Amrita’s semester final exams had just finished. She went to a club with her uni friends to celebrate and finally loosen up after the grueling last few weeks. She danced on the floor, sang at the karaoke, took pictures with her friends, forgetting all about her stress. After she returned home, she went on Instagram to post stories of the great time that she had. A few minutes later, she suddenly remembered that her cousins back home follow her on Instagram, and they might tell on her. Not willing to take any risks, Amrita deleted her posts, lest she hear the dreaded phrase from her parents, “Ma manush ki bolbe?” or “What will the people say?”
No one actually told Amrita to delete the post. Her friends, the people who know her firsthand, didn’t care that she went to the club. No one in that club even knew her family. And yet, Amrita removed her stories. Coming abroad had allowed her to finally be at peace with herself, but the feeling of being judged constantly loomed over her. She knew this was normal in the South Asian diaspora, yet some part of her had always wondered why.
For many South Asians, going abroad symbolises freedom. Life abroad is freer; but not free enough. While the physical boundary is crossed, the mental one remains guarded. This is largely attributable to an upbringing that is vastly different from life in the USA. If their parents back home somehow find out that their children are exploring sides of life that they aren’t comfortable with, they might get disappointed and upset. Or worse, the neighbours might find out and never let them hear the end of it. And it is more common for those living abroad to reflexively think that they will get judged for trying out something new, even when there is no one to judge them. Over time, this way of thinking becomes second nature; something people carry with them even though they don’t need to.
We start hearing “Manush ki bolbe” early on in our lives. We hear it the moment we do something slightly different from the societal norm. If we don’t dress the way others do, we are reminded of it. If we don’t act the way others expect, we are reminded again. At some point, “Manush ki bolbe” stops coming from others; it comes from within ourselves. And this is why, even though we cross continents, we don’t leave the audience behind. We constantly try to avoid the disapproval of the audience, which exists mostly inside our own minds.
This does not mean that this pressure is completely internal and not based in reality. Most South Asians abroad live in their own communities, where they create a mini Bangladesh or a mini India. They bring along their own culture and lifestyle, and of course, the trademark judgment. The ‘Aunty Network’ functions as a decentralized surveillance system where they monitor and judge how far someone’s sons and daughters have ‘gone astray’. Digital surveillance by family members back home is also a prevalent practice. Technology has made “manush ki bolbe” borderless. Taking screenshots of social media posts, sending them to family group chats, and lamenting the ‘moral decay’ of those living abroad is very common. Because of this, people like Amrita often feel the need to remain alert from the very beginning and hide what they’re doing.
Another reason we hold on to the “manush ki bolbe” sentiment is the pressure to validate our parents’ sacrifices. We move abroad to get a degree so that we can take responsibility for our families. And for the average South Asian household, it is a huge financial sacrifice. As a result, success becomes an obligation. Self-expression becomes optional, and our focus narrows to academic excellence and societally acceptable behaviour as a way of repaying that debt.
Self-expression becomes optional, and our focus narrows to academic excellence and societally acceptable behaviour as a way of repaying that debt.
What makes this cycle even more difficult to break is that it is not sustained by one generation alone. The same parents who remind their children of others’ judgment often grew up under the same pressure themselves. Reputation was not just something social; for them, it was survival. Opportunities, marriage prospects, and even basic respect were tied to how others perceived them. When they pass on these anxieties, it’s not controlling just for the sake of it. They do it as a reflex, in an attempt to protect us. In that sense, “manush ki bolbe” is not just imposed; it is something inherited and passed down by people who never had the chance to question it themselves.
The internal pressure to be the Model Minority and not draw attention by standing out from the crowd is another reason for the internal “manush ki bolbe”. This pressure isn’t just about success; it’s about being unobtrusive. South Asians are expected to behave a certain way abroad, and not doing so raises eyebrows. Our parents always tell us not to draw attention to ourselves. This thinking becomes an ingrained reflex, and we carry it over in our lives abroad. When doing activities like clubbing, it can start to feel like we don’t belong. So we keep our heads low and move forward with our lives, trying not to bother anyone with our mere presence. In trying not to be judged, many end up becoming exactly what is expected of them; in other words, a walking stereotype.
This pressure isn’t just about success; it’s about being unobtrusive.
This pressure of fearing what people might think is what holds many South Asians back. We fear self-expression, so we become someone we are not. Our lifestyle, our way of thinking, leaves little room for individuality. We become a sanitized, corporate, ultra-safe version of ourselves. Is this really who we want to be? Our parents’ hopes and dreams for us are important, of course, but should they come at the cost of our sense of self? If we leave South Asia for a different life, but still carry the same weight of expectations, then what is the point of leaving in the first place? Success is important, but so is self-realization. One should not come at the cost of another.
Amrita will probably go out again. She will laugh, dance, and make memories she will want to hold on to. And when she reaches for her phone to share those moments, she might hesitate once more. Not because someone is watching, but because she has learned to believe that someone always is. And until she learns to question herself, “Manush ki bolbe” will no longer need a voice; it will always echo quietly in the back of her mind, no matter how many continents she decides to cross.
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