Smritis often carve out a world where men wear the pants and women tend the home. Manusmriti, for instance, advises a girl to live under her father’s care in childhood, her husband’s in youth, and her son’s in old age (2.148). This neat little hierarchy puts women firmly under male guardianship, stressing obedience and domestic duties as their highest calling.

Yet it isn’t all one-note. Smritis also sing paeans to feminine virtues—resilience, loyalty, sacrificial love. The “pativrata” ideal, a devoted wife, shines as an exemplar of moral strength. Still, even such praise feels like gilding the cage of patriarchal expectation. Autonomy is hardly on the menu.

Historically, these texts reinforced caste-and-gender norms in classical society. Fast-forward to today: #MeToo revelations and fiery Delhi protests for women’s safety show how those ancient prescriptions clash with real lives. Courts now host female judges who’d make Manu raise an eyebrow, and panchayats led by sarpanches proving that grassroots power can rewrite stubborn rules.

Modern scholars often treat Smritis as context-specific guides rather than divine, unchangeable laws. That shift in interpretation is like trading a rigid script for a choose-your-own-adventure novel. While the patriarchal blueprint never quite disappeared, ripples of dissent—whether through feminist scholarship or street demonstrations—have thrown a wrench in the old machinery.

Ultimately, Smritis placed women on a second rung, stressing home over public life and obedience over choice. Yet countless women pushed past those barriers, turning prescribed roles into stepping stones. The result? A rich tapestry where ancient guidelines and contemporary aspirations weave together into something far more colorful—and unpredictable—than Manusmriti ever imagined.