I can’t remember the first time a hand was laid on me. But I remember after a point I just stopped keeping track. Having been born into a close-knit family of first-generation immigrants, I realized early on that our lives are different from those of our neighbors. There were compromises we had to make without question: we had to be on our best behavior, be prepared to take unprovoked blows, and erase any remaining accent or trace of our native language to avoid risking the wrath of others. I have often witnessed firsthand what happened when a man in my family became too comfortable in his own skin or when a man from another family woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Even though I was taught never to raise my hand, I became a convenient outlet for the extended family to vent their frustrations—a whipping post personified. The milk offered after beating became a sweet bribe for my silence. And so I learned to allow them. For a pre-adolescent mind, it was a heavy dose of cognitive dissonance: being loved and hurt in the same gesture, often by the same hands.
Image source: Veera Foundation
Intergenerational violence is well documented in India. It ties into gender norms in which boys learn to conquer and dominate without ever learning to nurture or build community. To break this, masculinity must embrace both – and be brave enough to explore what exists beyond. Redefining masculinity to allow for vulnerability helps boys explore and hopefully process anger in healthier ways.
The first act of violence that patriarchy demands of men is not violence against women. Instead, patriarchy requires all men to engage in acts of psychological self-mutilation and kill the emotional parts of themselves. If a person fails to emotionally paralyze himself, he can rely on patriarchal men to perform power rituals that affect his self-esteem.
– Bell Hooks, The Will To Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love, 2004
In an all-boys school in India, violence is largely unavoidable. In classrooms where rich and poor sat side by side, violence became a common equalizer: a slap in the face hurt the same, regardless of our background. We became so hardened that the fear of the seven to eight hours we spent on campus bought our silence outside. This “snitch gets stitched” culture has blighted the collective experience as we have kept a pact that no one has agreed to.
Our cultural mirror, Bollywood, often complicates the problem. In Munna Bhai MBBS (2003), when weaker students are being ragged, the affable gangster Munna interrupts him, demands to be ragged himself, then takes the stage shirtless and flaunts his muscles to intimidate the seniors. What begins as a humorous standoff ends with the bullies being humiliated and forced to strip on stage – a turnaround portrayed as “justice.” While laughter is a great tool for exploring and processing trauma, it felt like a missed opportunity; It can subtly suggest that there is a path to quitting Bullying is to become an even bigger bully – which, in my experience, is often one of the first male attempts to break the cycle.
Image source: Veera Foundation
3 Idiots (2009) plays a “pants down” prank for laughs despite its criticism of the education system. These depictions often normalize raging as “fun” or suggest “become a bigger bully,” inadvertently downplaying the trauma that led to groundbreaking laws like this 2009 Aman Kachroo case.
Image source: Veera Foundation
These patterns of oppression and anger don’t just live in memory. They show up in the guys I’m meeting today. Through moderation circles led by us Veera FoundationI have worked with students from a variety of backgrounds and I keep noticing the same patterns: anger, repression and increasing aggression.
One Circle stands out. I was dating an eloquent and precocious 11-year-old named “X.” He had a kindness and respect that belied his age, but most of his colleagues’ jokes were at his expense. When our session began, he refused to sit on the floor, claiming he was injured.
I suspected that the three “troublemakers” in the group were involved. I split them up – made A an ally, C sent to another group, and B a regular participant. When A started doing push-ups unprovoked next to another circle, I neither punished nor reprimanded him. Instead, I asked him to do it in our designated range and then joined him – 20 reps, 3 sets. If we were to do something, we would do it well. By the second set, the children were tired but alert enough to rejoin the circle.
Eventually they warmed up and felt safe enough to confide in me. B, supposedly a bully himself, asked me, “How can I trust anyone?” and “How do I know if someone is fake?” These are questions we all struggle with, but they felt like a gentle slap in the face, reminding me of the complex emotions of youth and the catastrophe that occurs when that connection, that security, is lost.
Image source: Veera Foundation
In that moment, he was a simple, vulnerable child, sincerely asking for help amidst all the confusion that comes with adolescence. I remember it vividly.
I was once that “space cadet” who loved chasing butterflies until kids found ingenious ways to capture my attention. After years of returning home beaten and puberty hitting, a relative finally told me, “This is the last time you’ll come home beaten. Don’t come home like that again.” Nevertheless, I became “tougher”.
For a while I let my fists and limbs react to the slightest provocation. Originally intended for self-preservation, the power eventually became intoxicating. I dragged other children into the cycle I wanted to escape. My aggression manifested itself in constant arguments with peers and authority figures. Luckily, I eventually found a way to exercise and play music long enough to keep me out of trouble.
The statistics reflect this lived reality. A Bullying Without Borders 2024-2025 study reported 160,000 severe cases in India; Other surveys suggest that up to 60% of students are affected. In boys’ schools, this is dismissed as “toughening” coupled with a toxic masculinity that values conquest over empathy. This normalization is contributing to a rising number of student suicides. The death of a 16-year-old occurred in November 2025 Shourya Patil in Delhi sparked nationwide protests. From Jaipur to Madhya Pradesh, stories of children jumping off buildings after ignored requests are emerging. NCRB data shows that India accounts for one in nine student suicides worldwide, with bullying and institutional neglect being key factors.
Growing up as a man, violence always felt like something I inherited – harsh beatings from home, passed down through family, in a society that never taught us how to deal with our anger. We were not encouraged to view anger as energy that could be used constructively; Instead, it bubbled up and erupted as mockery of the weak or punishment for anyone who dared to be different. Within this rigid form of masculinity, vulnerability was synonymous with weakness and dominance was the only evidence of masculinity.
Image source: Veera Foundation
While India’s National Education Policy (2020) emphasizes holistic development, transformative approaches still lag behind. We need to embed gender sensitivity from ages 3 to 6 and challenge stereotypes in play and stories. We also need to teach constructive options – treating anger as energy that can be redirected through movement, creative expression, or naming emotions.
Raising teacher awareness is the final, crucial piece of the puzzle. Educators need to be trained to recognize withdrawal and mood swings and to move away from the “boys will be boys” shrug. Schools need solid policies: anti-bullying committees, mandatory counselors, and safe, anonymous reporting.
Therapy, connection and safety break cycles. Feeling violence as a legacy does not have to be fate.
When I look back at the boy I once was – quietly taking hits and tearing parts of myself apart to survive – I now know that the real task wasn’t getting tougher. It was about speaking my mind, feeling the anger without controlling it, and choosing something different.
But who could I talk to when no one around me seemed able to handle this complexity? What happens to boys who need help but can’t find real opportunities to get it? Where are these guys going? That is the question that concerns me. I hope we can give today’s boys the choices we didn’t have – the spaces, the listeners and the tools – so that the cycle has a chance to end with us.
*Names changed for privacy reasons
Gavin George designs communications and culture for the Veera Foundation (@veeravoices), creating stories and campaigns that invite boys and men to explore vulnerability and empathy – without judgment or lectures. With nearly a decade of experience in media and storytelling, as well as a psychology degree from Ambedkar University, he transforms complex ideas into human, relatable narratives.
Gavin is a multi-creative soul and moves between words, music and visual art. He believes that creativity, in all its messy, joyful forms, is one of the most powerful ways to heal, build bridges, and reimagine what it means to be a man.
In his writings, he examines how rigid norms shape life from childhood to work and how curiosity and connection can reshape them. He lives in Delhi, believes that chai fixes most things, and is always up for a good story (or a terrible joke).