How Much They Love You
- Madhukar Dama
- Jul 19
- 21 min read
🖤 PROLOGUE: The Love You Thought You Had
They said they loved you.
From the day you were born, they declared it — loud, warm, embroidered in rituals and school fees, photo albums and pressure.
They said it with food, with demands, with long sighs and tight schedules.
They stitched it into your surname.
They wore it on their forehead like a tilak of sacrifice.
But then you did something small.
You changed your name.
You skipped a pooja.
You refused marriage.
You touched a truth they never faced.
And the air changed.
Suddenly, love had limits.
Conditions.
Clocks.
Reputations.
Religions.
Caste.
Calendars.
Status.
Gods they never met.
You weren’t their child anymore —
You were a threat.
To their version of you.
To the script they rehearsed while you were still learning how to speak.
This is not an article.
This is a map of the places where love fails you.
Not because they hate you —
But because they never really saw you.
And what they called love was often just ownership wrapped in obedience.
---
1. "How much your father loves you?"
When you tell him you want to change your name to another religion
—from Chandrakant to Chandpasha or Chandpasha to Chandrakant—
he will snap.
He will say: “Why are you insulting your roots?”
He won’t ask you why.
He won’t care if it’s a healing move, a spiritual search, or an act of rebellion.
Because he loves you less than he loves his religion.
---
2. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you don't want to get married.
Not now, not ever.
Tell her your body shakes with anxiety at the thought of wedding halls and rituals.
She’ll cry.
Not for your pain—
but for what the neighbours will say.
She loves you less than she loves her social standing.
---
3. "How much your brother loves you?"
Tell him you don’t want to wear the family’s last name anymore.
You want to remove it.
He’ll say you’re spitting on your lineage.
He’ll say you’ve lost your mind.
He loves you less than he loves his surname.
---
4. "How much your uncle loves you?"
Say you want to become a barber.
Or open a tea stall.
He will look at you like you murdered your future.
He will say: “What will people think?”
He loves you less than he loves the illusion of upward mobility.
---
5. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you don’t want to light the pyre when your father dies.
You want your sister to do it.
Or a friend. Or no one.
They will say you’ve insulted the ancestors.
They love you less than they love rituals.
---
6. "How much your mother loves you?"
Refuse to do an arranged marriage bio-data.
Say you don’t want your weight, salary, caste, and horoscope reduced to a profile.
She will call you stubborn, selfish.
She will beg you to at least “do it for her”.
She loves you less than she loves the caste checklist.
---
7. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to marry someone from another caste.
Not another species, just another caste.
Watch his blood boil faster than your tea.
He loves you less than he loves his caste pride.
---
8. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to move to a smaller city, earn less, live simply.
They will say: “We didn’t educate you for this.”
They love you less than they love the ROI on their investment.
---
9. "How much your parents love you?"
Tell them you don’t want to have children.
They will say you are selfish.
They’ll worry who will carry the family name.
They love you less than they love the illusion of legacy.
---
10. "How much your family loves you?"
Come out as queer.
Even whisper it.
Even hint.
They will say you have been brainwashed by the West.
They love you less than they love their image in the colony WhatsApp group.
---
11. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to quit engineering in the second year.
They will panic.
They will make you feel like you’ve thrown acid on their dreams.
They love you less than they love their middle-class stability plan.
---
12. "How much your grandfather loves you?"
Say you’re planning to convert to Buddhism.
Because you don’t believe in gods, just the path.
He will say: “What wrong have we done to deserve this shame?”
He loves you less than he loves 2,000 years of myth.
---
13. "How much your cousin loves you?"
Ask him to call your partner by their chosen name, not the deadname.
He will say: “It’s too hard, yaar.”
He loves you less than he loves his comfort.
---
14. "How much your family loves you?"
Fall in love with someone poor.
Not a criminal. Not a cheater. Just… poor.
They will call it stupidity.
They love you less than they love status.
---
15. "How much your sister loves you?"
Say you are depressed.
Say you don’t want to get out of bed.
She will say: “Just go do yoga, stop being so weak.”
She loves you less than she loves her motivational reels.
---
16. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you're quitting your MNC job to work with tribal communities.
He will say: “Don’t waste your potential.”
He loves you less than he loves the LinkedIn post he planned for your promotion.
---
17. "How much your grandmother loves you?"
Tell her you don't believe in fasting or poojas.
That your healing comes through food, sleep, and silence.
She will say: “You’re forgetting your values.”
