Don’t know if you noticed, but lately I’ve been trying to be more upbeat and jolly-hockey-sticks-positive here in this blog.
To be honest, I was fed up of the unpleasant trolling and the racial abuse I got, any time I blogged about rape or anything that ruffled the feathers of the unquestioning “I love my India” brigade.
I lost followers because of criticism of the way the pandemic was handled.
I was loudly abused for speaking out against crimes against women.
If one more ****hole told me to “go back to your country”, I would’ve screamed.
India IS my country, dammit.
I live here. I will almost certainly die and be buried here, so to be told to leave, every time I expressed horror at another rape…well, it wasn’t nice. Let’s just leave it there.
And, you know what, since I’m blogging for fun, not money, I decided to cut out the unnecessary crap and negativity.
So, yes, far fewer blogs about the stories that upset the “My India” brigade.
There always is a but, isn’t there…
But when I found myself weeping at 6.30 am over this photo on the front page of my morning paper, I felt it should be shared.
Coronavirus is out of control again here in India, and my own city, Delhi, is particularly badly hit. As from tomorrow, we are going into weekend curfews.
The Kumbh Mela, tom-tom-ed as the biggest religious gathering in the world by the kind of people who like stats like that, is going ahead in the northern state of Uttarkhand.
Millions of people, virtually no COVID controls, but religion must go ahead.
Political rallies in West Bengal which the ruling party is trying to win.
I am feeling numb and weary and almost too low to be shocked any more by the mismanagement of this crisis any more.
My heart weeps for MY country.