I’m a divorced woman now in my 40s. Mine was a typical Indian arranged marriage in my 20s. I had said yes to a proposal after saying no to many others, simply to keep my parents happy. They were worried that I didn’t want to get married at all. Back then, moving away from your parents or going against their wishes over something like marriage wasn’t really an option. You just did what they wanted.
Unlike my cousins and my elder siblings, who were eager to get married, I knew the typical Indian marriage scenario wasn’t for me. I realized this when I was still in my teens and early 20s. I’m an introvert who loves her alone time, more than the average introvert. I’m borderline a loner. Anyone who knew me as a kid can vouch for this. I rarely left the house. I still don’t. The activities I enjoyed as a kid remain more or less the same activities I enjoy now – reading, listening to music, watching TV, zoning out.
So, the idea of entering an Indian arranged marriage with a complete stranger, suddenly being expected to feel “love” for this person, giving up most of my free time, and making an effort to stay in touch with his family members and friends on a regular basis? I wasn’t sure I was cut out for any of it.
It’s easier for a man to remain a loner even after getting married. He can keep his distance from his wife’s family, not attend every event, and face little to no criticism for it. I have seen this in my extended family. But an Indian woman is expected to play a much more social role in marriage. She’s supposed to make a conscious effort to bond with her husband’s family, stay in touch with relatives, plan get-togethers, attend all events, and do all the little things that keep everyone connected. For someone like me, who values her personal space, that felt like a lot to take on.
After watching my parents grow increasingly disappointed with my constant rejection of marriage proposals, I finally gave in. I’d even tried a few dramatic ways to get the guys to reject me. Think Roja style, claiming I had a boyfriend! In one case, things almost reached the engagement stage before I told the guy that I had no romantic feelings for him and was starting to develop sisterly feelings for him instead. I’m not proud of any of these stories. I know I hurt those guys, their families, and my own family in the process. Looking back, I wish I’d handled things differently. But I’m also empathetic towards the younger me, knowing that I did such things out of sheer desperation, as there was no other way out.
Until then, I’d been the quintessential “good girl” in my family. I did well in my studies, didn’t party late at night (obviously, due to my loner tendencies), was polite, and didn’t talk back to my parents. So, needless to say, they were quite taken aback when this new, rebellious side of me emerged. Suddenly, I was the daughter who is problematic because she didn’t want to get married.
Then, one day, after seeing my parents get emotional, I decided that I would say yes to the next arranged marriage proposal that came my way, no matter who the guy was.
My parents chose a guy. I thought he was fairly good-looking, and he seemed quite smitten with me at the time. I finally said yes.
And that’s how my arranged marriage happened.
My goal was simple: make it work somehow. I thought love might bloom eventually, just as people kept telling me it would. Maybe I would be one of those people who fell in love after marriage.
Around that time, Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi was released. I remember going to the theatre and feeling a little emotional when the song “Haule Haule Ho Jayega Pyaar” started playing. The line means that love will arrive slowly and steadily. At that point in my life, I genuinely felt as though the song had been written for me. I was sitting there, wondering the same thing over and over again: Will I ever fall in love with this person?
Society had taught me that love wasn’t all that important anyway. What mattered was settling down, getting married, and making the relationship work. So, I settled. But love never made its presence felt. And that frustrated both of us.
Looking back, I don’t think love ever stood much of a chance in our marriage because we were incompatible in so many ways. We weren’t compatible intellectually, emotionally, or physically. We could be two perfectly decent people individually and still bring out the worst in each other as a couple.
We belonged to the same caste, and our horoscopes matched. Everything was right on paper. Yet there was no warmth between us. Instead of feeling like two partners building a life together, our relationship felt like one bound by orthodox rules and expectations. He believed the husband should have the final say in decision-making. I was a feminist. He even told me that I shouldn’t read too many books because they would make me delusional about how the real world works. Apparently, ignorance is bliss. It was the first and last time in my life that someone told me reading was a bad habit.
Naturally, things went downhill.
Could I have said and done all the right things to keep the marriage going? Absolutely. But that would have meant spending a lifetime compromising, suppressing parts of myself, and settling for someone who wasn’t right for me. And honestly, it wouldn’t have been fair to him either. He deserved a partner who was genuinely compatible with him, just as I deserved the same.
This is what I wish more people understood. Being from the same caste and having matching horoscopes might tick the boxes that families consider important. But those things alone cannot guarantee a happy marriage. They don’t tell you whether two people share similar values, respect each other’s opinions, connect emotionally, or want the same things from life.
Left-leaning media in America often attack Donald Trump. They will scrutinise his policies, question his ideology, and discuss the dangers of his politics.