She loves you less than she loves rituals she never questioned.
---
18. "How much your in-laws love you?"
Say you don't want to wear sindoor or mangalsutra.
They will say: “Then why marry at all?”
They love you less than they love symbols.
---
19. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you’ve been molested by someone in the family.
She’ll ask you to forget.
To stay silent.
To not bring shame to the family.
She loves you less than she loves the family’s reputation.
---
20. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to write poetry for a living.
He will say: “Starving artist is not a career.”
He loves you less than he loves the corporate ladder he never climbed.
—
21. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to stop going to the temple.
Not to insult, just to breathe elsewhere.
He will say: “Don’t bring bad luck into this house.”
He loves you less than he loves his superstitions.
---
22. "How much your aunt loves you?"
Tell her you don’t want to wear gold jewellery at your wedding.
She’ll say: “Then what will people think?”
She loves you less than she loves her display cabinet dreams.
---
23. "How much your cousin loves you?"
Say you’re marrying a divorcee with a child.
He will say: “Why pick up someone else's baggage?”
He loves you less than he loves the fantasy of your firsts.
---
24. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to adopt instead of giving birth.
They’ll say: “It won’t be yours.”
They love you less than they love bloodline obsession.
---
25. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you feel like a boy, not a girl.
Or a girl, not a boy.
She will pray, cry, and panic.
She loves you less than she loves her fantasy of you.
---
26. "How much your parents love you?"
Fall sick. Mentally.
Say you need therapy.
They’ll say: “Why waste money? Just be strong.”
They love you less than they love the shame they feel about healing.
---
27. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to learn music, not maths.
He will say: “How will you survive?”
He loves you less than he loves the syllabus.
---
28. "How much your relatives love you?"
Skip one Diwali visit.
Just one.
You’ll be labelled distant, rude, disrespectful.
They love you less than they love calendar loyalty.
---
29. "How much your family loves you?"
Tell them you don't want to fast on Karva Chauth or Ekadashi.
They'll say you're abandoning values.
They love you less than they love recycled hunger rituals.
---
30. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you don’t want to wear bangles, bindis, or sarees anymore.
She’ll say: “What will you wear, jeans and sin?”
She loves you less than she loves the silhouette of tradition.
---
31. "How much your teacher loves you?"
Tell her you think school is killing your mind.
She’ll say: “You’re being lazy.”
She loves you less than she loves her attendance sheet.
---
32. "How much your brother loves you?"
Ask him to cook dinner just once.
He’ll say: “That’s not my role.”
He loves you less than he loves inherited gender roles.
---
33. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you’re not hungry, you just want to rest.
She’ll say: “Eat something, you’ll feel better.”
She loves you less than she loves force-feeding peace.
---
34. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you lost your job and want to slow down.
He’ll say: “You’ve become useless.”
He loves you less than he loves your monthly salary.
---
35. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to be a single parent.
They’ll say: “That’s not how families work.”
They love you less than they love the shape of a textbook family.
---
36. "How much your uncle loves you?"
Tell him you’re not doing a grihapravesh or vastu puja in your new house.
He’ll frown.
He loves you less than he loves bricks blessed by a priest.
---
37. "How much your sister loves you?"
Tell her you stopped believing in karma.
She’ll say: “Something bad will happen now.”
She loves you less than she loves the fear that runs the world.
---
38. "How much your cousin loves you?"
Say you’re dating someone from another religion.
He’ll say: “You’re becoming a traitor.”
He loves you less than he loves borders drawn by godmen.
---
39. "How much your family loves you?"
Get dark.
Get sunburned.
Stop bleaching, waxing, trimming.
They’ll say: “Take care of yourself!”
They love you less than they love the fairness filter.
---
40. "How much your parents love you?"
Ask them to take care of your kids for one day.
They’ll say: “We raised you, that was enough.”
They love you less than they love escaping accountability.
---
41. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to die.
He will say: “Don’t talk nonsense.”
He won’t hold you.
He loves you less than he loves emotional avoidance.
---
42. "How much your family loves you?"
Stop replying to the family WhatsApp group.
They’ll say: “You’ve become arrogant.”
They love you less than they love being seen as close-knit.
---
43. "How much your parents love you?"
Tell them you don't want a big wedding.
Just a signature, a smile, and a meal.
They’ll say: “We waited our whole life for this day.”
They love you less than they love the rented orchestra of status.
---
44. "How much your grandfather loves you?"
