Part 15 of 19 in How to Coach Your Child: A Handbook for Indian Parents← Part 14Part 16 →
I’ve often found that the grand battles of Indian parenting are fought over the simplest of things: a half-eaten roti left on a plate or a child who refuses to go to bed at the appointed hour. These daily power struggles reflect deeper tensions, where love, control, and anxiety intersect. They may seem trivial, but these moments are small windows into how we manage relationships, set boundaries, and communicate love.
Take, for example, the scene in many Indian households where a child refuses to finish their meal. The child isn’t plotting a rebellion; they’re just full or perhaps bored of the food. Yet, the parent persists, fearing judgment as someone who can’t properly feed their child. This is less about nutrition and more about a parent’s anxiety and pride. I’ve seen this play out countless times in my own practice and my own home. The child clamps their teeth shut, and what follows is a frustrating tableau of cajoling, scolding, and sometimes tears. It’s a scene that leaves everyone involved miserable, yet the societal pressure to be a ‘good parent’ lingers.
Contrast this with a more pragmatic approach, where a parent sets clear expectations: “Lunch is on the table until 1.30. What you eat is up to you. I will not follow your mouth. At 1.30 the plate is cleared. The next food is at 5.” This isn’t about neglect but about setting boundaries. It respects the child’s autonomy while also maintaining a structure that the child can rely on. This approach requires a shift in perspective — from immediate control to long-term learning. It echoes the wisdom that waste is not a moral emergency. A few spoons left on a plate are not a verdict on the child’s character or the parent’s virtue. Serve less and let the child ask for more. This single change can end more food wars than any lecture about hungry children elsewhere. If the grandparents object, the conversation is with them: “If he is hungry later, he will learn. Please do not feed him by hand after I have stopped.” You might have to say this more than once. Say it anyway.
The same principles apply to sleep. A tired child is a poor negotiator and an excellent escalator. The limit is the light, decided earlier, kept kindly. Stories can be short. Water can be available. A new topic introduced at lights-out, “and another thing, your teacher called,” is an ambush, not parenting. Save it for daylight. “Lights at 9. You want to finish the chapter. The chapter will be here tomorrow. I will sit for five minutes. I will not debate the clock.” The five minutes are acknowledgment. The clock is the limit. Both, again, in that order.
These daily rituals around food and sleep are not just about sustenance and rest. They are about teaching children how to manage choices and live with consequences. They are a microcosm of life itself, encapsulating the struggle between immediate gratification and long-term well-being. As parents, we often fall into the trap of equating love with compliance. Love is not a bite of roti. The moment a parent charges love for a mouthful, the child learns that affection has a toll. He may pay it. He will also learn to charge tolls of his own.
This brings us to the broader context of control and autonomy. In my work with IVF patients and startup founders, I’ve seen how control, or the illusion of it, can be both a comfort and a curse. For patients, the journey through IVF is fraught with uncertainties, and the desire to control the outcome is natural but often counterproductive. For founders, the need to control every aspect of the business can stifle innovation and growth. In both cases, the ability to let go, to set clear boundaries, and to trust in the process can lead to more fulfilling outcomes.
I’ve learned that the same principles that apply to parenting also apply to these domains. In parenting, as in startups and IVF, the key is to set clear expectations and boundaries while allowing for autonomy and growth. It’s about trusting the process, whether it’s a child’s natural hunger cues, a startup’s iterative development, or the body’s ability to conceive. This trust is not passive; it requires active engagement and a willingness to face discomfort and uncertainty.
In the end, these daily power struggles are about more than just food and sleep. They are about how we relate to each other and to the world around us. They are about understanding that love and control are not the same, and that sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to step back and let things unfold as they will. It is a lesson I continue to learn in my work, my home, and my investments. The journey is ongoing, and the learning never stops.
If you’re interested in exploring these ideas further, I invite you to read more about the intersection of these domains in my blog posts on Food, Sleep, and the Obvious Thing and From IVF Consultations to Founder Meetings: The Unspoken Power of Listening. Each post offers a different perspective on how we can learn from these everyday challenges to become better parents, partners, and professionals.