In Haryana, the birth of a son

The Singwai household at Dhani Bhojraj village in Haryana’s Fatehabad district is filled with the sounds of mirth and merriment. Trophies, from dance, kabaddi and kho-kho competitions, earned by the nine daughters of the family line a shelf above their mother’s bed. Above the trophies, photos of baby boys are taped to the wall.

Thirteen-year-old Sushila, the third daughter of Sunita and Sanjay Singwai, holds up a drawing she made last year of an imagined brother, a smiling baby surrounded by butterflies, hearts and teddy bears, and compares it with the real brother who was born on January 4. She is happy because no one at school will dare call her “brother-less” again.

The taunts were constant, her mother says, lying in bed with her nearly two-week-old son. “I never looked at girls and boys differently. But once I was holding a neighbour’s baby boy, and she snatched him away, thinking I would take him because I didn’t have a son. That was the day I decided I had to have a boy, no matter what,” says Sunita, 37.

That “no matter what” meant 11 pregnancies. Sunita admits she is exhausted, but her “family is now complete”. Sarina, her eldest daughter, 18, recalls, “She [mother] has always been pregnant. Sometimes we were worried, but we never told her to stop. Who doesn’t want a brother?” She adds with a smile, “Bhai ke saath masti alag hai [The fun you can have with a brother is different].”

Sunita could not come home immediately after the delivery on January 4 since she required a blood transfusion due to anaemia and a weakened uterus from consecutive pregnancies. However, the celebrations began anyway. Neighbours and relatives gathered, balloons were strung across the courtyard, the daughters made a “Welcome” sign, and a DJ was called. “Even those who used to taunt us came. They said God had finally heard our prayers,” Sarina says.

Outside the room where Sunita is resting, her husband sits on a charpoy, surrounded by their daughters. “None of this means I don’t love my girls… that is a wrong impression,” says Sanjay, 38, who works at a plywood factory 15 km away. Their ninth daughter, three-year-old Aina, climbs up to kiss his cheek, setting off giggles from the rest. She then proceeds to kiss each of her sisters.

The family insists there was no coercion. “It is very common to want a son. The girls felt the absence of a brother. Many people do female foeticide, but you can see all my daughters here,” says Sanjay. He hopes to educate his son and make him a “big officer”. About his daughters, he says, “Girls can do everything too. They will study and get jobs. We will start thinking of their marriage soon.”

‘Every girl needs a brother’

For Sunita, however, the pressure was not just internal, it came from the community. “Neighbours would mock me and say I kept having daughters to get help with the housework,” she says. Originally from Rajasthan, she has five brothers and one sister.

When she visited her village for Raksha Bandhan, her daughters would cry: “You have brothers, what about us?” In Dhani Bhojraj, which is surrounded by a vast expanse of green fields, more men are seen out on the streets than women, and women on the road have their faces covered entirely with dupattas, except their eyes. Residents recognise the Singwai family as the “family that finally had a boy”.

Amrita, 17, the second daughter, says the desire for a brother was also shaped by the way classmates treated them. “In school, girls would brag loudly about how their brothers bought them gifts or took them out. They said these things on purpose when I was around.” Her sisters nod, adding that the mockery sometimes made them cry. Sarina explains, “Every girl needs a brother because we have to travel far for exams or competitions, and there is no one to accompany us.” Most of the sisters study in the government school just metres away.

Improving numbers

According to a report published in 2020 by the United Nations, while preference for a son is not in itself a human rights violation, it is “enmeshed in a web of social relations that reflect, produce and reproduce gender stereotypes”, and the perpetuation of these stereotypes leads to the subordination of women to men and girls to boys, which constitutes a human rights violation. Haryana had the lowest sex ratio in the country in the 2011 Census, at 879 females per 1,000 males. Since then, government efforts have led to visible progress. According to the Civil Registration System, also known as the birth and death registration system, the State’s sex ratio at birth has risen to 923 in 2025, the highest in five years. However, the Sample Registration System, a demographic sample survey conducted by the Office of the Registrar General of India, shows a lower ratio, but an improving trend: it reached 884 in 2023, up from 843 in 2018, though still below the national average of 917.