Say you don’t believe in afterlife.
He’ll sigh like you’ve already died.
He loves you less than he loves stories he was fed at 5.
---
45. "How much your relatives love you?"
Ask them to stop asking about your marks.
They’ll say: “We just care!”
But they love you less than they love comparison fuel.
---
46. "How much your mother loves you?"
Don’t give her grandchildren.
She’ll say: “You’ve failed as a daughter.”
She loves you less than she loves being called grandma.
---
47. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you don't want to touch his feet.
He’ll say you’ve become Western.
He loves you less than he loves symbolic surrender.
---
48. "How much your family loves you?"
Stay single after 30.
They’ll say you’re broken.
They love you less than they love their wedding calendar.
---
49. "How much your parents love you?"
Tell them you failed an exam.
Not life. Just a paper.
They’ll treat you like a criminal.
They love you less than they love the results portal.
---
50. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you’re going abroad but not for money—just for space.
She’ll say: “Why run away from us?”
She loves you less than she loves control disguised as closeness.
—
51. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to be a farmer.
Not a fallback, a calling.
He’ll say: “Are you mad? We came out of that.”
He loves you less than he loves the idea of progress.
---
52. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you don’t want to go to anyone’s funeral anymore.
Not out of disrespect—just burnout.
She’ll say: “We have to show our face.”
She loves you less than she loves visibility in grief.
---
53. "How much your cousin loves you?"
Say you’ve decided not to buy a house.
He’ll say: “Then where will you live? On rent forever?”
He loves you less than he loves a cemented future.
---
54. "How much your sister loves you?"
Say you want to wear white for your wedding.
She’ll say: “Are you inviting bad omen?”
She loves you less than she loves wedding colour codes.
---
55. "How much your family loves you?"
Refuse to take a loan for a big function.
They’ll say: “Don’t you want us to feel proud?”
They love you less than they love EMIs for ego.
---
56. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you’re giving up your citizenship.
He’ll say: “Don’t betray your country.”
He loves you less than he loves flags stitched to birth.
---
57. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you want to celebrate birthdays alone.
She’ll say: “Are you punishing me?”
She loves you less than she loves cake-day validation.
---
58. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you hate being called by your caste name.
He’ll say: “That’s your identity!”
He loves you less than he loves his invisible badge.
---
59. "How much your uncle loves you?"
Tell him you don't believe in touching elders’ feet.
He’ll say: “Then what kind of child are you?”
He loves you less than he loves borrowed reverence.
---
60. "How much your teacher loves you?"
Tell her you daydream in class.
She’ll say: “Stop wasting your life.”
She loves you less than she loves the curriculum’s leash.
---
61. "How much your mother loves you?"
Ask her to stop comparing you to Sharmaji’s child.
She’ll say: “I’m just motivating you.”
She loves you less than she loves the trophy next door.
---
62. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you want to name your child without religion.
They’ll panic.
They love you less than they love birthright branding.
---
63. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to donate your organs.
He’ll say: “Why talk about death now?”
He loves you less than he loves denying mortality.
---
64. "How much your brother loves you?"
Say you don’t want to buy a car.
You’re fine with public transport.
He’ll say: “How will people see you?”
He loves you less than he loves four-wheeled status.
---
65. "How much your grandmother loves you?"
Tell her you won’t be fasting for your husband’s health.
She’ll say: “Then why even marry?”
She loves you less than she loves patriarchal starvation.
---
66. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you stopped believing in marriage.
She’ll say: “Don’t say such bitter things.”
She loves you less than she loves the belief that marriage saves you.
---
67. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to be a potter.
He’ll say: “That’s not a real career.”
He loves you less than he loves degrees he never understood.
---
68. "How much your relatives love you?"
Tell them you no longer believe in God.
They’ll say: “You’ve become arrogant.”
They love you less than they love fearing the sky.
---
69. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to live alone.
No marriage, no partner, just peace.
They’ll say: “That’s loneliness.”
They love you less than they love crowding your silence.
---
70. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to give away family land to a trust.
He’ll say: “You’re destroying your roots.”
He loves you less than he loves dead property.
---
71. "How much your family loves you?"
Tell them you want to skip festivals this year.
Not out of hate—just exhaustion.
They’ll say: “You’re becoming cold.”
They love you less than they love calendar obedience.
---
72. "How much your mother loves you?"
Say you’ve forgiven someone who hurt you deeply.
She’ll say: “Don’t be stupid.”
