An otherwise peaceful Canara Bank located in Kochi served as the implausible backdrop for a demonstration that attracted national attention a few weeks ago. The trigger was the food. After their new regional manager, who had just been transferred from Bihar, prohibited meat from the staff canteen, the bank employees planned a ‘beef fest.’
A minor altercation at work swiftly escalated into a more significant cultural conflict. In Kerala, beef is ingrained in the state's cuisine and social structure, making it a daily necessity rather than a luxury. Therefore, the restriction was perceived as a moral intrusion, an attempt to regulate not only eating but also identity, rather than as administrative housekeeping. The loud and symbolic demonstration made a deeper statement about cultural freedom.
However, the controversy brought up a bigger issue than beef, even bigger than prohibitions: why does India fight so fiercely for the honour of cows, who are regarded as ‘Gau Mata,’ but not as fiercely for the honour of ‘real mothers’ at home?
In Indian cultural imagination, the cow has long been revered as a symbol of motherhood, sacrifice, and purity. Yet this sacred status has also made the animal a flashpoint for political mobilisation. What begins as cultural reverence often translates into ideological assertion, with cow protection becoming both a moral claim and a deeply contested political project.
The consequences have been violent. According to a Human Rights Watch report, at least 44 people were killed in cow-related vigilante attacks between 2015 and 2018.
But when it comes to the human mothers, the same fervour is absent. The disparity is glaring in Kerala, a state that is frequently praised for its high literacy rates, progressive governance and social advancement. While protests over beef draw large crowds and cameras, women who have been left behind silently populate old-age homes.
According to a HelpAge India report, more than 22,000 senior citizens currently reside in over 700 old-age homes across Kerala. Many of these facilities operate primarily on donations, leaving them financially fragile and often overcrowded. The problem, however, is not unique to Kerala.
As per the same report, India has more than 1,200 recognised old-age homes, alongside countless unregistered establishments that frequently function under precarious and unsafe conditions.
The reasons are all too familiar. Police and non-governmental organisations frequently report seeing elderly women abandoned at railway stations, temples or charitable ashrams in places like Delhi, Mumbai and Bangalore. While some come willingly, many are left behind because families refuse to take care or simply cannot afford.
Poverty may appear to be the obvious reason, but reality tells a more layered story. Middle-class families also send their elderly to care homes. As joint families give way to nuclear households, as migration scatters children, and as consumer aspirations demand convenience, aging parents—especially widowed mothers—turn into inconvenient dependents.
The hypocrisy is hard to miss. A culture that builds shrines to motherhood, bans beef, and fights over the sanctity of cows often turns away from real mothers when they need care the most.
India has legislation meant to address this neglect. The Maintenance and Welfare of Parents and Senior Citizens Act, 2007 makes it a legal duty for adult children to support their parents. On paper, the law even allows tribunals to order monthly allowances for the elderly. In practice, however, its impact remains limited. Few parents come forward, fewer cases are enforced, and almost none confront the deeper cultural problem, which is the erosion of empathy, responsibility, and respect.
The law can compel financial assistance, but it cannot legislate love. What mothers need in old age is not just money, but companionship, dignity and care. Yet, across India, countless parents spend their final years in institutions, their lifelong sacrifices forgotten, their presence acknowledged only in absence.
When cultural freedom is at stake, Indians mobilise quickly. The Kochi beef protest makes that clear. People take to the streets when a food habit is threatened. Across states, rallies erupt when a cow is attacked. Bans transform overnight into political movements.
But when mothers are neglected, there is silence. No protests, no marches, no prime-time debates. An abandoned mother at a railway station is rarely more than a fleeting headline. The collective passion that the cow, revered by some as a symbolic mother, evokes is missing when it comes to defending real mothers.
This contrast raises uncomfortable questions. What does it mean for a society to worship symbols while discarding the very people those symbols are meant to represent? What does it reveal when motherhood is glorified in theory but mothers themselves are forgotten in practice?
Kerala is an especially instructive example. Because of its robust public health services, high literacy rate, and relative gender advancement, the state is frequently cited as an example of social growth. However, it also has one of India's worst ageing challenges. Over 20% of Kerala's population would be over 60 by 2030. Care facilities are already under a lot of strain.
Given how important motherhood is to Indian politics, the irony is more pronounced. Campaign speeches frequently use themes of sacrifice and nurture, parties frequently cite ‘Bharat Mata’ and ‘Gau Mata’ to defend cow preservation. Except for the houses where actual moms wait for care, motherhood is present everywhere.
This instrumentalisation of motherhood draws attention to the disconnect between private accountability and public awe. Taking care of an aged parent is more difficult than defending the cow as a symbol. Chanting ‘Mata’ during a rally is easier than sitting by your mother's side as she ages.
Though it may appear to be a specialised tale of workplace disobedience, the Kochi beef protest exposes something more significant. Indians will go to the streets in search of food, symbolism, and faith. However, it is uncommon for the same energy to be mobilised for daily dignity at home.
India cannot continue to overlook this inconsistency. It is hypocritical to respect symbols while ignoring reality. This is not culture. True culture is determined by our actions rather than our beliefs, by our care rather than by catchphrases.
The cow can continue to be revered. Beef can still be consumed. However, the true test of morality is found elsewhere. It is in the treatment of women who are weak, in need, and awaiting care.
The demonstration against Kochi beef served as a reminder that Indians are capable of standing up for their rights. Learning to fight for responsibilities, towards those who brought us into this world, is the more difficult task. All ‘Mata’ shouts are meaningless if we are unable to defend actual mothers with the same fervour as symbolic ones.
(*The author is an MA student in the Department of Mass Communication & New Media at the Central University of Jammu.)
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