The cold Socratic questioning between the psychologist, an adult woman, and Jamie, a murder-accused teenager in the third episode of the critically acclaimed series Adolescence on Netflix is a masterclass. In layers, we see the unfurling of a young and fragile masculinity — vulnerable, aggressive, self-loathing, entitled, intimidating, emasculating, violent, shameful, discomforting. This masculinity poses an obvious danger for women but is self-destructive for men as well.

Men live in the constant shadow of an amorphous universally accepted ideal of “being a man”. They spend their lives measuring the distance from that ideal through a unit called “insecurity”. They may never be good enough to be a man. They have no barometer to measure their own emotions and feelings. They want to be perceived by men as brash and confident, by women as charming and tough. This constant performance leaves them desperate, at the mercy of others. Their friendships with men, the one around beer and sports, have no space for expressing this susceptibility.

A friend of mine once said, it’s strange that women want to do everything their mothers couldn’t but you never see the same desire in men. You never hear men saying something like I want to be able to express my emotions because my father couldn’t. I want to spend more time with my children because my father couldn’t. What do fathers have in their kitty for their sons? A bunch of silent or loud aspirations sans softness of hugs and emotional intimacy. In the show, when the psychologist asks Jamie if his father is loving, he replies, “Loving? No, that’s weird.”

Meanwhile, women congregate, collectivise, articulate, and define. Women bicker, gossip, complain, cry. They talk about their bodies, share their inner lives with other women. They laugh freely and cry easily. This creates a deficit. Women have led movements, their ideas have been theorised into academic disciplines like feminist studies and their upliftment has become a charity project.

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Men, on the other hand, struggle to problematise their identity — except in queer spaces. Even for the men who chose the other path, the templatised masculinity confronts them. I know a lot of men who wear flowers above their ears, who like colour on their clothes, who hug easily and who have unburdened themselves of providing and are nourishing themselves and others. But they are all a type, unfit for society at large and too small a category to define manhood.

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It’s heartbreaking when Jamie, a 13-year-old boy, confesses that he is ugly and seeks validation from the psychologist. In the Indian dowry-driven market, men’s worth seems to be proportional to the “packages” they earn. If not in terms of finance or prestige, often the surest way of giving back to the family in a silent acceptance of rules set for them is by getting them a dutiful, serving daughter-in-law.

Capitalist feminism has established that women’s liberation lies in the market. But does that mean men’s liberation lies at home? And more importantly, can men even stay at home? They are, as per societal norms, to provide for home while being away from home. It is the universal condition of manhood to fidget uneasily when at home. Men in structural jobs fear retirement because all of their sense of self-worth lies outside of the home. Home is devalued because women are devalued. If men stay at home, they run the risk of turning into women – their biggest fear.

Conversations with friends, pop culture and literature reveal the abusive experiences men are supposed to swallow. Shows like Adolescence and films like Jaggi are urgent knocks on the door. We need to hear from men before their helplessness renders them a victim or a criminal.

Upadhyay is a writer and researcher based in Delhi