She loves you less than she loves revenge disguised as justice.
---
73. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you’ve decided to change your surname to your mother’s.
He’ll go silent.
He loves you less than he loves patriarchal lineage.
---
74. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you don't want a degree.
You want to learn by doing.
They’ll say: “That’s not how success works.”
They love you less than they love paper validation.
---
75. "How much your mother loves you?"
Say you don’t want to cook.
Ever.
She’ll say: “Then who will marry you?”
She loves you less than she loves the kitchen as dowry.
---
76. "How much your relatives love you?"
Refuse to sing or dance when they ask.
They’ll call you moody.
They love you less than they love performing children.
---
77. "How much your sister loves you?"
Tell her you didn’t enjoy the family function.
She’ll say: “You always ruin everything.”
She loves you less than she loves the forced smile group photo.
---
78. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you don’t want to wear a tie to interviews.
He’ll say: “Dress properly, show respect.”
He loves you less than he loves borrowed uniforms of worth.
---
79. "How much your family loves you?"
Go bald.
By choice.
They’ll say: “What tragedy happened?”
They love you less than they love hairstyle conformity.
---
80. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you don’t want to touch the feet of that priest who molested someone.
She’ll say: “Just do it and move on.”
She loves you less than she loves the routine of silence.
---
81. "How much your parents love you?"
Tell them you’ll never own a fridge or TV.
They’ll say: “Are you becoming a beggar?”
They love you less than they love gadget respectability.
---
82. "How much your teacher loves you?"
Say you want to drop out and write a book.
She’ll say: “What will your parents say?”
She loves you less than she loves her job security.
---
83. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you want to stop attending weddings, housewarmings, functions.
They’ll say: “You’ve become selfish.”
They love you less than they love RSVP duty.
---
84. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to take care of abandoned dogs for a living.
He’ll laugh.
He loves you less than he loves industries with chairs and AC.
---
85. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you want to live in an ashram or village.
She’ll say: “Have you lost your mind?”
She loves you less than she loves urban survival logic.
---
86. "How much your uncle loves you?"
Tell him your partner earns more than you.
He’ll say: “That will never work.”
He loves you less than he loves male income superiority.
---
87. "How much your aunt loves you?"
Tell her you’re not getting married because you want to travel.
She’ll say: “That’s not a life.”
She loves you less than she loves seeing you trapped like her.
---
88. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to raise a child with someone of another gender, without marriage.
They’ll say: “That’s sin.”
They love you less than they love ancient labels.
---
89. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you don’t believe in national borders.
They’ll say: “You’re anti-national.”
They love you less than they love maps drawn in blood.
---
90. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to become anonymous.
No name, no fame, no ambition.
He’ll say: “What a waste of potential.”
He loves you less than he loves becoming someone through you.
—
91. "How much your father loves you?"
Tell him you want to legally remove ‘father’s name’ from all your documents.
He’ll say: “Are you ashamed of me?”
He loves you less than he loves seeing himself stamped onto your life.
---
92. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to skip Raksha Bandhan this year.
Not out of hate. Just tired.
They’ll say: “Why are you breaking family bonds?”
They love you less than they love rituals that fake intimacy.
---
93. "How much your mother loves you?"
Tell her you’ve stopped praying.
She’ll say: “That’s why your life is stuck.”
She loves you less than she loves blaming silence on God.
---
94. "How much your brother loves you?"
Say you want to take your wife’s name after marriage.
He’ll laugh, then get angry.
He loves you less than he loves surname masculinity.
---
95. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you’re not going to wear new clothes for festivals.
They’ll say: “Don’t disrespect Lakshmi.”
They love you less than they love shopping as religion.
---
96. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to be a street performer.
They’ll say: “Why throw your education in the gutter?”
They love you less than they love placement brochures.
---
97. "How much your grandfather loves you?"
Say you want to break the joint family.
Move out, peacefully.
He’ll say: “You’re destroying unity.”
He loves you less than he loves forced togetherness.
---
98. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to work at a cremation ground.
He’ll say: “You’ve gone mad.”
He loves you less than he loves the illusion of clean careers.
---
99. "How much your relatives love you?"
Refuse dowry.
They’ll say: “Then how will people respect us?”
They love you less than they love decorated transactions.
---
100. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to be childfree forever.
They’ll say: “You’ll regret it when you're old.”
They love you less than they love secondhand parenting.
---
101. "How much your mother loves you?"
Say you don’t want to wear bangles after marriage.