But when it comes to hate against Indians, specifically Indian Americans, the same urgency and enthusiasm seem to disappear.
This kind of hatred may not always be visible in everyday life in the Western world. Many Indians live perfectly ordinary lives abroad. But when racism does surface, there isn’t always a strong or sustained public pushback against it. There’s an eerie quietness, even among the liberals. A kind of “silent racism” going on.
Which makes me wonder: do many people prefer to keep their racism and bigotry private?
Why Are We Suddenly Talking About “The Indian Question”?
The immediate reason for this post is Christopher Rufo’s podcast episode on YouTube titled The Indian Question. Rufo is a prominent conservative activist and political commentator in the US.
I watched the episode last night to understand why it attracted so much attention.
The title itself deserves scrutiny.
Historically, the phrase “The Jewish Question” was used in European debates to justify racism against Jews.
The concern with using “The Indian Question” is the framing. When an ethnic community is discussed as a question to be solved, rather than as people with individual rights, it becomes a problem.
Indian Americans are not a problem to be solved. They are people living, working, studying, raising families, and contributing to the country they call home. They are more loyal to America than India, from what I have observed.
The Indian population in the US is nowhere near a majority. Indian Americans make up roughly 1.5% of the US population. Why does the presence of Indians, particularly successful Indians, provoke such hate in American society, even if they are the minority?
Apparently, Indians Haven’t Assimilated Enough
One of the arguments discussed in the episode concerns a video of Indian students celebrating a football team’s success. This video attracted attention after being shared by Texas political figure Bo French.
The argument goes something like this:
The first person implies, “Indians are assimilating. Look at the students celebrating an American football victory.”
The other person counters, “Even these students might not be truly assimilated. Otherwise, why would anyone be discussing their participation in American culture?”
Think about that for a moment.
If Indians don’t participate in American traditions, they haven’t assimilated. If they do participate, the fact that their participation is being discussed apparently proves that they haven’t assimilated either.
What exactly is the winning answer here? The goalposts seem to shift depending on the argument.
And then comes another example: Indian children winning spelling bee competitions.
According to the argument, these children study day and night to win. Spelling bees, apparently, are supposed to be fun rather than competitive. The justification is that this emphasis on academic achievement somehow makes Indian children less American.
The other person laughs and nods along.
The broader argument seems to be that being American means being aggressive and expressive, like people at football matches, rather than studious and academically competitive.
So Indians are now supposed to prove their assimilation by being less successful? From now on, all Indian Americans should make a few adjustments.
When you submit reports to your manager, make several mistakes.
When your manager offers you a promotion, reject it.
When your child is asked to spell “lovely”, teach them to say “l-u-v-l-y”.
That’s how you assimilate, apparently: by playing dumb.
The issue is that Indians are being judged by standards not applicable to anyone else. If participating in American culture doesn’t count as assimilation, and excelling academically counts against assimilation, what exactly are Indians expected to do?
The Problem With Trying Too Hard to Please Racists
As usual, the comment sections in the YouTube video provide another layer to this discussion.
I see a few Indian Americans saying things like, “As an Indian American, I agree.”
There is a difference between honest criticism and agreeing with racial generalisations simply to gain acceptance.
Many encourage or justify racism in the hope that racists will make an exception for them. If someone is being racist towards Indians, it needs to be called out. Don’t respond with self-hatred or an endless list of reasons why you are one of the “good Indians”. Because they will use that list of reasons against you as well. A few people behaving badly does not give anyone the authority to generalise an entire community.
Say it plainly: “You can criticise an individual without generalising the whole community.”
Racism doesn’t necessarily disappear because you have the right job, speak perfect English, support the right political party and religion, or distance yourself from your cultural background.
Racists simply don’t want you there. No amount of people-pleasing can guarantee they will change their minds.
When Hindu Culture Becomes the Convenient Explanation
Another thing that stood out to me was the way Indian culture was represented in the YouTube video.
When these commentators talk about Indian culture, the visuals often feature Hindu temples, Hindu festivals, and religious celebrations. They also bring up videos from India, including footage of a cow dung festival that many Indians themselves may never have heard of. An unfamiliar or unusual practice is presented as though it represents ordinary Indian life.
Why?
Because it helps create a particular impression of India and Indians. Once that impression is established, it becomes easier to argue that Indians are culturally incompatible with America.
Let’s be honest. India is enormous and extraordinarily diverse. There are hundreds of languages, different religious traditions, countless regional customs, and vast differences in everyday life.
One unusual festival, one viral video, or one person’s behaviour cannot explain an entire country.
But this is where the argument becomes convenient. If you want to dislike Indians, you can always find something to point at.
