He hugs his son at the airport. It is the kind of quick, firm, awkward hug that Indian men of his generation give their children — shoulders touching, backs slapped, faces turned slightly away. His son is leaving for college abroad. He wants to say something. He has wanted to say something for the last eighteen years. The sentence is right there in his chest. It has been there for most of his son's life. He opens his mouth. The moment passes. He says, instead, be careful with your laptop and call your mother. His son nods, walks away, and the airport swallows him. The father stands there in the departure hall with the sentence still in his chest, still unspoken, and a very specific grief that he recognises because it is the same grief he remembers seeing in his own father's eyes forty years earlier — a father who had also, for reasons the son had never understood, never once said I love you out loud.
If you are the son, the father, or both, this article is for you. At Bharosa, we treat men carrying this specific intergenerational silence regularly in our LB Nagar outpatient department. It is one of the most common and least-discussed wounds in Indian men, and it has a specific shape. The son who never heard the words from his father grows up to be the father who cannot say them to his own son, and the silence passes down through generations like an heirloom nobody asked for. It does not have to continue. But breaking it requires first understanding why it exists — and understanding requires compassion for both the silent father and the son who is still waiting for words.
Indian masculinity was constructed, for most of the twentieth century, around a specific code of emotional containment. Men were providers. Men were protectors. Men were not expressive. Emotional language was considered feminine, weak, or unnecessary. A father who loved his children demonstrated that love through sacrifice, work, discipline, and presence — not through words. The father who worked two jobs to put his son through college was expressing love. The father who attended every school event silently was expressing love. The father who paid for the wedding without being asked was expressing love. The love was real. It simply did not come with a vocabulary. The American Psychological Association, the leading body of psychologists in the United States, has documented that cultures which restrict emotional expression in men produce generations of men who feel love deeply but cannot articulate it, and that this silence is a measurable contributor to mental health problems in both the fathers themselves and their children.
The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, the leading professional body of child psychiatrists in the United States, has published research on the impact of emotionally absent fathers on children's mental health, consistently finding that while some children absorb the father's love through his actions alone, many children experience the absence of verbal affirmation as a form of emotional neglect that affects their sense of worth and their ability to form secure attachments in adulthood. The World Health Organization recognises early parent-child relationships as foundational to mental health, and the presence or absence of explicit emotional expression is one of the most significant features of these relationships.
The pattern passes down for specific reasons. A son who never heard the words from his father never learned the vocabulary. He never saw the sentence modelled. He never experienced the moment of a man in his family saying I love you to another person in his family, and therefore he has no template for doing it himself. When his own child is born, he may feel the love overwhelmingly. He may want to say it. He may even plan to say it. But when the moment comes, the words do not rise to his lips because they were never installed there in the first place. He falls back on what he knows — providing, protecting, teaching, being present — and tells himself that his child will understand, the way he understood his own father. The child often does, in the sense that they know they are loved. The child also often does not, in the sense that they grow up with a specific ache in the place where the words should have been.
The tragedy is that the father in this position usually does not realise, until it is too late, that the words actually matter. He assumes, from his own experience, that love is conveyed through action alone. He does not understand that his own ache — the ache he feels when he thinks about his own silent father — is the same ache he is currently installing in his own child. Breaking the pattern requires naming it clearly, and naming it is almost always the hardest part. Many of our male patients arrive at Bharosa having finally noticed, often in midlife, that they are becoming the father they themselves had been hurt by — and the noticing is the crack through which change finally becomes possible.
You cannot remember your father ever saying the words directly to you. You have never said the words directly to your own child. You find yourself wanting to say them but unable to, particularly in emotional moments. You express love through gifts, provision, or presence but not through direct expression. Your child seems to know you love them but you are not entirely sure. You feel, from time to time, the specific ache of realising you have become emotionally indistinguishable from your father. You have noticed your child's eyes searching your face for something you did not give them. You sometimes want to apologise to your child for something you cannot quite name. You sometimes want to apologise to your father for not understanding him better when he was alive. If several of these are present, this is a pattern worth working with — not because your silent father failed you and not because you are failing your child, but because the silence has costs that a qualified clinician can help you understand and gently address.
At Bharosa, our consultant MD Psychiatrists and clinical psychologists treat intergenerational emotional silence with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and where useful, family-systems work. The work is not about blaming the father who raised you. It is not about forcing you into an emotional vocabulary that feels foreign. It is about helping you develop, at your own pace, the ability to say what you feel to the people who matter most — without the fear, awkwardness, and sense of weakness that have kept the words stuck in your chest for most of your life.
Men who do this work consistently describe a specific kind of relief — the relief of finally speaking the sentence they had been carrying for decades, and finding that the world did not end, that their masculinity did not collapse, and that their children responded with an openness they had not expected. The first time a father says I love you to his child, in a family where those words have never been spoken, is one of the most quietly transformative moments in clinical work. It interrupts the silence. It gives the child a template that was never given to the father. It changes what the next generation will carry forward. One sentence, spoken clearly and once, can change the emotional architecture of a family line that has been silent for a hundred years.
Q: Is it too late to start saying this to my children?
A: Never. The words matter at any age, and the child almost always responds.
Q: What if I try and it feels awkward?
A: Awkwardness is normal. It fades with practice, and the child rarely minds.
Q: Can I do this if my father is no longer alive?
A: Yes. You can still break the pattern for the next generation.
Q: Is medication needed?
A: Usually not. This is primarily a therapy issue.
Q: Does Bharosa treat this in Hyderabad?
A: Yes. Men's mental health care is available at our LB Nagar facility.
The silence can end with you. Bharosa helps men find the words, gently, in Hyderabad. Call +91 95050 58886.

Mental health struggles do not define you, and you don’t have to face them alone. If you notice any early signs of mental health disorders in yourself or a family member, take the first step today.