Disintegration of Relationships and the Rise of Consumerism

To understand India, one must not look at its skyscrapers or shopping malls, but at its courtyards. Those courtyards where laughter once echoed together, where grandparents told stories, where a mother’s cooking nourished not just the body but the soul. India’s greatest strength was never only its army, economy, or political power. Its real power lay in its social structure, the joint family. Three generations under one roof, sharing responsibility, experience, affection, and life itself. This was not merely a way of living; it was a civilizational philosophy. It was this structure that allowed India to survive invasions, colonial exploitation, and centuries of upheaval without collapsing from within.

Mughals came, the British came, rulers changed, wealth was plundered, but Indian society did not disintegrate. Because families stayed intact. Elders were not burdens; they were guides. Children were not lonely; they grew up surrounded by care, discipline, and values. Expenses were shared, joys were collective, sorrows were divided. This was India’s true social security system. There was no fear of old age, no obsession with pensions, no epidemic of loneliness, no massive mental health crisis. Problems were discussed at home, healed with understanding, patience, and presence.

Then came a phase we proudly called “modernity.” But in truth, it was not modernity, it was strategy. A carefully crafted ideology that understood one basic rule of the market: a lonely individual is the best consumer. As long as families stayed together, consumption stayed limited. People shared resources, reused things, and lived within necessity. This was unacceptable to a market-driven, colonial mindset. For Western economies built on endless consumption, India was a problem. So the solution was clear - break the family, isolate the individual, and the market would flourish.

This attack did not come with weapons. It came with ideas. Through media, entertainment, and narratives disguised as progress, the joint family was slowly portrayed as regressive, oppressive, and suffocating. Television serials turned households into battlefields. Relationships, especially between women, were reduced to constant conflict. The final solution offered repeatedly was simple: separate. Nuclear families were glamorized as symbols of freedom, independence, and success. Staying together was labeled compromise; living apart was sold as empowerment.

Consumerism completed what media began. One family became four houses. One television turned into four screens. One kitchen split into four modular setups. One vehicle multiplied into several. The market celebrated unprecedented growth, while society quietly fractured. Where relationships once existed, convenience took over. Elders were no longer seen as reservoirs of wisdom but as responsibilities. Children no longer grew up listening to stories; they grew up staring at screens.

Today’s mental health crisis did not appear overnight. It is the direct consequence of this systematic isolation. Conversations that once happened in a grandmother’s lap now require therapists and counselors. Emotional wounds that once healed within families now demand medication and paid care. Loneliness has become a diagnosable condition. What love once cured, subscriptions now attempt to manage. Values once passed through living examples are now replaced by influencers. Every emotion has a product, every festival has an online order, and every void has a paid solution.

In the race to be modern, we abandoned depth for speed. We called togetherness outdated. We called parents obstacles. We reduced family to unnecessary emotion. We unfollowed relationships in the name of peace. We never stopped to ask who benefits from this separation. Online shopping thrives when families don’t sit together on festivals. Food delivery profits when no one eats a mother’s cooking. Streaming platforms grow when no grandmother tells stories at night.

Public policies and slogans reinforced this shift. Under population control narratives, phrases like “Hum Do, Hamare Do” and “Small Family, Happy Family” were promoted without nuance. We consumed these ideas unquestioningly. Today, even two feel excessive. One child is considered ideal, sometimes even that feels inconvenient. Families shrank, emotional circles narrowed, and society weakened from within.

The real question today is not whether we are modern. The question is whether we are still human. Development does not mean cutting roots. Technology can offer comfort, but it cannot offer meaning. Apps cannot replace affection. Products cannot replace presence. Festivals are not made by purchases but by people. Experience does not come from search engines; it comes from elders who have lived life.

Yet, all is not lost. The return is still possible. Joint families must be seen again not as burdens, but as assets. Children must be raised not merely as consumers or competitors, but as sensitive, grounded human beings. Elders must be brought back to the center of family life, not pushed to the margins, because their wisdom surpasses any algorithm. Festivals must return to being gatherings, not transactions. Loneliness will not be cured by subscriptions, but by relationships.

The uncomfortable truth is this: the West broke families for profit, and we sold our identity to look modern. If we do not pause now, the next generation may need a search engine to understand what a joint family even meant. And by then, the loss may be irreversible. Now is the time to reflect, to reclaim, and to remember that a society that forgets its families eventually forgets itself.

©®Payal Laxmi Soni