Inadequate 'Feed'

One of the most common discussion I have had with new and old mums is about their 'feed'. I wondered what this word actually meant. There are some amazing criteria of measuring the 'feed' and there are some extraordinary rules about feeding. 

Let's begin with the feed phenomenon
Almost all mother in laws/ mothers complain about new mom not having milk. 
"इस को feed नहीं आ रही"! Isn't it just fantastic to undermine the mother right off the bat. I wonder how wise old women who have fed their own child(ren) don't know that there is no milk in early days. Seems like all Mother Earth goddesses were dripping milk from the moment the baby fell out. 
Add to that more expert misinformation from the professional/medical staff. Feed 15 minutes per breast or some such number every 3 hours. Gee! That can't be tough. You understand time don't you? Sure, so does the baby. Such a silly child if he dares to need his mother before the scheduled feed time. 
Here is another kicker. Just tickle the baby if the baby sleeps. Continue to keep stimulating him for the required 15 minutes till feed is completed. One question though, why is the hungry baby sleeping at the breast instead of feeding? Well there are many different choices for the answer... You can take your pick
They get tired
They don't know how to
They have to be reminded ....
If any living creature got tired of nourishing themselves then there is very little or no hope for survival.
One thing babies are born knowing and needing is sucking
Add to this sore, cracked and bleeding nipples. Engorgred and painful breast. The squeezing and hurtful massaging. Constant undermining of the mum and a really stressed out baby is begging formula and great pumps to save the day 
No one ever wondered that's nature's elegant and simple design is for survival of species. So perhaps we are getting the wrong result because we are doing some thing (many things) wrong. 
Of all the mammalian species, the upper class educated women are primed and most prone to fail at breastfeeding