If a Hindu festival is loud, that’s evidence of cultural incompatibility.
If Indian students excel academically, that’s evidence that they haven’t assimilated.
If Indians participate in American traditions, that somehow isn’t enough either.
The examples change, but the conclusion remains the same.
Indians are the problem.
That is what makes this more than a debate about cultural differences. It starts looking like racism and bigotry dressed up as a discussion about assimilation.
Why Are So Many NRIs Afraid to Speak Up?
The saddest part of this conversation is the silence of some Indians living abroad.
I’ve heard people say things along the lines of, “Life is already hard. We just want to keep our heads down so we don’t get attacked by racists.”
I understand the fear.
If you live in another country, your job, visa status, family, financial security, and future may depend on your ability to maintain a stable life there. You may not want to become the target of online abuse or workplace hostility.
Not everyone has the luxury of speaking out. And nobody should be forced to put their safety or livelihood at risk to prove their courage.
But it is worth noticing the contrast.
Some Indians who hesitate to speak publicly about racism or other issues in the countries where they live will readily post about everything that is wrong with India. Of course, Indians in India do the same. Criticising one’s own country is perfectly legitimate.
If people can freely criticise India but feel that criticising racism in their adopted country is too risky, what does that tell us: that India has more freedom of speech?
When people stay silent because they fear the consequences, those spreading hatred may begin to assume that their views are acceptable.
The Selective Outrage of Indian Commentators
Then there is the response from certain commentators in India, particularly those who are strongly anti-Modi.
The moment an Indian pushes back against racist Americans, the moral policing begins.
“Don’t you see what’s happening in India? Concentrate on that.”
India has serious problems, and those problems deserve scrutiny. But why should one concern cancel out another?
Why can’t we discuss anti-Indian racism in America and discrimination in India in the same conversation?
Why does calling out racism against Indians suddenly become suspicious when the person speaking happens to be a Hindu, supports Modi, or disagrees with a particular political ideology?
Selective outrage is a real problem. Human rights should not become a team sport. Racism does not become acceptable because its victims belong to a political group you dislike.
I suspect another reason for this selective response is that some NRIs interpret anti-Indian racism in the US and other Western countries primarily as hostility towards right-wing Hindus, rather than as prejudice against Indians as a whole. That makes it easier to dismiss the problem.
But racist people don’t necessarily make those distinctions. They may target Indians because of their skin colour, name, accent, ethnicity, or perceived religion. And when Indian commentators themselves minimise the problem, racists can use those statements as convenient ammunition.
Are Indians Responsible for the Hate They Receive?
We are responsible for how we treat others, how we behave in public, and whether we challenge prejudice within our own communities. Indians are not above criticism, and being a minority abroad does not make every Indian automatically right.
But we are not responsible for someone else’s racism.
There is a difference between acknowledging that individuals can behave badly and accepting collective blame for an entire community.
And this brings me to Dinesh D’Souza.
D’Souza is a Christian conservative commentator of Indian origin who has spent years aligning himself with American right-wing politics. Yet he has faced racial abuse, including the use of the term “Dot Head”, a derogatory reference to the bindi traditionally worn by Indians (mostly Hindu women).
Think about the contradiction.
If the objection were genuinely about Hinduism, his Christian identity should make a difference, and racists wouldn’t have attacked him the way they are doing now on social media. To someone determined to see an outsider, an Indian face is enough.
This is why I find the entire argument about assimilation flawed.
D’Souza has criticised many aspects of liberal politics and has aligned himself with conservative causes. Yet his ethnicity is still a target.
In a way, I feel sorry for him. Dinesh spent considerable energy on social media trying to establish himself as a true-blue American by hating aspects of Indian and Hindu culture. He, like many others, believed that assimilation was the reason for anti-Indian racism.
The Double Standard Around Indian Religious Festivals
I also refuse to accept the argument that loud Indian religious festivals abroad somehow justify racism against Indians.
That is simply another way of shifting the blame onto the people facing hate.
Let’s look at Keralam. The place I’m from.
In Keralam, Hindu and Christian festivals can involve loud music, drums, processions, and celebrations that continue for days. Yes, they can be overwhelming. Elderly people need sleep, children need rest, and people have work the next morning.
But most of us understand that a festival is a special occasion. People are celebrating something meaningful to them, and we generally make room for that.
Similarly, Ashoora processions in parts of India can involve crowds, chest-beating, chanting, and considerable noise. These are not quiet affairs either.
And we coexist with these celebrations, even when we don’t personally participate in them.
That is part of living in a diverse society. That’s religious freedom.