Despite these gains, the preference for a son remains deeply entrenched, particularly among low-income households, say officials. Lakshmi, an Accredited Social Health Activist who lives a block away, says the desire for a male child is woven into everyday thinking. “Many families still believe a son will carry the family’s name forward. This is more common where finances are weak. Even though it is risky for mothers, many keep having children until they have a boy,” she says. Even as the sex ratio improves, the preference for a son has remained, Lakshmi adds.

Sunil Jaglan, a Haryana-based activist who launched the ‘Selfie with Daughter’ campaign in 2017, says the issue is not limited to one home or a community. “Women face collective pressure. From childhood, they are told a boy will carry the family’s name forward,” Sunil says. Now registered as an NGO, the Selfie with Daughter Foundation has volunteers across the State and conducts surveys to understand the roots of the preference for sons. Sunil says their findings reveal two contrasting patterns. “Resourceful families still engage in female foeticide, and therefore have very few daughters. When something is banned or controlled, it becomes expensive. Meanwhile, poorer families keep having daughters until a boy is born. Ironically, this contributes to the improving sex ratio,” he says.

Back in the Singwai home, Sanjay insists their desire had nothing to do with inheritance. “We have no land. It was just our wish,” he says.

Sanjay’s mother, Maya, 60, says, “The son came after a lot of difficulty but I am happy I have a grandson.” However, she too insists that there was no pressure on the mother.

The drawing of an imagined baby brother made by one of the daughters last year.
| Photo Credit:
R. V. Moorthy

Cultural imprint

Sunil says Haryana’s improving sex ratio does not reflect a decline in the preference for sons. The preference is embedded in cultural vocabulary, rituals and songs, he says. His team has studied folk songs sung at births and weddings. “Songs for girls talk about how she will leave the family after marriage and become ‘paraya (a stranger)’. Songs for boys praise the arrival of a ‘rajkumar (prince)’, who will carry the family’s name ahead and bring pride,” he adds.

He points out that IVF clinics often display posters showing a “perfect” family — a boy and a girl. “Even language reflects the bias: many parents continue to address their daughters as ‘beta’, avoiding ‘beti’,” Sunil says, adding that this led his NGO to launch ‘Beti hoon, beti bulao (I’m a daughter, call me a daughter)’, a campaign urging parents to embrace the word ‘beti’ without shame.

Karan Juneja, a Gurugram-based doctor and convener of the Indian Medical Association’s Junior Doctors’ Network (North Zone), says the cultural roots of preference for a male child make it dangerous for women’s health. “Continuous childbirth weakens bone density and leaves women fatigued. Doctors explain the risks, but the mindset persists. We need early conversations, starting in schools,” he says.

Even the Singwai sisters acknowledge that despite all the moments they celebrated — a daughter’s birth, a medal, a birthday — nothing matched the fervour with which their brother was welcomed home.

A ‘Welcome’ sign put up at the Singwai family’s house.
| Photo Credit:
R. V. Moorthy

Elated but drained

Sunita admits she never paused to think about her own well-being. She wishes she was educated but never got a chance to go to school. Her marriage in 2007 was arranged by relatives, and soon after came Sarina, followed by Amrita, Sushila, Kiran, Divya, Mannat, Kritika, Avneesh, Aina, and Vaishali. All her deliveries were normal, three at private facilities and the remaining in government hospitals.

Each daughter brings her pride, she says. “Sarina and Amrita are Haryanvi folk dancers with trophies to prove it. Sushila draws beautifully. Amrita and Divya excel in kabaddi and kho-kho,” she adds. Despite her love for them, Sunita’s heart longed for relief from the taunts. With help from her daughters, she has named the boy Dilkush, meaning a happy heart. His nickname, Ishant, means new beginnings.

Sunita says she does not regret her path, but hopes no other woman has to endure so many pregnancies. Asked which daughter resembles her most, she laughs: “They all look like me. Look at their faces — don’t we look the same?” Glancing at her daughters crowding the room while her son sleeps in her arms, she pauses and says softly, “But my face is no longer the same. I look tired.”