Telugu megastar-turned-politician K Chiranjeevi recently expressed his desire for a grandson to carry forward the family’s legacy. “When I’m at home, it doesn’t feel like I’m surrounded by my granddaughters; it feels like I’m a ladies’ hostel warden, surrounded by ladies all around. I keep wishing and telling (Ram) Charan, at least this time, have a boy so that our legacy continues, but his daughter is the apple of his eye… I’m scared that he might again have a girl,” Chiranjeevi told a public gathering.
Is this a simple wish? A harmless remark? Or yet another reminder of how deeply ingrained the “male heir” obsession remains — even among the most influential and seemingly progressive figures?
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The weight of words
At first glance, this might seem trivial. Some might argue, “What’s the big deal? Celebrities say things all the time — some meaningful, some mindless”. Others may dismiss it as the innocent wish of a doting grandfather or accuse critics of making a mountain out of a molehill. After all, Chiranjeevi already has granddaughters — what’s the harm in wanting a grandson?
The problem is twofold. First, Chiranjeevi is a towering influence in South Indian cinema and beyond. His words are never just words; they carry weight, reinforce ideas, and shape perceptions. Second, his remark wasn’t about the desire to pamper a grandson — it was about continuing a legacy, the belief that only a male heir can sustain a family’s name and achievements. This echoes an age-old, troubling narrative: That a family’s legacy is only carried forward by a son.
Putravati bhava: The male heir syndrome
The obsession with a male successor exists from time immemorial. In the Mahabharata, Gandhari is blessed to be the mother of a hundred sons and just one daughter — as if daughters are an afterthought in the grand scheme of legacy-building. The blessing “Sau Putravati Bhavah” (“May you be blessed with a hundred sons”) has been passed down for generations, reinforcing the idea that a woman’s greatest fortune is to give birth to men.
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In contemporary India, this preference manifests in the skewed sex ratio. Daughters are still considered a burden. The pressures of dowry, vulnerability to gender-based violence, and the notion that they will eventually “belong” to another family make having a girl seem like an additional responsibility rather than a cause for celebration. Chiranjeevi himself says that he feels he is “a ladies’ hostel warden”.
Even in well-educated households, sons are groomed to take forward the business, while women are groomed, first and firstmost, to be good wives. That the son should also be groomed to be a good husband, and the daughter to carry forward the legacy does not occur to people. In Dil Dhadakne Do (2015), the only son, Kabir, is expected to inherit the family business despite having no interest in it, while Ayesha, his sister — an independent and competent entrepreneur — is never even considered.
Women’s worth
However, one must not forget that women’s unpaid labour also shapes family legacies. According to a Karmannaya Counsel, CII, and Nikore Associates study (2024), women perform over eight times the amount of unpaid work, valued at 15-17 per cent of GDP. The Time Use Survey 2024 confirms that Indian women spend 289 minutes daily on unpaid domestic services — 201 minutes more than men. Women also spend 140 minutes a day on caregiving compared to 75 minutes for men. This workload limits their economic mobility, keeping them in low-paying, part-time, or informal jobs.
If legacy is defined by contributions to society, then Indian women have more than proven their ability to create and sustain one. The women scientists at ISRO, such as Ritu Karidhal and Muthayya Vanitha, played pivotal roles in the Chandrayaan and Mangalyaan missions, putting India on the global space exploration map. Figures such as Kiran Mazumdar-Shaw, who founded Biocon and revolutionised biotechnology in India, or Falguni Nayar, the founder of Nykaa, have built business empires from scratch. Sports legends like PV Sindhu and Sania Mirza have carved global reputations for themselves.
“I’m a-jokin’”
Defenders of such remarks will argue it was just an offhand comment — “He didn’t mean it that way”, “It was said in jest”. But that’s precisely the issue. When even offhand comments reinforce the idea that only a son can truly extend a legacy, we have to ask — why is this belief so automatic? Why is it so deeply ingrained that it slips out even from those who should know better?
Jokes and casual remarks shape mainstream ideas. The WhatsApp jokes portraying men as henpecked husbands normalise misogyny. Politicians dismissing sexual violence with statements like “boys will be boys” (“ladke hain, galti ho jati hai”) trivialise grave issues.
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Patriarchy and power
Some of the most defining eras in British history were led by queens — Elizabeth I, Victoria, and Elizabeth II. However, the Doctrine of Lapse, implemented by the British East India Company, denied Indian princesses the right to inherit thrones. Globally, this bias persists. Japan’s royal family refuses to allow female succession, despite Princess Aiko being Emperor Naruhito’s only child. Instead, the throne will pass to Hisahito, the emperor’s nephew.
Besides, would anyone argue that Ratan Tata, who has no children, has left no legacy? Or that Priyanka Gandhi Vadra lacks political influence just because the Nehru-Gandhi surname passed through male relatives? Telugu cinema owes as much to actors like Savitri and Soundarya as it does to its star sons.
So, should we care that Chiranjeevi wants a grandson? Maybe not, but we should care about what his words reveal. Because as long as people in power continue to say things like this — offhand or in earnest — we’ll be reminded that for all our progress, some mindsets remain stubbornly stuck in the past.
aishwarya.khosla@indianexpress.com
