I was 16 when I declared to my parents one morning at breakfast, to not expect any grandchildren from me. The announcement was met with a mixture of amusement, good old-fashioned Christian embarrassment, and dismissal “You’ll change your mind,” I was told as more scrambled eggs were ladled onto my plate, and the subject hastily changed. More than a decade later, in 2008, when I moved out of Delhi and back to my hometown Shillong, taking my pet cat with me, it became a running joke in the family that at least I’d given them a “grandkitty”. Now, in my mid-thirties, the jesting has stopped. Though of late I do find myself thinking a lot about children—of having them or not—perhaps because the question, now more than ever, is often asked: Don’t you want kids?

Implied here, especially since I’m a woman, is the normalcy of wanting them. How does one respond? I honestly don’t know. I’ve tried, mostly in jest, “But I have a cat” or “Look, I write books” but the truth is the question forces me to question my decision and think about it far more than I might actually wish to. As author Jeanne Safer describes in her essay ‘Beyond Beyond Motherhood’ in Selfish, Shallow And Self-Absorbed: Sixteen Writers On The Decision Not To Have Kids (Picador), I have “wanted to want to have a baby.” I’m aware that in my friend’s circle I’m not the only one. There is a group of us choosing not to have kids, and it’s got me wondering why. If being child-free is a “trend”, what are the factors enabling it to become one now? I recognise also that we are a certain type of women—urban, educated—and I’m wondering how this un-pronatalist decision might be connected to privilege and class.

TO HAVE KIDS OR NOT TO?

In the West, choosing not to have children appears to be a statistical trend. According to an article ‘The Rise of Childlessness’ in the Economist (July 2017), while just 9 per cent of English and Welsh women born in 1946 had no children, for the cohort born in 1970 the proportion is 17 per cent. In Germany, 22 per cent of women reach their early forties without children; in Hamburg particularly 32 per cent do. This trend is not (yet) noticeable in India, where motherhood is glorified—in film, literature, television—and the mother figure deeply informs national iconographies and politics. Even here, though, run small whisperings of change. As Amrita Nandy, scholar, activist, and author of Motherhood And Choice: Uncommon Mothers, Childfree Women (Zubaan Books), confirms, “There are many more women now than ever before who see motherhood differently—as an option. They question the mandate, think hard and take their time to decide. And then, there are also those who categorically refuse the role. Both these kinds of sensibilities are more visible today.”

Among the women I know, there are both. For Delhi-based writer Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan, having children has not featured as a “goal”. “All my life, I have set myself goals of stuff I’d like to achieve: move out of my parents’ home, travel a lot, establish myself as a freelancer, write books, get pets. None of these are easy tasks but I did them because I wanted to. By the same logic, I probably don’t want kids because I’ve never wanted to make an effort in that direction.” Similar for writer and columnist Nilanjana Roy and her partner Devangshu Datta, neither of who were inclined towards parenthood right from the start. “We knew that we were fond of children,” she says, “but that is not the same as wanting to be a parent.” While many feel an urgent or instinctual pull, Roy acknowledges that they simply didn’t feel the need to have children of their own. “In mid-life, we’re comfortable with the decision and feel it was the right choice for us.”

CHILD-FREE: STIGMA OR THE NEW NORM?

Yet making this choice—and sticking to it—isn’t easy. Especially since the decision to remain child-free within a strongly pro-natalist environ is akin to religious blasphemy. An act that negates what’s seen as “natural”, that defies an accepted unquestionable social norm. The woman, in a sense, has selfishly turned her back on her “duty” to procreate. In short, she isn’t “normal”. Worse, as feminist publisher Urvashi Butalia points out, biology as destiny is built into not only [patriarchal] family and society but also the state. Within this, it becomes difficult, if not impossible, for women to define themselves as anything other than “mother”. Even if, as Butalia advocates, being child-free is simply “another way of living”, a meaningful life is usually defined not as one of work and writing, friends and family, but children.

It explains why child-free women usually face the flak they do. As Chennai-based writer and dancer Tishani Doshi admits, the reactions to her decision have been very mixed—“From understanding to really obnoxious, and also sadness, especially from women for whom motherhood has been a pivotal part of their lives. They feel that you are denying yourself this experience.” For me, while my immediate family now lets me be, distant relatives, acquaintances, sometimes even strangers, are usually aghast, disbelieving or patronising—I still get the “you’ll change your mind” line. Some ask why, and apart from saying there are varied, complex, overlapping reasons—including I just don’t feel like it—I wish, in turn, to ask why must I justify my decision? There is, also, more often than not, judgement. Perhaps because as Roy points out, part of being child-free as a woman is exerting a power that many find threatening. “You’re deciding what to do with your body and your time, which is simply not an option for women in many families, so [being child-free] is seen as a declaration of independence,” she adds.

MOTHERHOOD: CHOICE OR SOCIAL IMPERATIVE?

It’s a declaration being made by a few women in urban circles in India, one undeniably linked to the privileges of class and caste. As Nandy admits, in society at large, procreation is still thought of as the most important role that females ought to perform. The degree of change seems to be largely among young, educated women who “de-naturalise” their identities. Roy explains, “The post-liberalisation years saw salaried families making emotional and financial investments in their daughters’ (Western) education and career. Now, higher education and the related exposure to notions of feminism or environmentalism have sent ripples of change in the lives of many child-free women.”

Overall, the number of women educated in India has seen an improvement—from 59.4 per cent in 2005-06 to 72.5 per cent in 2015-16 according to the Economic Survey—and more young women—the All India Survey counts 15 million in 2016—are enrolled in higher education than ever before. Over the last couple of decades, the personal and professional horizons of upper-middle-class women have also widened. They may pursue and explore creative avenues to seek fulfilment and carve their identity. “Even as motherhood retains its hold,” Nandy adds, “there are unusual spaces and individuals where and for whom it may have lost its shine and bind.”

We are far from living in a time where motherhood is seen as a choice and not a social imperative. In fact, what’s important at present is to diffuse a situation that threatens to become conflictual—parents versus non-parents. The self-sacrificing versus the selfish, the mature versus the overgrown teenagers. Roy calls this an artificial divide. “There is no war. I don’t support descriptions of parents as ‘breeders’ who don’t care about the future of the earth any more than I support descriptions of non-parents as selfish people who don’t want to take on responsibilities.” They are merely different ways of being, choices that have been exercised out of deeply individual needs, each to be accepted, equally, and with compassion. It’s time also to extend our definitions of mothering or parenting beyond the strictly biological.

As Delhi-based journalist and writer Nandini Nair, says, “Being child-free opens up possibilities. Instead of being devoted to the single, you can give to the many. And for some people that is important and meaningful.” We need to acknowledge that there are just as many ways for someone with a biological child to be “non-parental” as for someone child-free to be tender and nurturing. We can be fortunate, as Roy points out, to have the company of children in our lives in other ways—nieces, nephews, the children of our friends and neighbours or through volunteering with NGOs who work with kids. I’ve found much joy in teaching at university, where I feel parental towards my students, and where my role in their lives has shaped into much more than a “teacher”. In turn, I’ve been fortunate to know teachers and head- masters who have been parents to me, their love and support extending far beyond the confines of the classroom. To open up our definitions, and our minds, means harnessing the joyous multiplicity of ways to lead responsible, productive, meaning-filled lives, with or without children. And perhaps, in India, this is what will help bring about the larger change in collective perception—a cluster of women crafting a space in which they have a say, speaking up about their desires, their choices, their lives.

Enjoyed reading this article? To receive more articles like this, sign up for the Vogue Newsletter