Secure Masculinity: A Legacy I Grew Up With
Growing up, I never learned to associate colors with gender. In my home, pink and lavender were just colors — not statements about masculinity or femininity. I remember how a pink shirt would perfectly compliment my father’s skin tone, and it felt so normal. There was no conversation around whether that color was “for men.” It simply was.
There was a time when my bua waxed my uncle’s leg — just out of curiosity — and he went along with it, curious to see what it felt and looked like. There was no drama, no shame. It was just a moment. Normal.
The men in my family always cared about how they looked. They dressed well, groomed themselves, and took pride in it. Subconsciously, that rubbed off on the rest of us — looking good, feeling good, carrying yourself well — it was just how things were.
Perhaps this openness comes from the man who raised them — my grandfather — a man ahead of his time. In the early 1960s, in one of the smallest towns in Uttar Pradesh, he made sure his daughters played hockey and badminton, often with boys or uncles. He took pride in saying, “My girls, my boys — they’re all the best.” He didn’t differentiate. He raised his children with equal expectation and equal love.
These men — my uncles, father, and cousins — grew up around the softest woman I’ve ever known: my grandmother. She never cared for money or worldly pleasures. Her joy was in feeding people. From what I remember and from the stories told by her children’s friends who became extended family, she was the kind of person who gave even when she had nothing left. Those were incredibly tough times, but no one ever left our home hungry. She made sure of that. And that legacy, that warmth, passed down through generations.
After my grandfather passed away, my grandmother and her children struggled, but even then, the doors were always open for guests, friends, and even strangers. All my aunts practically raised their brothers. These men were shaped in homes where women drove around for fun, dressed in the latest Bollywood trends, and defined their own paths in the black-and-white era of the 60s. Gender wasn’t a limit — it simply wasn’t a factor in how we lived.
This kind of upbringing, this safe and open environment, created what I now understand to be secure masculinity — masculinity that thrives in the presence of feminine energy, rather than competing with it. It raised sons and daughters who turned out to be feminists, not just in labels, but in essence.
This secure masculinity gave us space to ask questions, to challenge norms, to fight for what we believed in, even within the structure of a brown household. No one ever told us girls what we could or couldn’t do. We were allowed to cry, fight, shout, love — all of it — just as we were. It’s only when we stepped outside into the wider world that we realized what we thought was “normal” was, in fact, a privilege that many girls never had.
I believe secure masculinity allows women to feel safe even when they feel weak, and it allows men to be vulnerable without shame. It doesn’t fear questions, it doesn’t silence raised voices, and it doesn’t hide teary male eyes.
Of course, even secure men have bad days. But their sense of pride never came from the money they earned or from controlling the women around them. They never needed to assert power by dictating how a woman should dress, speak, or live.
In contrast, I’ve encountered insecure masculinity in many forms — from men who wanted to control where their sisters went, what they wore, or how educated they should be. Some would joke about when I should “get married” or “have a kid,” dismissing my feminism as something unnecessary or annoying. These were the same men who slid into DMs with harassment, or commented on powerful and beautiful women’s posts out of insecurity as these women threatened their masculinity.
Some of these men were praised as ideal sons and husbands — perfect, on the surface. But only women knew what they were really like behind closed doors. They were often threatened by an educated, independent woman — quick to label her as “too modern” for showing a little cleavage, while thinking nothing of their own bare chests or lounging in shorts any sort of malfunction in the middle of streets.
They ridiculed other men for wearing pink, for dressing well, for being polite or chivalrous — all because it didn’t fit their fragile mold of masculinity.
But I’ve seen the other side. I’ve lived it. I’ve seen how women thrive in the company of secure men — and how secure masculinity, in turn, allows men to truly thrive. It’s the perfect balance, like Shiva and Shakti, Yin and Yang — each amplifying the other.
I’m not a writer, and I don’t have fancy words.
But to express, you don’t really need more than feelings and a sense of observation.
This came from the heart.
I truly hope the new men — my friends, my colleagues, the men I know — raise their daughters in the safest, most secure form of masculinity.
So that all of us — me, my brothers, my sisters, my mothers, you, your sister, your mother, your wives, your husbands — we all thrive.
And we all feel safe. ❤️
Originally published on Medium.
