If you are a young parent, there comes a time when you'll be explaining to your children how babies are made. You might buy them a book with child-friendly illustrations or give your own talk (you will still probably ask Google for help or buy a parenting book to find something age-appropriate). And so the "big reveal" will probably feature something like this:

Babies are made when a male sperm meets a female egg. Each man has lots of sperm cells stored in his testicles. A woman has internal organs called ovaries which release one egg each month. When a man and a woman make love, sperm travel from a man's penis into a woman's vagina. Man's sperm cells compete with each other to reach that one precious egg. Only the fastest and the strongest sperm manages to get to the egg and impregnate it.

There is another way to tell this story:

A female egg is sitting in the uterus and looking at all the male sperm cells swimming towards her. She selects one sperm she likes, temporarily lowers the chemical barrier, sucks the sperm in and raises the barrier once again so that none of the other sperm can get in.

Scientifically speaking, I have described exactly the same process, but notice how different these two stories are. In the first story, we have a "princess" waiting to be "rescued", and we applaud male strength and agility. The female egg here is passive, while the sperm is the noble warrior doing all the work.  In the second story, it's the female egg who is in control. She is there screening the candidates, making the selection and putting up her defences against the unwanted intruders. She isn't a "princess", she is the boss.

For me, this is a powerful example of how gender bias controls our everyday narrative. Until I heard the alternative story of conception (on BBC Woman's Hour), I have always thought about it as a male sperm contest. It's like suddenly realising that virtually all movies released in the last century starred glorious men with women in supporting roles. It's the same bias that we apply subconsciously when praising boys for their strengths and girls for their beauty. Everyday gender bias is invisible until we start paying attention.

It's 21st century: our society is finally focussing on the problems of gender pay gap; lack of diversity in business and arts; gender discrimination in sports and gender bias that exists in the seemingly neutral science and technology. What we need is to examine our language, especially when addressing children, who, like sponges, absorb prejudice in the environment they grow up in. Please remember to praise girls for their wit and strength and boys for their sensitivity and compassion. When discussing husbands or boyfriends, it's time women stop using such expressions as "Sam is helping me about the house" because Sam (bless him, he sounds like a keeper) is only doing his fair share of running a household. Try to notice when you are saying "Football World Cup" referring to men's football because it's time to be specific whether we mean women's or men's game. 

Many of us - men and women - want equality of opportunities and are hopeful for change. Yet change isn't something we should be expecting to come from the top. Our politicians, employers, filmmakers and scientists need us to act in small but meaningful ways to change everyday behaviour and narrative. They'll follow suit. Young parents, we are all relying on you. 

Last night writer Mohsin Hamid was in London talking about his latest novel Exit West, shortlisted for the 2017 Man Booker prize. One the main protagonists, Nadia, wears a burqa - indeed, we meet her on the very first page of the novel "clad from the tips of her toes to the bottom of her jugular notch in a flowing black robe." As we turn pages, we learn that Nadia cut her family ties and lives on her own. She has a job and rides a motorbike. She enjoys sex and marijuana. In fact, we learn that Nadia wears burqa to ward off unwanted advances.

When Hamid was asked about Nadia, his liberal burqa-wearing protagonist, he explained that he wanted to tackle a stereotype most of us have about veiled women. He told us about a wife of his friend in Lahore who is a famous TV presenter in Pakistan. She too wears a burqa outside simply because she gets pestered too much otherwise. Hamid also shared another story of his father, a university professor, showing him a photo of a university canteen in the 1970s and now. In the first photo there are young men wearing jeans and turtle necks smoking in the canteen. In the second photo there are many covered women. His first reaction was to point out that Pakistan used to be much more liberal back in the days with students wearing Western clothes. Prompted by his father he then noticed that in fact there are just a couple of women in the first picture while half of the students in the more recent photograph were women. Indeed, today there are more female than male students in every university in Pakistan. So what is the true sign of progress: Western attire or women enrolling in higher education? 

Hamid's talk made me think my recent experience of a stereotype tackled head on. I was visiting King's Canyon in Watarrka National Park in the Northern Territory of Australia. There was a group of us, perhaps 15 people altogether. There was a couple from the US travelling with their two children aged about 17 and 19. The father was telling the guide about their travel itinerary. They planned an epic 33-day journey visiting Australia, Thailand, China and Japan. It sounded like a very expensive trip, and I assumed at once that the father was probably a Silicon Valley entrepreneur who had cashed out to take his family on such a long and pricey trip. I even found myself labelling his kids as spoilt brats for no good reason. And then something prompted me to talk to them. It turned out that the father used to work for the US army and afterwards he was a civil servant. He began saving for this trip ten years ago so that when he retired, he could take his family on an unforgettable journey. He had made the final payment for the trip just a month ago and finally there they were exploring the King's Canyon in the Red Centre of Australia. I told him how much I admired his endeavour and his accomplishment especially in the age where no one seemed to be saving money anymore.

The only way to crush prejudice is to start a conversation. We all need to admit that we are inherently biased and prejudiced. It's just how we are built with our brains programmed to jump to conclusions especially when encountering something familiar ("rich Americans") or different ("women in burqa").  It's up to us to take a step back and challenge our primitive instincts with more sophisticated examination of our thought process. This is the necessary step to effect bigger changes in society. What we need is to hear men in power admitting that they were doing nothing about the gender pay gap and all-male boards at their organisations before they had understood the importance of diversity and fair remuneration of their talent. Admitting to prejudice is the first step to tackle the way the society conforms to stereotypes. The second step is to act and make changes.