In an apartment in Mumbai, three generations of the Mullick-Mehrishi family sit together, reflecting on how their household—and Indian families at large—have evolved across decades.
The contrast within their household puts focus on a deeper demographic shift unfolding across India.
Dr Avinash Chandra Mullick, 82, the youngest of nine siblings, recalls his pre-Independence childhood in Allahabad as chaotic but close-knit.
“Six to eight children was normal. No one discussed family planning,” he says. His grandson Advay, 14, is growing up as an only child.
India, now the world’s most populous country, is witnessing a paradox. While its headcount has overtaken China’s, the total fertility rate (TFR) has dropped to 2.0—below the replacement level of 2.1. Families are shrinking, shaped not only by economics but also by evolving personal priorities and greater autonomy, especially for women.
“In my time, large families were the default,” says Dr Mullick. But by the 1980s, he saw the tide turning. National campaigns like ‘Hum Do, Hamare Do’ and the rising cost of living led to smaller families. “Expenses were going up. Children needed more. We chose to stop at two. ‘Hum Do, Hamare Do’ made sense.”
His daughter, Abhilasha Mullick Mehrishi, 48, took a further step. A counsellor and former HR professional, she and her husband decided to raise just one child.
“It wasn’t about inability, it was a conscious decision. We thought about time, energy, and the kind of parenting we wanted to give,” she says. For her, it was also about exercising agency. “My grandmother had no say. My mother had some. I had complete choice,” she says. “It’s about more than birth control; it’s about control over your life.”
Across the city, 29-year-old Adarsh Olivera shares a similar story. An only child himself, he and his wife—both working professionals—are contemplating a future without children. “There is an increase in the adoption of DINK (Double Income, No Kids), and it's no more just a trend but a reality for many people my age,” he says.
Adarsh’s grandfather, Clement Olivera, migrated from Mangalore to Mumbai with his wife and five children, and worked in Saudi Arabia to support the family.
His father, Libert, ran small businesses before switching to freelance real estate. Adarsh grew up in a nuclear setup. “I had aunts and cousins around, but I always knew I’d prefer a smaller family of my own,” he says.
Raising a child in Mumbai, he adds, is increasingly out of reach. “In any other city, we’d be able to afford school fees, housing, and quality child care. Hence, I feel the only solution would be in a way moving out of Mumbai, to any city, probably even Mangalore to raise my family.”
In a twist of generational irony, he adds, “My grandparents moved to Mumbai, to provide for a better life. I might have to move back, for my family, to provide them a better life.”
While money and career goals play a significant role in shaping family size, caregiving responsibilities can also weigh heavily.
Businessman Karan Lekhraj, 45, who has an 11-year-old daughter, says, “We wanted more, but my father’s Alzheimer’s meant we had to prioritise caregiving.” His family’s history shows the same generational downsizing—his grandfather had five children, his father four, and Karan has one.
Even so, concerns about emotional loss or loneliness in smaller families are not universal. “My mom tells stories about growing up with her brother, swimming in the bathroom, building paper boats. I love hearing them. But I don’t feel I’ve missed out,” says 14-year-old Advay.
“With more people, we shared everything—space, food, time. Today, I see less compromise, but also more clarity. People know what they want," sayd Dr Mullick.
(With inputs from ToI)
The contrast within their household puts focus on a deeper demographic shift unfolding across India.
Dr Avinash Chandra Mullick, 82, the youngest of nine siblings, recalls his pre-Independence childhood in Allahabad as chaotic but close-knit.
“Six to eight children was normal. No one discussed family planning,” he says. His grandson Advay, 14, is growing up as an only child.
India, now the world’s most populous country, is witnessing a paradox. While its headcount has overtaken China’s, the total fertility rate (TFR) has dropped to 2.0—below the replacement level of 2.1. Families are shrinking, shaped not only by economics but also by evolving personal priorities and greater autonomy, especially for women.
“In my time, large families were the default,” says Dr Mullick. But by the 1980s, he saw the tide turning. National campaigns like ‘Hum Do, Hamare Do’ and the rising cost of living led to smaller families. “Expenses were going up. Children needed more. We chose to stop at two. ‘Hum Do, Hamare Do’ made sense.”
His daughter, Abhilasha Mullick Mehrishi, 48, took a further step. A counsellor and former HR professional, she and her husband decided to raise just one child.
“It wasn’t about inability, it was a conscious decision. We thought about time, energy, and the kind of parenting we wanted to give,” she says. For her, it was also about exercising agency. “My grandmother had no say. My mother had some. I had complete choice,” she says. “It’s about more than birth control; it’s about control over your life.”
Across the city, 29-year-old Adarsh Olivera shares a similar story. An only child himself, he and his wife—both working professionals—are contemplating a future without children. “There is an increase in the adoption of DINK (Double Income, No Kids), and it's no more just a trend but a reality for many people my age,” he says.
Adarsh’s grandfather, Clement Olivera, migrated from Mangalore to Mumbai with his wife and five children, and worked in Saudi Arabia to support the family.
His father, Libert, ran small businesses before switching to freelance real estate. Adarsh grew up in a nuclear setup. “I had aunts and cousins around, but I always knew I’d prefer a smaller family of my own,” he says.
Raising a child in Mumbai, he adds, is increasingly out of reach. “In any other city, we’d be able to afford school fees, housing, and quality child care. Hence, I feel the only solution would be in a way moving out of Mumbai, to any city, probably even Mangalore to raise my family.”
In a twist of generational irony, he adds, “My grandparents moved to Mumbai, to provide for a better life. I might have to move back, for my family, to provide them a better life.”
While money and career goals play a significant role in shaping family size, caregiving responsibilities can also weigh heavily.
Businessman Karan Lekhraj, 45, who has an 11-year-old daughter, says, “We wanted more, but my father’s Alzheimer’s meant we had to prioritise caregiving.” His family’s history shows the same generational downsizing—his grandfather had five children, his father four, and Karan has one.
Even so, concerns about emotional loss or loneliness in smaller families are not universal. “My mom tells stories about growing up with her brother, swimming in the bathroom, building paper boats. I love hearing them. But I don’t feel I’ve missed out,” says 14-year-old Advay.
“With more people, we shared everything—space, food, time. Today, I see less compromise, but also more clarity. People know what they want," sayd Dr Mullick.
(With inputs from ToI)
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