Who Should Take Care of Your Parents—You, Your Spouse, or Both?

In a recent public statement, a well-known Indian figure said something that should have been self-evident: “Don’t stop your husband or spouse from taking care of their respective parents.” At first glance, this might read like a courteous reminder—almost too obvious to warrant public discourse. And yet, it struck a chord. It spread, was quoted, debated, and dissected.

The question is—why does something so basic need to be said aloud?

The answer lies deep within the emotional fabric of Indian society, where the personal is inextricably woven into the cultural, and where family roles aren’t just lived—they’re inherited, often unquestioned, and occasionally, unchallenged.

The Quiet Weight of Expectation

In many Indian households, the act of caregiving is gendered, hierarchical, and almost ritualistic. A daughter is expected to care for her in-laws as though they were her own parents, while often being emotionally (and logistically) distanced from her birth family after marriage. Meanwhile, a son may feel torn between honouring his obligations to his parents and managing the expectations of a partner who, fairly, also carries her own attachments, emotional needs, and familial loyalties.

This is not to paint Indian marriages in binary shades. But the subtle expectation—that caregiving is a daughter-in-law’s duty, and a son’s desire to care for his own parents, needs permission—is real and rarely articulated until tension bubbles to the surface.

Many people experience this not through explosive family feuds, but through quiet, daily negotiations. A missed festival. A hesitation before a phone call. An argument that begins with groceries and ends with unspoken grief about who gets to “belong” more.

When Love Becomes a Battlefield of Loyalties

I remember a conversation with a friend, Ananya, who moved cities after marriage. Her in-laws lived with her, but her own parents, both in their late 60s, lived several states away. When her mother fell ill, Ananya took a week off work to be with her. Her husband was supportive, yet she sensed an unspoken discomfort in the household—a kind of silence that wasn’t overtly disapproving, but not exactly welcoming either.

“I felt like I was doing something wrong,” she confessed. “Not because anyone said so. But because the air in the house changed.”

That emotional weight—where caregiving becomes a choice that feels like betrayal—is a burden many bear silently. It's not just about ageing parents or sick days. It’s about the deeper emotional structures of how we value relationships, whose needs are prioritised, and how fairness is measured inside a home.

The Myth of “His” and “Her” Parents

Marriage, ideally, is the coming together of two individuals—and by extension, two families. But too often, it becomes a rearrangement of loyalties. We speak of “his parents” and “her parents” like the categories are fixed. Care becomes a transaction; empathy, a compromise.

But here’s a quiet truth worth remembering: ageing doesn’t discriminate. One day, all parents need care, not because they are a burden, but because they are human. And if we are lucky, we will also one day be in their shoes.

Shouldn’t caring for parents—yours, mine, ours—be a shared, unquestioned responsibility in any loving partnership?

This is not just about logistics. It’s about emotional alignment. It’s about two people looking at a situation and saying: “How do we want to show up here? Not me, not you, but us.”

The Modern Shift—and Its Tensions

Today’s Indian couples are navigating uncharted emotional territories. They are often first-generation negotiators of shared caregiving. Many live away from extended families. Others are part of dual-income households where caregiving isn’t a matter of who’s more available, but who’s willing to be more vulnerable.

This emotional labour doesn’t appear in marital vows. Yet it forms the bedrock of daily life.

For example, consider Ravi and Meera, both software engineers in Pune. Ravi’s father developed early-stage dementia. Meera, without being asked, began reading about the condition, rearranging the guest bedroom, and attending doctor’s visits.

“It wasn’t a big gesture,” she later said. “It was just… what I’d hope someone would do if it were my dad.”

That kind of empathy isn’t gendered. It’s not about being a “good wife” or “dutiful son.” It’s about being human. And when both partners operate from that place of shared responsibility, something beautiful happens: caregiving becomes less of a task, and more of an act of love.

Beyond Roles: Building a Shared Ethic of Care

So, who should take care of your parents? The honest answer: both of you.

Not because culture says so. But because love, when rooted in compassion, doesn’t draw boundaries around care. It stretches. It accommodates. It learns.

That doesn’t mean every couple needs to cohabitate with both sets of parents. Practical boundaries are necessary. But the emotional stance—the willingness to stand by each other as children of ageing parents—is non-negotiable.

Because at the heart of every family are people who raised us, flawed and full of love. And the least we can offer in return is not just duty—but dignity, shared between partners who choose, daily, to honour where they come from.

A Gentle Call to Reflect

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve felt the quiet tug of this question. Maybe you’re wondering how to balance care, love, space, and fairness in your own life.

Start small. Have a conversation with your partner that isn’t about “rules” but about values. Ask: How do we want to show up for the people who raised us? How do we hold space for each other’s parents, not out of obligation, but out of love?

In the end, caregiving isn’t just about what we do for our parents. It’s also about the kind of future we’re building for ourselves—one where love is expansive, not divided by categories of “mine” and “yours,” but unified by a shared ethic of care.

Because in the tapestry of human relationships, there is no greater act of love than showing up—for each other, and for those who once showed up for us.

Let’s talk about it.
What does caregiving look like in your home? Have you faced this dilemma, or navigated it with grace or difficulty? Share your thoughts with us. Your voice could be the reflection someone else needs.