If Indian communities in the West obtain the necessary permissions for a religious festival and are still told to tone it down simply because other people find their culture uncomfortable, we should ask what kind of religious freedom means in practice in these developed countries.
Am I to assume India has more religious freedom?
Good Noise and Bad Noise
Honestly, a lot of this comes down to what I call “good noise” and “bad noise”.
I find the noise from the nearby football stadium absolutely intolerable during matches. Anyone living near a stadium will know what I mean.
Songs. Dancing. Drums. Trumpets. Screaming. The whole thing.
It can sound remarkably similar to a religious festival. But I’ve never posted a story complaining about it. Why?
Because I understand that, for someone who loves football or cricket, that noise is part of the excitement. The crowd is celebrating. People are having a good time. It is “good noise”.
But when the celebration belongs to a religion or culture that someone dislikes, suddenly it becomes “bad noise”.
The sound itself may not be all that different from a football or cricket match. What changes is the meaning people attach to it.
You don’t have to love the noise. You don’t have to attend the festival. You don’t even have to understand why people enjoy it.
But you should be able to tolerate other people having the freedom to celebrate their religion, within the same reasonable rules that apply to everyone else.
Otherwise, perhaps the problem isn’t really the noise.
The Latest US Immigration Restrictions Make This Even More Concerning
The debate about Indian Americans is not happening in isolation. It is unfolding alongside a broader political debate about immigration.
And the latest developments involving the US Permanent Labor Certification programme, commonly known as PERM, are concerning for Indian professionals.
On October 8, 2026, reports emerged that the Trump administration had suspended several major technology companies from participating in the PERM process. The affected firms include Indian IT companies such as Infosys, Tata Consultancy Services, Wipro, HCLTech, and Cognizant, alongside other companies. The action affects employers who use it to sponsor eligible foreign workers for employment-based green cards.
This is especially relevant when anti-Indian rhetoric is gaining visibility. When people are already portraying Indian workers as a threat, immigration restrictions can reinforce the feeling that their presence is unwelcome.
Note the use of “indentured servants” and the last couple of words by the Vice President of the US:
Vice President JD Vance breaks down the data:
“If you are working as an H-1B visa in the United States of America, you’re earning $20,000 less than an American citizen hired in the same position. If you were brought in by one of these foreign outsourcing firms, you’re making $48,000 less than an American citizen in a similar position. So I’m sure that everybody here understands the game that is being played. You bring in indentured servants from outside the country, you lay off American workers and, if you’re a corporation, you make a ton of money by under cutting the wages of American workers, replacing them with people who frankly shouldn’t be in the United States of America to begin with.”— Vice President JD Vance (@VP) October 8, 2026
Final Thoughts
I don’t believe every criticism is racist. But I do believe that this incessant anti-Indian racism should be called out.
I believe Indian Americans should be able to celebrate their festivals, raise academically ambitious children, build successful careers, practise their faith, and participate in American society without having their entire identity put on trial. This is not too much to ask – considering they make up only 1.5% of American society.
Recently, a slew of rape cases have emerged in Delhi. It made think – can we, collectively as women, demand better protection for Indian women from governments across the political spectrum?
Rape cases in Keralam (where I am from) are also increasing each year. This year, up to July, Kerala Police had recorded 1538 cases. Even little boys are being sexually assaulted.
But somehow, no one seems to take sexual violence seriously enough.
This is not a political game where we pull out data to show that only women in BJP-ruled states are getting raped, or that only women in Congress-ruled states are getting raped. Rape is a serious issue that needs to be addressed in India, regardless of which state it happens in or which political party is in power.
I’m sure there isn’t a single woman in India, even in Keralam, who hasn’t had some kind of bad experience.
And I’m not saying India is the only place where this happens. I have had bad experiences in other countries too, involving locals.
Change Should Happen Within Families First Before Society Adopts It
I think my most mind-numbing experience happened when I was 16 or 17 because it involved someone I considered my own brother.
I used to be very comfortable around him and quite physical in the innocent way you can be with someone you completely trust. I would hold his arm, playfully hit him and behave as I normally would around someone I considered family.
Until one day, he crossed a line and groped me.
I know the feeling of shock that goes through your mind when something like that happens. You can become completely paralysed for a moment because your brain simply cannot process what is happening.
But I somehow found the strength to push him away and get out of the situation.
After that experience, I became much more conscious about physical contact with men. I only touch someone if I feel completely comfortable around them. Otherwise, I instinctively recoil.
Another experience happened when I was learning to drive.
I remember the man teaching me repeatedly placing his hand on the steering wheel right next to my breast. At the time, I thought he was doing it accidentally. So I would simply place my hand there to prevent it from happening again.