She’ll say: “Without that, how will they know you’re married?”
She loves you less than she loves ornamental proof.
---
102. "How much your family loves you?"
Tell them you’ve changed your religion privately, for peace.
They’ll say: “Then why are you still using our roof and name?”
They love you less than they love the house of god they never built.
---
103. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to legally live with your partner but never marry.
He’ll say: “What will people call you then?”
He loves you less than he loves nameplates and wedding cards.
---
104. "How much your teacher loves you?"
Say you don’t want to compete in any exam anymore.
She’ll say: “Then what’s your worth?”
She loves you less than she loves ranks more than reflection.
---
105. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to change your legal gender.
They’ll freeze.
They love you less than they love the lie of permanence.
---
106. "How much your family loves you?"
Say you’re not going to touch alcohol, but also not touch ghee, sugar, or fried food.
They’ll say: “Don’t act like a saint.”
They love you less than they love poison disguised as celebration.
---
107. "How much your parents love you?"
Say you want to live without owning anything — no land, no gold, no phone.
They’ll panic.
They love you less than they love asset addiction.
---
108. "How much your father loves you?"
Say you want to die on your own terms — without tubes, wires, or machines.
He’ll say: “Don’t speak like that.”
He loves you less than he loves the fantasy of controlling even your end.
---
🖤 EPILOGUE: What Remains When Love Fails
Now you know.
Not all love is love.
Some love is a leash.
Some is a mirror — begging you to reflect someone else.
Some is just fear dressed up in rituals and rules.
Some love dies the moment you choose yourself.
So what remains?
You.
Your name — whatever you want it to be.
Your silence — however sacred it feels.
Your path — crooked, humble, holy.
Your truth — uncomfortable, but yours.
And maybe, someday,
If they ever love you again —
without the rules, the ropes, the reasons—
you’ll welcome them, not with obedience…
but with the dignity of someone who no longer needs to beg for love.
Because now you’ve tasted the truth.
And once you do,
you never forget who loved you only when it was easy.
HEALING DIALOGUE
🪔 SO THIS IS WHAT THEY MEANT BY LOVE
(A warm July morning. The rain has just stopped. Madhukar sits on the floor, pouring castor oil into a small steel bowl. The visitor enters slowly, holding an old diary, sits down without speaking. A few moments pass in silence.)
Madhukar (gently):
You came early today.
Visitor (softly):
I didn’t sleep.
Just kept remembering all the times they said, “We love you.”
Madhukar:
Ah. That sentence.
Soaked in milk and poison.
Visitor:
They said it when I topped exams.
They said it when I wore what they picked.
Said it when I agreed to marriage, job, temple, surname, silence.
But the moment I wanted to say no...
to one of their rules...
their love vanished.
Just like that.
Like vapor.
Madhukar (placing cloth in oil):
It doesn’t vanish, really.
It was never yours.
It was always theirs.
Wired into their hopes, fears, their caste, their version of heaven.
Visitor (voice breaking):
I thought I was loved.
Truly loved.
Madhukar:
You were tolerated.
Praised, celebrated — as long as you stayed in character.
Like an actor in their drama.
But the moment you rewrote a single line,
they said the show is over.
Visitor:
They say I broke their heart.
Madhukar:
No.
You broke their control.
They just named it “heart” to make you feel guilty.
Visitor (quietly):
I told them I want to change my name.
They said I was insulting them.
That I’m a traitor to my roots.
Madhukar:
Even roots rot, if not aired.
You didn’t insult them.
You disturbed their comfort.
You reminded them they built their entire idea of family on obedience — not love.
Visitor:
Am I wrong?
Madhukar (looking up):
You are finally free.
That’s what you are.
And freedom always feels like wrongness when you’ve been raised on a diet of chains.
Visitor:
They say, “We fed you, clothed you, educated you…”
As if that was love.
Madhukar (smiles faintly):
No child in this land was ever told,
“We sat with your sadness.”
“We believed your truth.”
“We let you become someone we didn’t expect — and stayed anyway.”
That’s love.
But they weren’t taught how to do that.
They only know how to give — with expectation.
Visitor (long pause):
So what do I do now?
They’re hurt.
And I feel like an orphan — even though they're alive.
Madhukar (applying warm cloth to belly):
Let the oil enter slowly.
Let the stories leave your body.
You are not an orphan.
You’re just the first in your family to choose truth over tradition.
Visitor:
They told me love is sacrifice.
