​21, 47–​48, family boundaries 1–​2, 20–​22, 47, 57–​
51–​52, 57, 59–​60, 62–​63, 168–​ 66, 67–​68, 83, 282 see also family,
69, 170–​71, 172, 173, 176 bordered
display 9–​10, 282, 283, 299–​301, family cycle 6, 49–​50
320–​21, 328–​29, 344–​45 Family Court(s) 113, 118, 121–​22,
extended 25–​26, 28, 52–​54, 138, 139, 124–​25, 131–​32nn.37–​38,
141–​43, 145, 148–​50, 154–​55, 140, 142–​43
275, 279, 282, 283–​84, 286, 289–​ family discourse 48, 50–​51, 52–​56,
90, 291–​93, 294 see also family, 57–​59, 60, 61–​62, 67–​68,
joint; household 138, 154–​55
networks 64–​65, 67–​68, 278, 294 family forms 1–​3, 5–​6, 9–​10, 11, 49–​50,
feminist critique of 13 74–​76, 96–​97, 305
heteronormative 11, 27, 149, 153, caste and 6, 74
165, 166–​67, 168, 169–​70, 172–​ tribal 6, 74, 75
73, 174, 298–​99, 313–​15 family planning 15
Hindu joint family studies 13, 16, 20, 25–​26, 28–​29,
colonial category of 49, 50–​51, 104, 268, 345
51, 67–​68 upper-​caste bias of 5, 8
joint 137, 251–​52, 258, 261, 267–​68, family websites 298–​322
331–​35, 345 Farm Bills, Laws, 2020 24–​25, 187–​
discourse on the disintegration 88, 206
of 48, 67–​68, 138 Farmers’ Protest, 2020 24–​25, 187, 188,
preoccupation with ‘decline’ of 5–​ 191, 194–​95
6, 8, 20–​21, 22, 48–​50, 51–​52, father(s)/​fatherhood/​fathering 14–​15,
54–​56, 57, 58–​60, 62, 64, 86–​87, 19, 139–​40, 282, 315–​16
215–​16, 218–​19 female labour force
non-​normative 2, 9–​10, 11, 24–​25, participation 17–​18
96–​97, 165, 166, 168–​70, 171–​ feminism/​feminist movement/​feminist
72, 173, 174–​76, 192, 203–​4, activism 9–​10, 11–​12, 73,
354 Inde x
96–​97, 113–​14, 118–​19, 127, interdisciplinarity 9–​10, 14, 18–​19, 83,
128–​29, 138, 140, 146, 147 235, 238–​39
feminist scholarship 11–​12, 13, 23–​24, intergenerational relations,
77–​78, 82, 97–​98, 128–​29, 140–​ of care and support 13, 19, 26–​27, 48,
41, 145–​46, 147, 150–​51, 153 54–​56, 57, 59–​61, 67–​68, 74, 77,
fertility 15–​16, 59, 67–​68, 338–​40 81, 251, 257
decline 16, 65, 298–​99 contractualization of 87–​88, 141–​42,
Foucault, Michel 89 144, 147–​48, 153, 154, 251, 266
friendship 25–​26, 119, 211–​14, 220, 225–​ intimacy 9–​10, 12–​13, 30n.11, 80–​81, 83,
26, 231–​33, 235, 240, 242, 245–​46 149, 153, 177–​78, 294, 331, 341
non-​marital 175
gender studies see women/​gender/​ Irretrievable Breakdown of Marriage
sexuality studies (IRBM) 145, 146, 147
government job 190, 197, 200, 201
Green Revolution 24, 187–​88, 189 Jainism 116
Jats 188, 189, 190–​91, 194, 197, 198, 206
habitus 143, 321–​22 Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of
Hindu identity 51 Children) Act, 2015 169
Hindu Marriage Act, 1955 116, 155n.7,
180n.34, 180n.40, 342–​43 Kapadia, K. M., 4–​5
Hindu Succession Act, 1956 180nn.37–​38 Karewa 188–​89 see also widow
amendment of, in 2005 215–​16 remarriage
homosociality 153 Karve, Irawati 4–​5, 51–​52
household Khulc divorce 126
Census definition and classifications kin networks 28, 79, 149, 150, 193, 197
of 51–​52, 58, 59–​61, 64, 67–​68 friendship and 212, 213–​14, 217–​
