Illustration by Opashona Ghosh.
In a church adorned with jasmine flowers and fairy lights, I looked into the eyes of my partner and said “I will”. It was a few weeks before the COVID-19 pandemic, and the pews were full — my friends and family had flown into Visakhapatnam from all over the country, and the world, to attend the ceremony. I was wearing an off-white brocade sari, a champagne-coloured veil that matched the sari’s zari and a shade of lipstick that was in step with my brown-skinned foundation. I liked how I looked. After reciting my vows, I walked the wedding march holding my partner’s suited elbows — feeling loved and accomplished.
This moment had been 16 years in the making. After several (exhausting) dates, multiple relationships that went nowhere, unspeakable abuse and hours of therapy, I found my home in a Dalit man. He came into my life at a time when…
