Baa baa black sheep ? Have you any life ?

Do you ever wonder if you are the family’s black sheep?

Not in the loud, rebellious way people like to label, but in the quieter, more unsettling sense. The feeling that you see things differently, feel things more deeply, question things others accept without pause. The sense that you don’t quite fit into the version of life that seems to work so well for everyone else.

There comes a point when you realise that no one, not even the people who raised you, truly understands you.

They know your name, your routines, the version of you they have grown comfortable with. But the deeper parts remain untouched. The music you have heard and felt the lyrics hit you in ways only you understood. The way you have loved, intensely and without instruction. The way you have tasted love even in something as simple as someone’s recipe. These are not things that translate easily. They live in a world that is entirely your own.

And yet, you bend.

You bend to meet expectations that were never designed for the person you are becoming. You soften your edges, silence your questions, and slowly trade pieces of your truth for approval. It does not happen dramatically. It is gradual, almost invisible. A part of you does not break, it simply fades.

In its place, something else begins to grow. A quiet obsession. The need to pursue something that is acceptable, respectable, and approved by family or society. You chase it relentlessly, believing that somewhere along the way you will finally earn the validation you have been waiting for.

But the truth is far more uncomfortable.

The people you are trying to impress have not lived your inner world. They have not heard the music the way you have. They have not felt words rearrange something inside them the way you have. They have not loved with the same abandon or found meaning in the smallest, most ordinary moments.

Their understanding of life exists within boundaries they have never felt the need to question.

And still, you look to them for approval.

You seek validation from people whose worldviews were never meant to hold the fullness of who you are. People who might struggle to confront their own truths because those truths would disrupt the sense of order they rely on.

So what are you really chasing?

Approval from those who cannot fully see you. Validation from those who have never had to truly see themselves.

If this isn’t a quiet, existential joke, then what is?

And maybe the real shift happens when the question changes. Not “why don’t they understand me,” but “why do I keep needing them to?”

Womaniya din especial

This article is a little late for Women’s Day, but it’s something I still want to talk about—the absence of strong female role models for many women growing up in India.

In patriarchal households like the one I grew up in—even the supposedly educated ones—free-thinking women are often villainized. A woman who demands her rights, sets boundaries, or simply states what she wants is seen as difficult, rebellious, or “too much.”

When I was growing up, I didn’t see many women who lived unapologetically. I saw educated women, yes—but many who quietly deferred to husbands and families, women who had voices but rarely used them. Some had romanticized struggle so deeply that sacrifice had become their identity. Others had convinced themselves that destiny had already been written for them.

And when a young girl grows up watching this, how exactly is she supposed to learn to draw boundaries? How is she supposed to look at a room full of male heirs and say, “I am just as capable, if not more”?

Some of the women I saw growing up carried silent battles their entire lives. A few of them left this world far earlier than they should have. I often wonder if the constant emotional negotiation required to exist within a system that treats you like a burden simply became too heavy.

What disturbed me even more was how easily women were persuaded to give up whatever financial independence they had—to sons, brothers, or male relatives who promised “support.” Or how they quietly held entire households together while unemployed husbands chased abstract spiritual quests but still claimed the authority of being “the man of the house.”

This is my perspective, shaped by what I saw growing up.

And it’s why I believe the absence of strong female role models is not a small cultural gap—it’s a dangerous one. Because when girls grow up without women who embody agency, courage, and self-respect, the only model they are shown is sacrifice.

And sacrifice alone is not empowerment.

Young women deserve better role models than the glorified image of the endlessly self-sacrificing woman who believes that silence is strength. True empowerment begins when women see other women claim space, speak openly, and live on their own terms.