A Breakup Letter To My Country



A Broken Heart and a Pissed off Lesbian,

Mumbai, Maharashtra


Dear India,

Sub : The Effect Of Your Incompetence On My Life

I’d like to start this letter by saying that you have been the love-of-my-life. And by that, I mean that I’ve chosen to stay in this relationship despite far more attractive opportunities elsewhere (Maybe this is not one of those things you brag about, but I’m only human). I’ve chosen to stay when you wandered, when you cheated, when you let me down over and over again. I’ve always believed that you need to get through a haystack to get to the last straw (fortunately or unfortunately), and believed that our love might be worth plodding through a haystack. And today, on this day of the maximum number of forced deliveries, I’ve reached that straw. And now when I look at our love – this tiny, fragile thing, it says ‘your country is a fucking jack-off’.

It must be a British straw. From section 377, maybe.

You’re my childhood sweetheart. The one that I grew up with, the one that shaped my tolerant values, the one who paved my path with opportunities, love and progress. I have always put you on a pedestal. Even when the world (meant literally) doubted your integrity, your courage and your willingness for change, I held you on that pedestal firmly. You’ve swindled my money, made me pay taxes even when I’ve had nothing coming in, created spaces where men can look at my rack all day long while walking down the street, and not be frightened by the consequences. You have been a case-study for therapists. And a great debate for the intellectuals. And a point of great anger for a very loud Arnab Goswami. Hell, I even stood up against him for you.

But today I’m saying, enough. Fuck off. I’ve given, and given, and given, and all you do, is take.

The last straw in most relationships is always the most interesting one. Because of all the things that you can tolerate in your partner, there is the one the breaks you. And today, you showed me that last straw. You criminalized my individuality. You condemned my choices. You kicked me in the groin after luring me out of the closet.

How is it that no one punishes you?

I’ve tried very hard to refrain from talking about the usual stuff. How this is a ‘black day’, how ‘human rights have been violated’, how ‘you’ve travelled back in time’, and so on and so forth. It’s very tempting to indulge in those insinuations because they are all valid and true. But you… you don’t deserve a reaction. You deserve to be deserted.

I’m leaving you for someone white. Hell, if you can be sexist, queerist or whatever, I can be racist. I like white countries. They love me for who I am. They celebrate who I am. They let me be. I honestly believe that my taxes will be far more well-spent there.

Plus, they definitely know how to party, unlike you baby. That limp dick shuts at 12, doesn’t it?

I’ve always had a problem with words, while you have been a master of them. You’ve had a unique talent of manipulation and articulation, blended nicely together to help you get your way. I, on the other hand, have relied (a bit too) heavily on your words. After all, considering we were meant to spend our lives together, I imagined it as a given. Until you threw a barrage of them on my face. While I was sleeping. While I felt protected. While I was walking down the street to celebrate our anniversary.

Discriminating against me, is discriminating against you. Don’t you see that? Or do you prefer your thin sheet of lies?

I’ve enjoyed our time together, we’ve had some incredibly beautiful moments as a couple. But your actions have shoved those moments under the carpet, and now, I have to leave. I’m taking my perverted self to another perverted country. So that we can do all the perverted things that you never had the balls or the potency for, Baby.

Yours, no more,


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