My husband died and my in-laws blamed it on my career

One woman’s experience of navigating societal pressures and family expectations to carve for herself a successful career

I’m in my 60s, and I think about my husband every day. When you lose someone unexpectedly, there are many loose ends that you have to eventually just accept. The things said and unsaid, what I wish he said to his family to support me, instead of trying to brush it off and telling me to pay no mind to the jibes. They would have listened if it came from him. They definitely didn’t want to hear it from me.

I had no intentions of getting married when I first met my late husband. We were both young, met through friends and were focused on our careers. I was completing my medical training, and he had started working at an architecture firm. It didn’t seem like we had anything in common when our friends first introduced us, but we found a comfort in each other that we didn’t expect.

In those days, there was no concept of dating. We met a few more times with our families and married a few months later. It was a simple court marriage, like we both wanted, with no thrills and frills – we were saving money. We threw a big party for our friends and family later in the year when we could afford it. We never wanted to be in debt or take loans from others. I guess we had that in common.

When I first met his family, they were welcoming and kind, though much more traditional than mine. He told me all about them, how there would be an adjustment period for everyone, as they were wrapping their heads around having a working daughter-in-law rather than a bahu who does all the cooking and cleaning, presses their feet – all of that. I tried my best to be what they wanted, to care for them and make our lives happier, but there was always tension in our household.

As a gynaecological surgeon, I’ve found success and happiness in my job, but I’ve spent the last 30 years navigating the confluence of tradition and ambition. Professional triumphs would get overshadowed by personal sacrifices, intricate threads of societal expectations woven into every Indian woman’s life.

My in-laws allowed me (in their words) to work on the condition that I’d keep up with my household responsibilities. My days were a balance between hospitals and operation theatres, and yet, I made sure there was a full flask of kadak chai for my father-in-law, ready at 6 AM every morning. The weight of my in-laws’ disapproval loomed heavy when I started making more money than my husband. That is when things took a turn for the worse.

My income, a reflection of my dedication, became a major matter of contention. What would people think of their son if his wife was the real breadwinner? Why did I need to work? Was I so money-hungry that I was willing to work late into the night while ‘neglecting’ my wifely duties?

My husband lost his job when the firm he worked at ran out of money and shut down. He took to drinking; it started with one beer with dinner and ended up being one drink constantly by his side. He was stressed, and I tried to be his listening ear. But men didn’t open up then as they do now (it’s still hard, Tweak tried to crack this nut). I tried to be supportive, but his parents expected me to diminish my own career for the sake of his ego and public image.

I kept up my end of the bargain; I made sure the house chores were done, I’d press my mother-in-law’s feet when they hurt, and I got the kids through school work and exams. How could they ask me to hit the brakes on my career? Pointing out that I was the highest earning member of the household and kept things running was not appreciated by them and brought on only more taanas.

Soon, I became the scapegoat for my husband’s alcoholism, an accusation that still gnaws at my spirit sometimes. Because I was making more money than my husband, in their eyes, I was emasculating him. They said I was breaking the family.

My husband, a mix of support and compliance, often stood as a bystander to my struggles. He oscillated between defending me and yielding to his parents’ persistent expectations, a wavering presence in the silent battle I fought daily. Yet, my resolve never faltered; my commitment to my career and my children remained steadfast, despite the invisible chains of societal norms.

I won’t lie. There were times I thought of walking out of their house, of ending the marriage. This wasn’t the environment that I wanted to live in, nor did I want to let my sons grow up thinking that their grandparents’ way of thinking was right. I wasn’t around all the time to make sure they understood the generational difference – which is what I kept telling myself to pacify my growing anger towards them. But divorce wasn’t an easy option. I, too, was a slave to the ideals I was raised with, that marriage is an unbreakable bond. I wanted my children to have both parents in their lives, as well as grandparents, and ending the marriage would have ruined that for them. I wonder now whether people who stay together for the sake of their children end up doing more harm than good. It was evident that our relationship was failing, and our children picked up on this.

As my husband found himself at the bottom of a bottle every night, refusing every ounce of help and giving up on trying to hold down a job, I had to take on his role of parenting as well. I was a hunter, gatherer, nurturer and provider. And as much as my in-laws tried to deny it, my husband saw it too, and he appreciated it in his own way.

Tragedy carved its cruel path into our lives. My husband’s health succumbed to the grip of alcohol, leaving a void impossible to fill. His passing marked not just a personal loss, but became the canvas for blame. Within the familial walls, fingers pointed indirectly at my success and accolades, unjustly attributing his downfall to my aspirations. According to them, making more money than my husband is what “drove him to an early death”.

After his passing I stayed with them for over a year until my brother-in-law decided to move to our city. Amidst the labyrinth of sorrow and judgement, I decided it was time to make my own home. I was in my mid-forties at the time and moved out of the house with my children to our own little place.

My children gave me courage and I continued to work hard so that they could have a good future. I divided their time equally between my parents and my in-laws, because they were and are still very much our family. But I no longer let them use me as an excuse for everything that happened.

It took me a long time to realise that there’s nothing wrong with letting my job be such a large part of my identity. I love helping people, and if being career-focused is unacceptable for women, then I’m comfortable in my rebellion. Men are constantly driven by ambition and career pursuits; it’s time we gave them a run for their money. So much talent in this country is wasted because of ‘log kya kahenge’.

I know I am not alone in this struggle where norms overshadow our dreams. I will always respect and support others who speak of sacrifices and unwavering determination. It is the unyielding spirit of women who forge their path, despite the odds, that has taken us to where we are today as a society. My in-laws (I wish them well) are not fully at fault. This is what they were taught growing up. I only wish they were willing to listen. Times change, people change and we need to change with them.

This is an anonymous account, as told to Sara Hussain.