It has been over two decades since I attended my first gender sensitisation training, organised by an international development agency for professionals in the development sector. Both men and women were in the room, and as expected, what was meant to be “gender sensitisation” soon devolved into a “men vs women” face-off.
Accusations flew freely. Women were accused of being “their own worst enemies,” of asking for dowry during marriage, and so on. What shocked me more was how many women themselves defended patriarchal norms. They spoke passionately about the sanctity of sindoor and mangalsutra, and insisted that girls should be ‘decent,’ ‘patient,’ and ‘respectful’ as a matter of decorum. Comments like, “Married women not observing Sudasa Brata is a sin” or “Girls should not sit with their legs up on a chair” were offered without hesitation.
Fast forward to 2025, and here I was – no longer a participant but a trainer – leading a gender sensitisation programme for newly recruited male and female government engineers. I walked in with hope, buoyed by the slow but visible advances in gender equity and by the encouraging number of women in the room. By the end of the session, however, my co-trainer and I exchanged grim looks. Nothing, it seemed, had really changed. Rather, a new, subtler form of misogyny appears to have crept in, with ‘modern’ women being held responsible for the newer challenges that they find themselves in.
The first disappointment greeted us the moment we entered the hall: Men and women were seated on opposite sides, as though the divide needed to be reinforced before we even began. We opened with ice-breaking exercises and urged everyone not to treat the session as a battle of the sexes, but as an opportunity to reflect on how gender inequality shapes our lives and that the first step is to be conscious of it. Encouraging nods around the room gave me hope.
Initially, the energy was good. In their enthusiasm to show that it was indeed a gender-equal world, most of the participants expressed that they visualised images of both men and women when it came professions such as – Temple priest, Trucker, Nurse, Soldier, Indian Classical Dancer. But when asked how many such examples they had seen in real life, silence descended.
As we moved to patriarchy and the division of labour within homes, I watched men’s expressions shift – grim faces, furrowed brows. When asked who decided that cooking, cleaning, caregiving, or nurturing must be “women’s work” while driving, repairing gadgets, or earning were “men’s jobs,” the answer was a resigned, “Women and men respectively were good at these tasks.” Slowly, we unpacked that assumption – and a few clouds of resistance lifted. But not for long.
A discussion on caregiving responsibilities triggered a heated exchange. Some participants claimed that “modern women” deliberately avoid having children so that they can focus on their careers. One man proudly declared he was a supportive husband because he dropped and picked up his wife from the office every day!
The most sobering moment came during the conversation on Violence Against Women (VAW). Predictably, many of the men blamed women for “misusing their freedom,” staying out late, wearing “provocative” clothes, or drinking and smoking. One even gestured at his chest to argue that women “invite trouble” by dressing sexually. I reminded him that this “trouble” is not abstract – it is assault, molestation, and rape. Some women looked visibly upset, but none spoke strongly enough to counter such regressive ideas.
When we turned to sexual harassment at the workplace and the POSH Act, the responses became familiar refrains: What about men? Why do we have laws only for women? While concerns about false cases are understandable, the actual ratio of such cases compared to genuine ones is minuscule – a fact that rarely sinks in. Similar arguments surfaced when we discussed the Dowry Prohibition Act.
I had walked into this session expecting fiery debates, a passionate defence of gender equity, and a willingness to question deep-seated power hierarchies. Instead, I saw hesitation, superficial agreement, and a focus on “mutual support” as the solution – as though peaceful coexistence is the goal, not questioning or dismantling injustice.
Adding to the disappointment were the sexist jokes. Some equated gender equality with “making women strong enough to beat up men who disobey them.”
And yet, all was not bleak. There were sparks of hope – a young woman who spoke of being silenced and punished at school for daring to speak up because she was a girl. And another young man who admitted he will now start viewing, expressing and practicing things differently and sensitively at home and at his workplace.
One important realisation that struck the participants was that gender is not just about women — it is about men, women, and the many intersectionalities of caste, class, religion, and more. They also began to see that gender norms and patriarchy do not only disadvantage women but often constrain and harm men as well.
However, when we discussed the concept of Gender, Equity, Disability and Social Inclusion (GEDSI), one participant bluntly asked, “Why should we pamper tribal people and those from ‘lower’ castes?” It was a shocking moment, but also a necessary one – a reminder that these conversations are not just about gender, but about power, privilege, and inclusion at every level.
We have a long way to go. One-off sensitisations are not enough. We need repeated, sustained sensitisation programmes that challenge mindsets, provoke reflection, and inspire genuine change.
Because if the past two decades have taught me anything, it’s this: gender sensitisation is not a destination. It is a journey – one that we must take again and again, until the road truly begins to change.