We recently got a new driver—a sprightly young lad, or so he seemed, until he casually mentioned he had five children. Five? Inthis economy? On his salary? And then the punch-line landed: “The fifth one’s a boy, madam.” Ah, of course. The great Indian lottery—keep spinning till you hit the jackpot with a Y chromosome.
This is not just rural India’s story. It plays out in educated, urban, upper- middle-class f amilies too. The ultrasound may be banned—but the sulk in the room is palpable. Where daughters are cele-brated on Instagram reels, but the unspoken family gossip spreads, “Next time, hopefully a boy.”
When my second child was born and it was a girl, someone said, “Chalo…you already have a boy,”as if she came as a consolation prize. But she wasn’t a compromise—she was a dream. The medal. The miracle. And that’s why we named her Mannat.
Despite economic progress and legal reforms, the son-preference syndrome persists in many fami-lies. “Keep Trying Till It’s a Boy”- is a painful truth which is still very much a part of India’s social fab-ric—even in 2025. Some families continue having children until they get a boy, even if it means hav-ing four or five daughters along the way. The girl child becomes collateral damage in the quest for a male heir. The logic? “ Who will carry the family name? Who will light the funeral pyre? Who will take care of us in old age?”
It’s a mindset that quietly threads through both the very poor and the very privileged in India—that if you have only daughters, it’s the end of the road. No one to shoulder the so-called legacy. As if a legacy is only preserved through a surname, not through values, care, or quiet strength
I remember attending a friend’s father’s funeral where it was his daughter—not a son—who lit the pyre. Some relatives gasped. Others whispered. But she stood tall, steady, and deeply present. At that moment, she didn’t just perform a ritual. She reclaimed the idea of legacy. And I thought: how many daughters are already doing this every day—in ways that don’t make headlines?
We live in a time when daughters are not just lighting funeral pyres—they’re lighting the way forward. Renowned actress Sridevi broke convention by lighting her mother’s funeral pyre—a role traditionally reserved for sons in many Indian cultures. Her husband, Boney Kapoor, recalled, Sridevi did unusual roles and unusual things. She lit the fire on the pyre when her mother passed away.” In a significant departure from patriarchal traditions, Upinder Singh, daughter of former Prime Minister Manmohan Singh, lit his funeral pyre.
From performing last rites to inheriting businesses, eg how Roshni Nadar has taken over the reins of HCL, women run business, they hold families together, they are fighting in the army, running Gram Panchayats- the Indian daughter is rewriting the script society handed her. And yet, in living rooms across the country, a familiar lament echoes: “Only daughters. No sons. Vansh kaun chalayega.”
This is not about inheritance laws. This is not about rituals. This is about mindset.
Let’s face it—daughters come with two eyes, two ears, two hands, brain – everything that a son is born with. They can manage a crisis just as well—some-times better. A significant proportion of elderly parents now rely on their daughters for both co-residence and care, marking a fundamental change in caregiving dynamics.
Why does a father ’s name matter more than a daughter’s impact? Why is a family legacy seen as something only sons can preserve, when today’s daughters are the ones often caring for ageing parents, sustaining family values.
In a country where Nari Shakti is plastered across billboards and gender equality is inked into the Constitution, the belief that daughters are dead ends isn’t just regressive—it’s a national hypocrisy. You can’t worship the goddess and sideline the girl.
Legacy isn’t about lighting pyres or passing down surnames. It’s about values, vision, and who shows up when it matters. And daughters? They’ve been showing up—at hospital bedsides, boardrooms, and burning ghats—without waiting for validation.
So the next time someone pities a family with “only daughters,” remember this: daughters don’t end legacies. They redefine them.
