Twenty-Nine-Year-Old scientific assistant Rivertis Pariong, who lives in Meghalaya’s capital, Shillong, often asks himself a question that betrays a deep anxiety: “Why would any woman like me?” For a young, handsome, educated, single man, the despair seems misplaced; but Pariong, who belongs to the Khasi tribe, likens his predicament to that of a “gypsy with no status in his society” and believes he has little chance of getting married. “Khasi girls find non-Khasis exciting. As for non-Khasi girls—they won’t marry someone with no inheritance,” he says.
Pariong has grown up watching family inheritance pass from mother to daughter. The ways of the Khasi’s matrilineal society, he feels, impedes men throughout their lives—whether it’s in the matter of finding brides or securing loans: “I feel useless. In my society, men are useful only as breeders.”
Pariong recently decided to join the non-governmental organisation Syngkhong Rympei Thymmai (which roughly translates as ‘Home Hearth Restructured’), a burgeoning men’s rights group in Meghalaya that seeks to put men on an equal playing field with women in Khasi society.
The Khasi are an indigenous people numbering roughly 1.3 million, the majority of who reside in Meghalaya, where they are recognised as a Scheduled Tribe. Not to be mistaken for a matriarchal society, Khasis have historically traced descent, inheritance and lineage from mother to daughter. Men claim their status from their role as maternal uncle, without whom the sister’s family takes no significant decisions. Until a few decades ago, Meghalaya was geographically and culturally isolated from the rest of the country, and the Khasi community’s traditional ways stayed mostly unchallenged. But the increasing presence of a strongly patriarchal Christianity in the region (about 80 percent of Khasis are Christians) emphasised a father’s role over an uncle’s. The continual influx of people from West Bengal further exposed the Khasis to patrilineal ways. And, more recently, the mass media—especially in the form of TV and films—has popularised among Khasi men a cultural code that was previously unknown to them.
The SRT is demanding a restructuring of Khasi society, from new inheritance laws that would benefit all siblings equally, to the passing of lineage from father to son. Presently, the Indian Constitution recognises the traditions of the Khasis, which are protected under the Khasi Social Custom of Lineage Act of 1997.
Keith Pariat, the president of the SRT, who defied social norms by taking on his father’s name instead of his mother’s, says that Khasi men “want equality”. Married into a wealthy family, Pariat felt dissatisfied with his diminished role. “My wife owns a retail business. All I do is decorate the shop window at Christmas. Am I involved in important decisions regarding finances and business strategy? No.” His role as a maternal uncle is merely titular, he adds. “Modern Khasi men have no role as uncles or fathers. How can a society flourish when half its population feels so useless?” Pariat registered the Syngkhong Rympei Thymmai in 1990. The group, which boasts 2,000 members, including a few women, goes from village to village raising awareness of Khasi men’s rights, counselling men who want to take charge but don’t know where to start.
It takes only a short walk through Police Bazaar, Shillong’s downtown area, to witness the dominance of women in Khasi trade and business. The majority of them see no injustice in this arrangement. Patricia Mukhim, editor of The Shillong Times, is quick to point out a common misconception about Khasis: “The youngest daughter (Khadduh) is only the custodian, not owner, of ancestral property.” In fact, women are rarely involved in politics.
“When a child is born,” says Mukhim, “one only truly knows who its mother is.” The matrilineal inheritance pattern emerged in part as a result of men being called away frequently and for long durations to fight battles with neighbouring kingdoms. “The men went off, leaving the land for the women to till. It was logical to let it pass from mother to daughter,” she explains. Mukhim would rather have the members of the SRT engage in public debate rather than just talk among themselves.
“These men have got to create their own roles by contributing to their family and society,” says 102-year-old Padma Shri award-winner Silverine Swer on the subject. “And ask those who choose their fathers’ titles over those of their mothers—which parent has truly reared them.”
Piquant as this situation may sound to readers from normative backgrounds, the equality that the SRT is demanding is somewhat Orwellian. “Just like a school can’t function with two headmistresses, a family needs one head, not two,” says Pariat. “The world over, we see men forging ahead, carrying their wives and children with them. It’s time for Khasis to do the same.”