compound 61–​64 18, 226
Dalit 98–​99, 189–​90 land ownership and 193
definitions of 51–​52, 62–​63, 63t kinship 3–​8, 139–​40, 143, 150, 154–​55,
discrimination within 83 166–​67, 191–​93, 211–​12, 213–​
embedded 251–​53, 261–​62, 268 14, 220, 225, 234–​35, 242, 245–​
formation 251–​53, 257–​58, 264t, 268 46, 294–​95, 299–​300, 313, 345
interdependence 20–​21, 62–​64, 63t, caste and 6–​7
83–​84, 267 fictive 96–​97, 148–​49, 150, 212, 244–​
joint 5–​6, 49–​50, 59–​60, 61–​62 see 45, 246, 294–​95
also family, joint gay 173
upside-​down 258, 265, 268 Kudumbayogams see family
housewifization 95–​96 associations
housewives 151 practical 149
Punjabi and Sindhi 214–​15 queer 153, 176
housing 55, 60–​62, 63–​64, 172–​73, 257, 265
labour
Indian Divorce Act, 1869 115 affective 77, 88 see also emotional
Indian Succession Act 180n.37 support
inheritance 10–​11, 53–​54, 87–​88, 100–​ domestic 75, 76, 77–​78, 80, 83,
1, 139, 166, 167 see also property 97–​98, 100, 152 see also
laws on 167 domestic work
women’s right to 79–​80, 195–​96 emotional 142–​43, 194
 Inde x 355
gendered 146, 151–​52, 154 Hindu 119–​20, 332f
tribal 85 intercaste 24–​25, 95–​96, 187–​88,
unpaid 17–​18, 74, 77–​78, 84–​85, 93, 190, 192
98, 147 intra-​gotra 192
land-​ownership 24–​25, 189–​90, 193, land ownership and, 188, 194
194, 195 love 62, 106n.22, 125, 199, 202–​3,
law 11–​12, 114 205, 206
anti-​discrimination 160–​62, 177–​78 regulatory 74, 75, 79–​80, 82, 88
criminal 141, 163 Marxism 3–​4
customary 11–​12 masculinity 14–​15, 24–​25, 56, 74, 101,
among Parsis 180n.37 150, 195, 213, 282
among tribals 115 unemployment and 78–​79, 102–​3
family 10–​12, 24, 165, 166, 168–​69 matchmaking 12–​13, 193, 194, 216–​
see also personal law; Uniform 17, 223
Civil Code Men’s Rights Activists (MRA) 140–​41,
Levi-​Strauss, Claude 3 142–​43, 148–​51, 154
live-​in relationship(s) 19, 90–​91, 124, Men’s Rights Movement (MRM) 23–​
127–​28, 169 24, 137–​38, 139–​41, 154–​55
love 12–​13, 77, 143, 154–​55, 201, 213, MGTOW (Men Going their Own
214, 226, 241, 299–​300, 335–​36, Way) 150–​51, 152–​53
348n.18 migrants/​migration 18–​19, 26–​27,
conjugal 341 51–​52, 74, 98–​100, 148, 153, 252,
forbidden 347n.11 253–​56, 257, 258–​59, 265, 267,
romantic 213, 313, 341 268–​69, 310–​11
love jihad 154–​55 parent 26–​27, 251–​71
transnational 18–​19, 99–​100, 298–​
mahr 122–​23, 127–​28, 132n.38 see 99, 303, 315, 318–​19, 322n.3
also dowry tribal 99–​100
Maine, Henry 5–​6 militarization 32n.44, 233–​34, 244–​
Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and 45, 246
Senior Citizens Act, 2007 21–​ minorities 5, 95–​96, 101–​2
22, 53–​56, 64–​65, 86–​88, 89 privileged 50–​51
Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and sexual 11
Senior Citizens Bill, 2019 86–​ religious 95
88, 89 monogamy, monogamous marriage 24,
marriage 160, 177–​78
arranged 12–​13, 67–​68, 204–​5, morbidity 63–​64, 65, 67–​68
206, 221 mortality 2, 51–​52, 59, 63–​64, 65, 67–​68
breakdown of see Irretrievable motherhood 14–​15, 89–​90, 95, 104,
breakdown of marriage (IRBM) 275, 279–​80, 289
