The ‘Other’ Children of Our Homes | A Soldier’s Reflection on India’s Unfinished Promise
Author: Colonel Dinesh Chandra(Retd)
Some realities are so deeply woven into our lives that we stop questioning them. They become background noise, accepted as normal simply because they have always been there. One such reality in urban India is our quiet dependence on domestic help. In many Western countries, regular household support remains a privilege available to a limited few. In India, it is part of everyday life for millions of families. This dependence brings comfort, efficiency and stability to our homes, but it often rests on the shoulders of men and women who carry far heavier burdens in their own lives. Because this arrangement is so common, we rarely pause to reflect on the responsibility that comes with it. Our homes function because of their labour and their children deserve more than chance.
They deserve dignity, security and genuine opportunities supported by dependable systems, not uncertainty or goodwill alone. During my years in the Army, I witnessed a culture that spoke little about charity but practised responsibility as a way of life. Across cantonments, when soldiers were sent to distant and dangerous missions, their families were never left to manage alone. The unit, the station and the wider community stepped in quietly, without announcements and minimal paperwork. This support was not imposed by law; it was upheld by tradition and honour. An unspoken understanding bound us together, built on trust, duty and shared accountability. A soldier fought with greater confidence knowing that the family back home was safe and supported. After leaving service, as I began to observe civilian life more closely, I noticed the absence of a similar structure for domestic workers in our cities; an absence that affects the families of domestic workers every single day.
In many households, domestic workers, particularly mothers, live with an unspoken conflict that few of us fully see. They work long hours to make ends meet, often travelling across the city, while constantly worrying about their children’s safety, nutrition and education. Each working day brings difficult choices. Who will watch the child? Will the child eat properly? Will school be missed again? Some employers recognise this strain and genuinely wish to help, yet hesitate, unsure of what is appropriate, lawful or sustainable. What we see instead are scattered gestures like helping with school fees, temporary care during emergencies, occasional assistance driven by concern.
These acts are compassionate and human, but they do not add up to a system. From a soldier’s point of view, such gaps are troubling, because without structure, even the best intentions can fall short when circumstances change. Domestic workers form one of India’s most invisible labour forces. They cook our meals, clean our homes and care for our children, yet many live without contracts, social security or access to reliable childcare. Their contribution is essential, but their insecurity is rarely acknowledged. Their children often face interrupted schooling, nutritional gaps and the constant risk of being pushed into work far too early. This reality runs counter to India’s commitments under the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals. Ending poverty-driven choices, empowering working women, ensuring quality education and guaranteeing decent work without child labour are not abstract international ideals. They reflect values that many of us, especially those who served in uniform, were taught to uphold through action rather than words.
In the Army, we lived by three enduring principles: izzat (dignity), insaniyat (humanity) and farz (duty). These principles align closely with the goals of reducing inequality and strengthening institutions that protect the vulnerable. Applied to civilian life, they compel us to move beyond informal arrangements and build lawful, transparent systems that protect children while respecting families. Compassion without discipline is fragile and easily withdrawn. Discipline without compassion is empty and mechanical. A soldier learns early that the two must work together if people are to be protected with consistency and fairness.
Today, many families care deeply for the children of the men and women who work in their homes, yet they operate in a grey area. Informal support, however well-meaning, can carry unintended and lasting consequences. A child may receive care but lack proper identity documents, leaving them invisible in official systems. Schooling may be interrupted repeatedly, weakening a child’s sense of continuity and belonging. Emotional bonds may form without clear boundaries, leaving children vulnerable if circumstances shift suddenly. Without oversight, the risk of exploitation or child labour can grow quietly, unnoticed until harm has already been done.
India does not lack laws or institutions. We have the Juvenile Justice framework, Child Welfare Committees, Mission Vatsalya and established education and nutrition schemes. What is missing is the practical connection between households and these institutions. A national movement can create that bridge through structured and supervised support, not through adoption or guardianship.
Imagine households formally registering as supporting families, working alongside local child welfare mechanisms under clear guidelines. Such an arrangement would allow children to receive educational support, nutrition, mentorship and emergency care, while remaining firmly under the protection of the State and the care of their own families. Strong institutions are honoured by working with the law, not around it.
Equally important is strengthening families themselves. When domestic workers are recognised as formal workers, they gain access to contracts, maternity benefits, childcare services and social security. This stability reduces desperation and expands choices. Expanding urban early childhood services like anganwadis, crèches and community centres can ease constant crisis management for mothers and give children a stronger start in life. Building awareness within residentialcommunities can replace confusion with clarity, allowing people to help responsibly without crossing legal or ethical boundaries.
In every cantonment I served, one rule was unbreakable; no family faces a crisis alone. That same principle should guide India today. The future of a domestic worker’s child should not depend on luck or individual generosity. It must rest on national systems, community awareness and lawful structures that place dignity at the centre. This is not a call for charity. It is a call for responsibility which is shared, disciplined and sustained. India has the discipline, compassion and institutional strength to act. If we align our households, communities and laws with the spirit of the Sustainable Development Goals, we can ensure that the children of domestic workers grow through rights, opportunity and self-respect, not dependence. As a retired soldier, I believe this is not merely social reform. It speaks to who we are as a nation, and who we choose to be.