From ‘Log Kya Kahenge’ to ‘I Don’t Care’: Unlearning Shame in Brown Households

If I had a rupee for every time I heard “log kya kahenge?” growing up, I could probably fund my own therapy sessions — with a little left over for iced coffee.

It starts early. That quiet voice of control wrapped up in concern. You speak up — “talking too much.” You stay quiet — “Why so moody?” You dress up — “showing off.” You dress down — “no sense of presentation.” It’s a constant game of walking the tightrope, where one wrong move invites gossip, judgment, or worse — disappointment.

What I didn’t realise back then was how deep shame seeps in. It wasn’t just about avoiding judgment. It was about being trained to anticipate it. Like I had an internal alarm that would go off any time I did something even slightly “different.” Wanting to dye my hair, say no to guests, or simply rest — even those things came with guilt. Because somewhere, someone might have something to say.

And let’s be real: sometimes that “someone” was just an imaginary aunt living in my brain rent-free.

The wild part? I don’t even have an older brother, yet I saw my male cousins move through life with this quiet freedom. No one cared if they came home late or skipped helping in the kitchen. Their choices were protected; mine felt like a communal decision. At family gatherings, they were praised for the bare minimum, while I was overthinking how many rotis to serve. The difference was clear — and unfair.

The university gave me a taste of autonomy. For the first time, I had space to think without that echo of “what will people say?” I started asking myself: What do I want? What do I believe in? I realised how many of my “choices” weren’t really mine — they were pre-approved by family expectations.

I remember one night, I stayed up editing a blog post. It was personal. Messy. Honest. And I panicked. That voice came back — “You’re oversharing.” “What will your family think?” “Aren’t you embarrassed?” But then another voice whispered something new: “What if someone needs to hear this?” That voice was softer, but stronger. So I posted it. And the world didn’t end.

Since then, I’ve been learning to choose honesty over approval. Not recklessly — but intentionally. I still get scared. I still hear the whispers of shame now and then. But I remind myself: I’m not here to perform. I’m here to live.

Unlearning shame means unlearning that my worth is measured by other people’s comfort. It means calling out passive-aggressive comments at dinner. It means wearing that crop top, even if it makes an aunt squint. It means resting without guilt. It means saying, “Actually, I don’t agree,” even if the room falls awkwardly silent.

It also means forgiving myself for all the times I didn’t speak up. Because this is a journey, not a switch you flip.

And no, I’m not ungrateful for my culture. I love the food, the warmth, and the inside jokes at family dinners. But I no longer believe that silence equals respect. Or that shame is a form of love. I believe in boundaries. In choosing myself. In soft rebellion — the kind that says, I still belong here, even if I don’t follow every rule.

So here’s to unlearning. To making our younger selves feel safe. To taking up space in the ways we were once told not to. To saying “I don’t care” — not out of bitterness, but out of freedom.

Because once you stop living for the aunties, you start living for yourself.

And that’s where the magic begins.