caste and 75, 79–​80 digital 282, 289–​90, 291–​93, 294
child 10–​11, 127 fragmentation of 93
civil 341–​42 genetic 94–​95
close-​kin 12–​13, 79–​80 gestational 93, 94–​95
as a crisis event 191–​92 surrogate 90–​91
definition of 152–​53, 191–​92 mothering 276–​77, 282, 289
elopement and 188–​89, 192–​93 digital 27, 276–​77, 281, 283, 289, 291
exchange (adal-​badal) 125 feminist 14–​15
356 Inde x
mothering (cont.) Muslim 22–​23, 29n.5, 113–​14, 121–​
good 275 23, 127–​28
professionally employed women polyamory 168
and 27, 275, 282, 291 polygyny 127–​28
Murdock, George P., 3–​4 population ageing 16, 17–​18, 48
Muslim Marriage and Divorce Bill, population control policies 15, 50–​51
2014 128 post-​agrarian future 188, 190, 193, 194,
Muslim(s) 51, 115, 121–​22, 123, 124, 195, 198–​99
173, 189–​90, 206 pre-​marital relationships 12–​13
identity of 51 priest 337–​38, 342–​43 see also Syrian
Muslim Personal Law see personal law Christian priest; Brahmin priest
property 10–​11, 22, 24–​26, 49–​50, 55–​
National Policy for Older 56, 58–​59, 61–​62, 63–​65, 67–​68,
Persons 53–​54 75, 79, 81, 86, 87–​88, 93–​95,
non-​conjugal relations 12–​13, 180n.39 100–​1, 115, 117, 151–​54, 161,
see also non-​marital relations 191–​92, 193, 265, 267, 268, 330–​
non-​marital relations 9–​10, 12–​13, 31 see also inheritance
166–​67, 173, 175, 180n.30 see daughter-​in-​law’s share in 55–​
also non-​conjugal relations 56, 145–​46
Northeast India 26, 233–​35, 238–​ daughter’s share in 81, 87–​88, 100–​
39, 242–​43 1, 117
nun(s) 307–​8, 309–​10 disputes 117–​18, 122, 148
division of 146, 215–​16, 221–​22
old age homes 17–​18, 86, 251–​52 individual 146
old age pensions see pension(s) inter-​generational 144–​45, 147–​48
older persons 52–​56, 57, 58–​59, 60–​61, joint 49, 51–​52, 55–​56, 58–​59, 138,
67–​68, 147–​48, 251–​53, 257, 139, 194, 218–​19
266, 267 matrimonial 141–​42, 145, 146–​47
in Australia, Indian 252, 257, patrilineal 81, 147–​48
258, 267 regime 268
rights in non-​marital
parenting 9–​10, 14, 27, 99–​100, 139–​40, relations 175–​76
238, 275, 276, 291–​93, 313 women’s inheritance of 79–​80, 195–​
Parsi Marriage and Divorce Act, 96, 215–​16, 225
1936 116 women’s traditional right to 188–​89
patriarchal ideologies, values 137–​38, prostitution 95–​96, 145–​46
199–​200, 231, 246 Protection of Women from Domestic
patriarchal regime(s) 73, 76, 78–​79, 88, Violence Act, 2005 23–​24, 140,
103–​4, 105n.7, 235–​36 141–​42, 145, 147
patriarchy/​patriarchies 3–​4, 75, 95–​96, psychoanalysis 2–​3, 14
103, 199–​200, 282
paying guest 57, 65–​67, 265 queer movement 9–​10, 163
pension(s) 5, 66, 67, 81, 86, 97–​98, 175–​
76, 256, 266 Rajput 190
personal law 23–​24, 118, 124, Rakhmabai case 116
127, 155n.10 rape law 140
Anglo-​Hindu 116 rape-​culture 101
 Inde x 357
relatedness 8–​9, 211–​12, 214–​15 Commercial 17, 80–​81, 94–​95, 169
remittance 98–​100, 318–​19 as a transnational formation 90
residence Special Marriage Act 115,
rules of 79–​80 180n.35, 341–​42
of sons with parents 54–​55, 58–​59, Surrogacy (Regulation) Bills, 2016 &