Looking back now, I realise how naive I was. I instinctively believed that people were good and that there had to be an innocent explanation for their behaviour.
And that’s the thing about sexual harassment and sexual assault. Sometimes these experiences don’t happen with strangers. They happen with people we know. People we trust. And sometimes, even people we never imagined we would have to protect ourselves from.
Women’s Safety Cannot Be a Political Game
Ideally, I would love to see women in every state demand better protection from both the central and state governments. This is something I feel very intensely about.
There are already stringent laws against rape in India. But having laws on paper is not enough. Their implementation remains a problem in many places.
The central and state governments need to work together to ensure that existing laws are properly enforced and that survivors have access to justice and protection.
Unfortunately, sexual violence has also become another opportunity for governments and political parties to blame each other in India.
But what does that achieve for women?
How does it make a woman feel safer?
And how do we prevent sexual violence when there are still people who believe that a woman’s body is somehow their property?
Sex Education Is Part of the Conversation
Society also needs to change, and one way to start is through proper sex education.
Yet even parents in my age group sometimes respond with, “Cheee, little kids don’t need to know all that,” whenever sex education is mentioned.
Many people seem to think sex education means teaching children “how to have sex” or something. I’m not joking.
But age-appropriate sex education is also about teaching children about boundaries, consent, inappropriate touching, body safety and the fact that they have the right to say no.
If we struggle to have these conversations among relatively educated urban families, imagine how difficult it must be to introduce them in more conservative or rural communities.
This is exactly why conversations about sexual abuse and women’s safety in India cannot be limited to one political party, one government or one election.
Change is needed from so many different sides if we genuinely want to reduce rape and sexual violence in India.
It’s not easy. But it should be done.
Delhi’s Reputation for Women’s Safety
Delhi also has a very bad reputation when it comes to women’s safety, regardless of which government is in power.
There seems to be a sense of status quo around it, both among some people and within the political system: “It’s unsafe, and it will remain unsafe.” If that attitude didn’t exist, wouldn’t there be a much stronger public reaction every time a rape case occurred?
I was recently watching a YouTube video of a Nepali woman visiting Delhi. The comments were overwhelmingly along the lines of, “Be careful, Delhi is not safe,” instead of simply saying, “Enjoy your trip.”
That is a shame for India as a whole. Shaming one place in India is, in a way, equivalent to shaming the whole country for me. I have never once thought, “Oh, she should visit Keralam instead because it’s safer.” Instead, I feel bad that anyone visiting India might have to worry about their safety in the first place. I want India as a whole to be safe.
Even Justice Becomes Political
There is another problem.
Even when someone is found guilty and strict punishment is imposed, activists and people from Opposition parties often come forward questioning the evidence or saying, “There’s no proof.”
Then the government, whoever is in power, ends up caught in another political battle.
And when everything becomes a political fight, governments become reluctant to act decisively because there is no obvious political “win.”
This is precisely why the Centre and the states should work together on women’s safety and tackling sexual violence.
Let the critics say whatever they want.
Let political parties argue about everything else.
Some things are bigger than politics.
The safety of women and children should be one of them.
One thing I have noticed about Gen-Z in India is that they are unhinged. I am not sure if it is the same case with Gen-Z around the world, but the ones in India truly seem to be. And no, I am not talking about student protests or anything political. I am talking about something much more personal.
As a 40+ unmarried woman, I have found myself being stared at by boys in their 20s while I am simply out and about. And interestingly, it is not the older men who are doing it. It is the younger ones, making their best attempts to lock eyes with me.
Apparently, according to what I keep seeing on social media, this is becoming a thing. There seems to be growing interest among younger men in dating significantly older women. Maybe it is a genuine preference. Maybe it is a fantasy. Maybe it is simply curiosity. From what I have read, many of these relationships don’t necessarily translate into long-term commitments, but the fact that younger men seem increasingly comfortable making their interest obvious is interesting in itself.
This changing scenario has resulted in books and movies exploring age-gap romances where the woman is older, like The Idea of You, as well as One & Only. One thing I’ve realised is that my mind is still not fully adapted to the idea of an age-gap romance. So when the lead characters make out, my first reaction is always, “OMG! But he’s just a kid!” Even when he’s actually a full-blown adult.
Now, getting to personal experiences. Recently, I mentioned my age to a boy in his 20s who simply wouldn’t look away.
His response?
“Age is just a number.”
So, apparently, that’s where we are now. Of course, this does not apply to all, because society at large age-shames women and finds older women unsuitable for relationships. But there is another part of this that I find much more interesting.
There is a very common, and frankly somewhat misogynistic, term for women who date significantly younger men: cougar.
Almost everyone knows the word. It has become so mainstream that you will find it casually used in movies, television, social media and everyday conversations.
