If Not Her, Then Who?— An unexpected conversation in the Operation Theatre.
A conversation in an operating theatre today has refused to leave my mind, lingering long after the surgery ended. What unfolded there was far more than a passing conversation; it was a painful reminder of the deep gender bias against daughters that still exists, even within many seemingly modern households.
A young, beautiful woman was posted for a lower-segment caesarean section. She already had a lovely four-year-old daughter whom she absolutely adored. Like anyone about to undergo surgery, she seemed nervous. We spoke casually to calm her anxiety, drifting into random, meaningless conversations to distract her from the fear, continuously reassuring her that everything was proceeding smoothly and that she was completely safe in our hands.
As doctors, we witness pain, fear, anxiety, relief, and hope every single day. It rarely feels extraordinary. But that day, something else unfolded quietly before us.
Soon, the baby was delivered safely. A beautiful child entered the world crying loudly, announcing life with full force.
The mother’s first question came almost instantly:
“What is it? Is it a boy?”
At first, it sounded like an ordinary question. Most parents are curious, and perhaps she believed a boy would complete her already beautiful family. But she kept repeating the same question over and over again. Despite all of us reassuring her repeatedly, she still looked unconvinced. She needed confirmation from every single person around her — reassurance that there had been no mistake, that nobody was teasing her or joking with her. She needed to hear it again and again: yes, it was a boy.
And then, within moments, came a request that caught me off guard.
She asked that the placenta be handed over to her in-laws as soon as possible.
Confused, I casually asked why.
She replied softly, “It’s a ritual. If a boy is born, the placenta becomes sacred, and certain ceremonies are performed.”
I asked her gently, more out of curiosity than judgment, “Did you follow the same ritual when your daughter was born?”
She paused, and a hesitant “No” escaped her lips.
That one word carried the weight of generations.
I smiled softly and said, “Does your daughter not deserve the same reverence, the same celebration, the same sacredness?”
A tear rolled down her cheek. And then came the sentence I still cannot forget: “It’s a ritual. I have to follow what the elders say. Only boys’ placentas are needed for the ritual. There is no such ritual for girls.”
A well-educated woman from a modern family, lying in a modern hospital — and yet there she was, powerless before customs she herself did not fully believe in.
When I gently asked her what she truly wanted, she admitted quietly, If I had a choice, I may never have tried for a second child at all. Maybe someone will have the strength to question this, but I can’t. I can’t do anything about it. It’s our tradition. FULL STOP!
For a brief moment, the entire operating theatre fell silent. Because every person standing there understood the deeper ache hidden beneath that conversation.
This was never just about one placenta ritual or one family. It was about generations of women conditioned to believe that their worth somehow still rises or falls with the gender of the child they bring into the world.
And suddenly, I found myself transported back to my own early days after marriage.
I remember being taken for a “special pooja” soon after my wedding. I was instructed to pray aloud to the goddess to bless me with a son. When I questioned it, I was simply told, “It’s tradition.”
But I could never bring myself to pray for one gender over another. Instead, I folded my hands and prayed for something far more meaningful — a healthy child, a beautiful soul, and a life blessed with dignity, kindness, health, and purpose.
Later, I discovered that some magic rice potli had been secretly placed beneath my mattress as part of another ritual believed to “ensure” a male child. All this inside what society would proudly describe as a “modern” household.
And perhaps that is what unsettles me the most.
We proudly speak about women’s empowerment, equality, education, leadership, careers, and progress — yet inside homes, behind carefully curated appearances, centuries-old prejudices continue to survive comfortably.
Then one day, we open newspapers and feel horrified by dowry deaths, female foeticide, honour killings, domestic abuse, and violence against women.
“But are these tragedies truly disconnected from the mindset that treats sons as legacy and daughters as liability — a reflection of the deep gender bias woven into the heart of our society?”
And the greatest irony of all is this: the very society that worships goddesses still struggles to celebrate daughters without conditions attached.
I say this today as a mother of both.
My son is the apple of my eye. My daughter is my pride, my strength, and my queen.
Not less.
Not more.
Equal.
True equality cannot begin in boardrooms and workplaces if inequality begins inside womb-related conversations, rituals, prayers, and family expectations.
The change must begin at home — in the language we use, the celebrations we hold, the blessings we give, and the rituals we continue or courageously refuse.
Because daughters do not need sympathy. They need belonging.
And mothers need to stop being burdened with the responsibility of “producing heirs,” as though human worth can somehow be measured through gender.
Every family line in history has been carried forward through the strength of a woman’s body. Every single one.
So if not now, then when?
And if not her — the mother herself — then who will stand up for the daughters she birthed?
Before another generation of girls grows up believing they were born second to someone else.
Before your daughter becomes the headline, or your son becomes the man hiding behind it.
Change the prayer.
Change the ritual.
Change the thinking.
True change will only come when we confront the gender bias against daughters hidden inside these rituals, expectations, and family traditions.