By Vinod Popat
A few days ago, I came across a post on X (formerly Twitter) that deeply unsettled me. It wasn’t a headline, a viral meme, or a political debate. It was a raw, painful account of a real incident—one that made me reflect on the quiet, tragic erosion of the Indian family system.
The story was about a man—let’s call him X—who has been living in the United States for the past 15 years. His elderly father, 84 years old, lived alone in Jaipur after his wife passed away three years ago. One night, X called a friend in India at 3 a.m., panicked and pleading for help. He said his father wasn’t answering his phone and he had a bad feeling.
The friend rushed to the father’s home with a few others, only to find him in critical condition. They immediately took him to the hospital. The man had suffered a cardiac arrest, followed by multiple organ failure. Despite the urgency, none of the nearby relatives stepped up to support—neither emotionally nor financially. It was this group of friends, not family, who stayed by his side, arranged treatment, managed logistics, and never left him alone through his final days.
X didn’t come.
He was busy negotiating a multi-million dollar business deal in the U.S. His father was in the ICU—battling for his life—and he stayed back. Only after his father passed away did he fly in for three days, attended the baithak, and flew out again. No asthi visarjan, no shraddh, no last rites—just a hurried departure back to boardrooms and business.
Even more shocking—his wife and children didn’t accompany him. He explained: “She has work. The kids have school.” And just like that, a life ended quietly, with dignity upheld not by family, but by friends and strangers.
Reading this shook me to the core. Have we reached a point where our dreams, ambitions, and western lifestyles have eclipsed the very values that once made Indian families unique?
We used to take pride in being different. In caring for our elders. In togetherness that went beyond convenience. In rituals that brought closure and peace—not superstition, but culture and connection.
Where did all that go?
Are we slowly trading in our sanskaar for salaries? Are we exchanging seva for self-interest? In the name of progress, have we become emotionally unavailable to the very people who gave us life, who once held our hands through every storm?
This isn’t about one man or one incident. This is a wake-up call to all of us. To pause and ask—Are we losing something far more precious than we realise?
The Indian family system isn’t just built on blood. It’s built on presence. On time. On care. On rituals that remind us who we are and where we come from. If we let that slip, we aren’t just losing a tradition—we’re losing ourselves.
Your thoughts are welcome.