But did you know there is a term for older men who pursue much younger women too?
Manther.
It is nowhere near as well known. In fact, I would bet that many people reading this have never heard the word before.
And that, in itself, says something about how we view relationships between older and younger people.
We are generally much more comfortable with men dating women who are 20 or 30 years younger, or even more. We rarely question it. “Love has no age,” we say.
Popular culture has reflected this dynamic for decades, with stories where an older man falls in love with a much younger woman being treated as perfectly normal, romantic or even aspirational.
But reverse the genders and suddenly the conversation changes.
An older woman with a younger man becomes a “cougar.” Her age becomes the focus. Her motives are questioned. She can be ridiculed, sexualized or shamed in a way that the older man in the equivalent relationship often isn’t.
And that brings me to something I genuinely wonder about.
How many people would actually be comfortable watching a mainstream movie where an older woman falls in love with a man 20 or 30 years younger than her, and the story treats their relationship with the same seriousness and romantic legitimacy usually given to an older man and a younger woman?
Would we call it a love story?
Or would we call her a cougar?
Maybe the younger generation really is changing some of these attitudes. Maybe the increased visibility of age-gap dating is slowly making older women dating younger men less unusual.
Or maybe we are simply becoming more comfortable talking about something that has always existed.
Either way, I find it fascinating that a 20-something can look at a woman in her 40s, hear her age, shrug and say, “Age is just a number.”
Perhaps Gen-Z really is unhinged.
Or perhaps they are just less bothered by rules that previous generations took for granted.
I came across a news report about thousands of people attending the funeral of the man referred to as the “Butcher of Bosnia.” His name is Ratko Mladić. The report said that he was convicted of genocide for his role in the killing of more than 8000 mostly Muslim Bosniak men and boys in Srebrenica, Bosnia and Herzegovina. He died in prison at the age of 84 in August this year.
I was totally taken aback by this information and I had to look into why such a controversial figure is being considered a hero by many. I found that his supporters remember him as a military commander who defended their community against what they saw as “perceived threats” from Bosniak Muslims during the Bosnian War, which began in 1992.
I can’t help but notice a pattern here: violence is often justified nowadays by this very “perceived threat” – the belief that another community poses a threat to our existence, religion, culture, or way of life. Maybe this pattern has always been there, or maybe social media has simply made these attitudes much more visible.
Let’s take a look at some examples.
Israel’s ongoing conflict with Palestinians is framed by supporters of Israel around threats to its existence, while Palestinians and their supporters describe the consequences in terms of occupation, displacement, and violence against civilians.
Hitler is also being glorified on TikTok today, with his actions being presented through the deeply disturbing logic that he “helped eradicate” a community, Jews, whom they view as a threat to the world.
Afzal Guru and Ajmal Kasab are considered heroes by many because their actions are framed as acts of resistance against perceived threats or justified through a particular political narrative.
Savarkar is hated by many, even more strongly than some historical figures associated with mass violence, but he is also considered a hero by many who believe Hinduism and Hindu identity have been under threat.
I remember feeling absolute dread (a feeling of threat) when thousands attended Yakub Memon’s funeral in Mumbai.
And that is what makes this whole subject so uncomfortable.
Mourning, glorifying, or defending people who have done questionable things simply because they supposedly acted against “perceived threats to our existence” is becoming mainstream.
Closer to home, Hindus have attacked minorities in India because they believe their religion or cultural identity is under threat.
Christians in places like Tamil Nadu have also staged protests when public spaces in their area are used for festivals associated with other religions, with some viewing this as a threat to their own religious identity or traditions.
Then there are Kashmiri Pandits, who are being portrayed as a threat to the “culture” or “religion” of the land even when they are simply celebrating their festivals in a place with which they have a deep historical connection.
The circumstances are obviously different. But the underlying psychology is worth examining.
Once we convince ourselves that another community is an existential threat, almost anything can start being rationalised in the name of protecting our own.
And that leaves me wondering: who is going to do what next in the name of a “perceived threat”?
No community is completely free from this tendency, and no community can automatically claim moral superiority. Across religions, nationalities, ethnic groups, and political movements, people have at different points convinced themselves that their identity, culture, religion, or very existence is under threat.
Once “they are a threat” starts gaining ground, the question is no longer simply who is right or wrong. The question becomes how far people are willing to go to bring down or harm the people they have decided are the threat.
Anupama Parameswaran’s interview on narcissistic abuse has created quite a stir in the one day since it aired on Dhanya Varma’s YouTube channel. One thing she made very clear in the interview was why she chose to talk about her experience. She wanted people to recognize the signs of abuse.