60–​61, 251, 252, 262, 263 2019 21–​22, 74, 89–​94, 96–​97
women’s right to, in marital home 88, Surrogacy (Regulation) Act,
140, 141–​42, 145 2021 169–​70
retraditionalization 74, 85, 89, 95–​96 symbolic capital 344
Syrian Christian(s) 28, 297–​99, 301–​3,
Save Indian Family Foundation 305–​7, 309–​10, 311, 313–​15,
(SIFF) 139–​40, 144, 149–​ 316–​20, 321–​22
50, 152–​53 priest 307–​8, 309–​10, 311–​12
Section 377, Indian Penal Code,
1908 9–​10, 163, 164, 165 tharavaditam 298–​99, 310–​11,
Section 498A, Indian Penal Code 23–​ 315, 321–​22
24, 141–​42 tharavadu 297, 311–​12, 315
sex work 79–​80, 89–​90, 106n.18, triple talaq 11–​12, 127–​28
152, 173 trust 25–​26, 194, 203, 213, 214–​16,
Sexuality studies see women/​gender/​ 217–​18, 219–​20, 222, 225–​27,
sexuality studies 231, 233, 239, 240, 242, 244–​
Shah Bano case 11–​12 46, 288
Shayara Bano case 11–​12, 128 betrayal of 25–​26, 220, 221–​23, 227,
Sikh 116–​17, 180n.37, 188, 202–​3, 242, 244–​45
258, 330–​31 emotional 213
Sikhism 116 lack of trust (distrust, mistrust) 81,
Singh, Kirti 146 83, 215–​16, 217, 233, 239, 240,
small family norm 17, 311–​15 242–​43, 244–​45
social anthropology 2–​3, 4, 6–​8, 231–​ ‘tricky’ 242
32, 345
cultural turn in 8–​10 Uniform Civil Code 11–​12, 22–​23,
feminist critique of 10 127, 167
gender studies and 10–​11, 12–​13 unmarried couple 90–​91, 169
social capital 189, 203–​4 unmarried persons 160–​61, 176–​77
social reproduction 3–​4, 18–​19, 73–​74, unmarried son 59
76–​77, 78–​79, 85, 88, 91, 93, 96–​ unmarried women 159–​60, 170–​71,
98, 99–​100, 103–​4, 320–​21 182n.62 see also daughters,
destabilization of 78, 83 unmarried
extended 21–​22, 73–​74, 76, 79, 82,
83–​85, 89–​90, 93, 104 village exogamy 79–​80
family as a site of 2, 74, 77–​78, 83 violence
son preference 17, 75, 81, 104, 218–​19 caste-​based 95–​96, 102–​3, 189, 190–​91
son selection 74, 81, 89–​90, 95, 104 communal 189–​90
stratified familialism 17–​18 against Dalit wives 106n.23
succession laws 167 against Dalits 102–​3
surrogacy 89, 91, 93–​94, 95, 169–​70 domestic 10–​11, 23–​24, 78–​79,
altruistic 90–​95, 96 95–​96, 102, 104, 123, 126,
358 Inde x
violence (cont.) delayed 197
127, 137–​38, 140–​42, 168, joint 193
169, 175–​76 photography 28, 327, 328–​29, 335–​
familial 2, 81, 100, 102, 103, 137, 140, 37, 340–​41, 343–​44
167–​68, 245–​46, 257 see also videos 329
familial coercion wedding rituals 336–​37
gendered 75, 80–​81, 102–​4, 137–​38, Saptapadi 342–​43
140, 141, 246 Sehrabandi 330–​31
political 25–​26, 102–​3, 231, 233–​35, widow(s)/​widowhood 56, 59–​60,
236–​37, 238–​39, 240–​41, 242–​ 81, 86–​87, 90–​91, 116, 169–​
43, 245–​46 71, 175–​76
structural 20–​21, 47, 60, 67–​68, 93–​94 widow remarriage 10–​11, 171, 188–​89
against those in queer relations 177 women/​gender/​sexuality studies 13,
14–​15, 19
Weber, Max 3–​4 women’s education 24–​25, 64–​65, 151–​
wedding(s) 163, 329 52, 193, 196–​98, 201–​2
album 327–​28, 329–​40, 343–​46 women’s employment 78, 116–​17, 146,
court 341–​43 162, 190, 193, 196–​97, 275