In the city, away from home, she wakes whenever she wants to. She wears whatever she likes without comment. She meets friends after work, pays her own rent, and navigates life on her own terms, that is, until she goes home. At home, the independence that felt utterly ordinary in the city becomes conditional. Suddenly, her clothes are ‘too short’, evening outings come with a curfew, domestic work is compulsory, and the questions are never-ending. 

Young Indian women who have migrated to tier-1 cities for education or employment often experience a loss of autonomy when they return to their hometowns. Their freedom is often considered something that is ‘allowed’ to them. They are told that their independence is the result of ‘progressive parenting’. All this only goes to show that for young women, autonomy is ‘permitted’ and not intrinsic.

Migrating to big cities gives young women a sense of freedom, one that comes without many constraints. But in their hometowns, they are expected to adhere to patriarchal rules for being a ‘good daughter’. While these rules remain unsaid, they are still thrust on women by their families. When a young woman returns home from her big job in the big city, she’s given a concerned reminder, either implicit or explicit, on how to be a ‘good daughter’.

This often starts with her clothes. Jeans, shorts, dresses, and western-style blouses must be replaced by a salwar kameez and a dupatta. Especially so when guests are expected at home. Sometimes this is said gently to women, at other times, it’s only implied. However, this isn’t just about clothing; it is about how respect and family honour are dependent on the women of the house in patriarchal societies. A woman’s body, therefore, becomes a statement of respectability and signals how a daughter represents her household’s values.

In the city, she can not only step out whenever she wants, but her presence in public spaces does not need an explanation. However, back home, there must be a reason to step out. Stepping out once a day might still be okay, but more than that, and it will invite unnecessary intrusion and questions. ‘Where to again?’ might be a casual question, but it comes with the expectation of a detailed explanation. And at some homes, the detailed answers alone aren’t enough. They are followed by gentle suggestions of taking a younger sibling or a cousin along. For a young woman, the city allows movement without any explanation, but her hometown demands answers from her.

Back in the city, domestic labour is flexible, something that can happen on one’s own time and according to one’s convenience. However, at home, domestic labour is imposed on women.

At home, even a simple phone call invites scrutiny. In the city, phone calls easily go on for hours. But back home, phone calls become shorter, and voices are lowered instinctively, fearing that someone might overhear. If it’s a long call, someone will casually ask: Who are you talking to? A seemingly casual question, but one that still seeks to invade someone’s privacy. 

Back in the city, domestic labour is flexible, something that can happen on one’s own time and according to one’s convenience. However, at home, domestic labour is imposed on women. Although never framed as an obligation, it still is one. If one opts out of it, the family is quick to anger. 

Having one’s own space is a luxury. However, when there is constant negotiation for freedom and autonomy within the home, women are left with no place to really call their own. Whenever distant relatives arrive, the drawing room transforms into a stage for the daughters to perform sincere hospitality and, ultimately, femininity and patriarchal respectability. If the daughter stays too long, she invites scrutiny from her prying relatives. If she disappears into her room, she offends. So she oscillates in the middle – present but not prominent.

For many Indian families, a daughter’s independence is used for progressive posturing. ‘We let her move to the big city.’ ‘We trust our daughter to live alone.’ ‘We always wanted her to work at this company.’ While these remarks might be borne out of pride and affection, they also position a young woman’s autonomy as something that the parents have permitted or granted. Freedom afforded to the daughter is often considered a mark of how progressive the family is, even if such freedom and autonomy come with control and limits.

Sociologists believe that women don’t just surrender to certain adjustments; they perpetually recalibrate their behaviour in different scenarios. They know that the autonomy that is unchallenged in the city must be exerted carefully back home.

Home must be a place of ease, but for many young women, this is not so. Sociologists believe that women don’t just surrender to certain adjustments; they perpetually recalibrate their behaviour in different scenarios. They know that the autonomy that is unchallenged in the city must be exerted carefully back home.

For women, their hometowns become sites of constant negotiation, where their freedom is not their own and can be suppressed at the will of their families. It’s not that families don’t love or care for their daughters, but this notion of ‘permitted freedom’ is a product of how deeply patriarchy influences our society to this day, and how women continue to be expected to surrender to it.