As someone who got divorced several years ago after experiencing both emotional and physical abuse, I knew the comments blaming Anupama would come soon.
Comments like:
“Why is she talking about this in public? She just wants attention.”
“She’s the toxic one in the relationship. Glad her partner left her.”
“Women use the word ‘abuse’ so flippantly nowadays. I’m sure the matter must have been small.”
And sure enough, I soon saw a barrage of similar reactions on Reddit and X.
This reaction is one of the reasons many people hesitate to speak about abusive relationships. They know that once they talk about what happened, they may be questioned, blamed, mocked, or told that they simply did not try hard enough to save the marriage.
“Why talk about it?”
This is such a common question.
But I want to ask the opposite question: Why shouldn’t we talk about it?
It is because people like Anupama chose to talk openly about their pain that people like me were able to heal.
Today, someone going through emotional abuse, physical abuse, narcissistic abuse, or a difficult divorce can find videos, podcasts, interviews, reels, support groups and personal stories online.
When I was going through it, there weren’t nearly as many resources. I had to search for text blogs written by complete strangers who had experienced something similar.
I would read their stories and think, Okay, so I am not the only one who feels this way. Maybe I am not imagining this. Maybe what I am experiencing isn’t normal.
It wasn’t silence that helped me heal. It was people choosing to speak.
In my case, it wasn’t just a “bad marriage”
In my case, there was both physical and emotional abuse involved.
Yet, when you are trying to somehow make your marriage work because of societal pressure, you can find yourself surrounded by people who encourage you to compromise rather than asking whether you are safe or happy.
At one point, I was even advised by someone very close to me not to tell my parents about what was happening because they would get hurt.
Who was I supposed to talk to then?
I was losing a lot of weight at the time because fights would make me lose my appetite. I wasn’t simply dealing with an ordinary marital disagreement. I was struggling emotionally and physically, and yet the advice I received was often about protecting everyone else’s feelings.
When I mentioned the physical abuse, one relative dismissed it by saying:
“It happens in all relationships.”
Another told me to compromise and just keep saying “okay, okay” to everything he said.
This is the kind of advice that can make someone question their own reality.
The comparison game
One of the worst things about talking about abuse is the way people compare your experience with someone else’s.
When I tried to make the marriage work, my ex would taunt me with things along the lines of:
“See? What you faced wasn’t so bad after all. That’s why you’re willing to compromise and return to me. You should see women in actual abusive relationships. They end up in hospitals.”
But abuse doesn’t become acceptable simply because someone else experienced something worse.
You don’t have to wait until you are in a hospital before you are allowed to say that something is wrong.
Society has a strange way of making women feel childish for being unhappy in a relationship. You’re told that you’re not mature enough to deal with “normal” relationship problems. You’re told that marriage requires compromise. You’re told to adjust. You’re told to be patient.
And sometimes, what is really being asked of you is to tolerate things you should never have been expected to tolerate.
Society often cares more about preserving the marriage than the person inside it
This is something I understand much better now.
Society doesn’t necessarily care about your happiness. It often cares about keeping the marriage intact.
A woman who stays in an unhappy marriage can be praised for being patient, mature, understanding and a good homemaker.
A woman who leaves can suddenly become selfish, difficult, immature or incapable of compromise.
I was blamed too. I am sure there are still people who consider the divorce my fault. And honestly, I am fine with that now. I don’t have to prove my version of events to people who gave me terrible advice in the first place. I know what I experienced. I know what I went through. Nobody knows my struggles better than I do.
And I am happy now.
That is enough for me.
The “good guy” problem
There is another complication that I think people don’t talk about enough. Sometimes the person who is abusive also has a very amicable personality.
Anupama mentioned something similar in her interview, and it immediately resonated with me.
Some people are simply very good at being pleasant, charming and agreeable around others. So to the outside world, he is the “good guy.”
Meanwhile, you may be the quieter person. The recluse. The person who isn’t particularly good at maska polish. So when you finally talk about what happened, people find his version easier to believe than yours.
Because they have seen the charming version of him. They haven’t seen what happened behind closed doors.
That is one reason why survivors of emotional abuse can find it so difficult to speak. You are not just recounting what happened. You are also trying to convince people who have already formed an opinion of the person involved.
Sometimes there is one final moment
And just like Anupama said, sometimes there is a flip. A moment that finally makes you take the last step.
For me, it came after another fight. I made him promise in front of God that from then on, we would resolve our problems without abuse.
He broke that promise and then justified it again. That was the moment something clicked in my head.
If this man, who is religious, could make a promise in front of God and then break it and justify what he had done, how was he ever going to listen to me?