But every time I sacrificed my truth,
I died a little.
Madhukar:
That’s not love. That’s barter.
Real love never asks for the funeral of your self.
Visitor (tearfully):
Why didn’t they see me?
Why didn’t they love me as I am?
Madhukar (gently):
Because they were never loved as they were.
They were shaped. Bent. Filtered.
So when you refused to bend —
it felt like betrayal.
But it was healing.
Visitor:
I feel so alone.
Madhukar (nodding):
You are.
At the start, truth is a quiet room.
But stay long enough — and you’ll meet others there.
Those who love without needing to rename you.
Rewire you.
Reform you.
Visitor:
Do you think they’ll ever understand?
Madhukar (wringing out the cloth):
Maybe. Maybe not.
But that’s no longer your burden.
Your work now is simple:
To stop begging for love where it is sold with terms and conditions.
Visitor:
Then what remains?
Madhukar:
You.
The real you.
The one they tried to hide under surname, god, degree, lipstick, and shame.
Visitor:
It hurts, anna.
Madhukar (offering a gentle smile):
Yes.
Healing always begins with the death of the lie that said “you were loved for being you.”
Now you start again.
Not as the obedient child.
But as the honest one.
(The room is silent again. Outside, a koel calls. Inside, oil seeps into old knots. Truth breathes for the first time.)
🖤 THEY SAID IT WAS LOVE
they said it was love
but it came with forms to fill,
temples to visit,
surnames to carry,
and silences to swallow.
they said it was love
but the moment you changed your name,
they changed the locks on their warmth.
from chandrakant to chandpasha —
or back again —
it didn’t matter.
you broke the story,
and the story was their god.
they said it was love
but you had to dress it,
pose it,
get it married before 30,
light lamps when told,
bleed quietly,
smile widely,
die slowly.
they said it was love
but the moment you skipped rakhi,
the holy bond became a PR crisis.
they said it was love
but they couldn't bear your real laugh
when it came from a different religion,
a different love,
a different self
that didn’t fold at their feet.
they said it was love
but you had to carry your caste like a medal
or be called ungrateful.
you said,
“I want to be a potter.”
they said,
“What a waste.”
you said,
“I want to adopt.”
they said,
“It won’t be your own.”
you said,
“I don’t believe in God.”
they said,
“Something bad will happen now.”
they said you broke the family
when all you did was open a window.
they said you hurt them
but all you did was refuse to lie anymore.
you skipped one festival,
they called you arrogant.
you questioned one ritual,
they called you lost.
you stayed single,
they said you were broken.
you cried in front of them,
they said, “Be strong.”
you asked for therapy,
they said, “Pray instead.”
you wore white at your wedding,
they wore shame like silk.
you touched your partner in public,
they touched their chest in horror.
you changed your gender,
they changed the subject.
you forgave someone,
they never forgave you.
you told them,
“I want to live alone.”
they heard,
“You have abandoned us.”
you cooked nothing,
they said,
“Then who will marry you?”
you kept your salary low,
they kept their expectations high.
you wore no gold,
no bindi,
no proof of belonging.
they said,
“You look empty.”
but you’d never felt fuller.
you fasted for peace, not gods.
they said,
“You think you’re better than us?”
you gave up sugar,
they gave up talking to you.
you left the country,
they left their warmth.
you gave away land,
they gave you names.
you chose to heal without pills,
they chose to watch you in fear.
you said,
“I want to die without tubes.”
they said,
“Don’t speak like that.”
because they didn’t want you free —
even at the end.
and in all of this,
you learned the bitter math:
they didn’t love you.
they loved your marks.
your mehendi.
your medals.
your folded hands.
your mute grief.
your filtered face.
your silence.
they loved their own reflection
in your compliance.
and the moment you stopped performing,
the spotlight went cold.
they loved you —
as long as you stayed a shadow
of their fantasy.
---
🩶 But now?
now you’ve stepped into the light,
not to prove, not to please —
but to be.
now you walk barefoot —
no caste,
no lipstick,
no myth to maintain.
now you know:
love that demands your death isn’t love — it’s legacy maintenance.
now you look back at them —
holding their rituals like weapons —
and you whisper,
“keep them.”
I will keep my name.
my hunger.
my silence.
my softness.
my truth.
and if someday,
someone says,
“I love you, just as you are — even if you never change,”
you will believe them.
but you will not need them.
because now you love yourself —
not the version they built,
but the one that survived their love.
—