I immediately called my parents. I told them that either they picked me up or I was leaving that instant.
And that’s how I left my marriage.
In the dead of night.
In my night clothes.
With nothing but a handbag.
The strange little moments that helped me survive
Looking back, there were also tiny moments that reminded me that I could still make myself happy.
I remember one particular picture I took right after a fight. I had just finished an intense crying session when I basically thought, Aah, fuck this. Let me make myself happy. So I started clicking aesthetic pictures.
I hadn’t eaten all day because, during that period, fights would often make me lose my appetite. So I took myself out and treated myself to some food.
I ordered coffee. And when it arrived, there was this huge heart on it. I actually looked at the other people’s coffee to see whether they had something similar. Nope.
Maybe the guy could make out from my face that I needed it.
But that tiny heart warmed me in a way I had never felt in my marriage.
I eventually understood that we simply weren’t right for each other
These days, when people ask what happened, I usually say that we weren’t right for each other.
And that is, in a way, true.
Maybe with a more docile person, he wouldn’t have felt the need to “discipline” her. And perhaps with a different person, I wouldn’t have become so agitated either.
We had very different ways of thinking. We brought out the worst in each other. But saying that we weren’t right for each other doesn’t mean that abuse was okay.
Incompatibility can explain why a relationship doesn’t work. It does not excuse physical or emotional abuse.
That distinction matters.
Men can be victims too
And before anyone assumes that I think abuse is only something women experience, I don’t.
Men can be victims of emotional and physical abuse too. I have witnessed it myself. In some ways, male victims face an additional barrier because society still doesn’t give men enough room to admit that they are hurting.
They’re expected to be strong. To control their emotions. To “man up.” To deal with relationship problems without admitting that they are being hurt.
That needs to change too.
Abuse is abuse, regardless of the gender of the person experiencing it.
Why talking about abuse matters
This is why I don’t understand the “Why talk about it?” reaction.
People talk because someone else might be going through the same thing and doesn’t yet have the words for it.
People talk because someone may recognize a warning sign.
People talk because someone may finally realize that what they have been told is “normal” isn’t normal.
People talk because sometimes hearing another person’s story is the first thing that makes you feel less alone.
I know this because I was that person.
I healed partly because strangers were willing to write about their experiences when I needed to read them.
Today, people have far more ways to find that kind of support. They can watch an interview, listen to a podcast, find a video, read a personal blog, or come across someone speaking openly about their experience.
That is not attention-seeking.
Sometimes, it is someone putting their pain into words so that another person doesn’t have to feel as alone as they once did.
So when someone asks, “Why talk about it?”
My answer is simple:
Because silence never helped me heal. People speaking about what they went through did.
And if sharing your experience helps even one person recognize emotional abuse, physical abuse, narcissistic abuse, or an unhealthy relationship and find the courage to leave, then talking about it was worth it.
And if you’re currently in a situation like the one I was in, please don’t make my mistake. Don’t let people convince you that you need to endure more before your pain becomes “serious enough.”
You don’t owe anyone a marriage at the cost of your happiness, safety or self-respect.
One last thing
And I want to add one more thing: the emotional manipulation.
Every time an episode of abuse happens, the person knows they have done something wrong. So they cry, apologize, promise it won’t happen again, and you, especially if you’re an empath, fall for it. You want to believe them. You want to believe that this was the last time.
But it doesn’t stop.
Eventually, even the crying and apologizing become less frequent. A sort of “What are you going to do about it?” attitude starts taking over. There is a smugness that comes from knowing you will tolerate it anyway.
That was when I finally told my parents.
My father and mother, God bless them, refused to let me return to that house unless he genuinely changed his ways. But his response was, “My house, my rules.”
And that was the end of that.
I also understand that having supportive parents is a privilege and a blessing. Not every woman has that safety net. Some parents won’t allow their daughters to return home, and that’s when the feeling of being trapped can become unbearable. For some women, that mental pain can become so overwhelming that they see no way out.
I know what that kind of mental pain feels like.
In my case, though, I knew I would never choose death. If my parents hadn’t supported me, I would have simply run away, started from scratch and figured out a way to survive. I had enough confidence in myself because of the little work experience I had already gained.
That’s one of the reasons I stress so much on financial independence for women.
Having your own income isn’t just about money. It gives you options. It gives you confidence. It gives you the knowledge that even if everything falls apart, you can rebuild your life.
I know women who feel completely tied down because they don’t have financial independence. To them, I would say: start small. Take up whatever work you can, in whatever way you can. It doesn’t have to be your dream job or a huge salary.
The first step is knowing that you can earn something on your own.
Because sometimes, that little bit of independence is what gives you the confidence to finally walk away.
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