India through my eyes. A Personal Journey of Frustration and Disillusionment

I’ve always been a proud Indian, patriotic to the core. As a well-off Bihari, I grew up thinking that this country, with all its diversity, culture, and potential, would always have a place for me. But over time, the harsh reality of being a Bihari in India has shattered my idealistic views, and I’m left with nothing but anger, frustration, and yes, hatred toward this country. First, let me make one thing clear: This hate isn’t about India as a concept—it’s about the people who make up this nation and the way they’ve treated me, and people like me, for years. My journey of disillusionment started with the constant stereotyping and dehumanization of Biharis, especially the working-class ones. It’s exhausting to constantly hear that Biharis are “uncivilized,” “unrefined,” or “loud,” just because of where they’re from or their social class. The worst part is that these stereotypes aren’t just words—they are lived experiences. We’ve all seen how people from Bihar are mocked, ridiculed, and looked down upon in cities like Delhi. The majority of the country doesn’t see the hardworking, resilient side of us; they see only the negative labels attached to us. It’s as if our very identity is reduced to gutter stereotypes, and no matter how much you try to rise above it, you’re always pulled back into the same place: a place where your worth is questioned because of your roots. Over the years, I’ve also realized how broken this system is. It’s not just about regional prejudice; it’s about a deep-rooted, systemic discrimination that exists throughout the country. When you see the vast inequality, the lack of representation, and the way people from certain regions are kept in the margins, it’s hard not to feel angry. The country is supposed to be united, but it feels more like a collection of divided, angry groups. When the majority continues to perpetuate hate, when stereotypes are ignored or even laughed off, it starts to feel like the system itself is built to silence and oppress certain people. The constant struggle for acceptance, for respect, wears you down. I used to be extremely patriotic, believing that India’s greatness would one day shine through. But now, I see a country that’s content to let its divisions grow, a country that doesn’t care about the marginalized, that thrives on hatred and division. I see people who are willing to hate based on someone’s region, language, or background, and I see no real change coming. How can I love a place that refuses to even acknowledge my worth? I’ve watched as people in power have perpetuated these divides, and as the media has done nothing to change the narrative. I’ve watched as people from Bihar have had to fight tooth and nail for even the smallest of opportunities, while others with privilege have everything handed to them. The idea of "unity in diversity" rings hollow when the people you are supposed to be united with see you as lesser. I’m tired of defending myself, tired of fighting a battle that feels like it’s against an entire society. I’m tired of seeing Biharis and other marginalized communities being treated like second-class citizens in their own country. And the worst part? I’ve realized that this hatred isn't just mine; it’s shared by millions of others who feel the same way, but their voices are drowned out. So yeah, I hate India—not because of its potential, but because of the people who’ve turned it into a place where people like me are constantly made to feel like we don't belong. I hate India because it has shown me that my identity, my background, and my culture are nothing more than fodder for people to mock and degrade. This isn't just about Bihar or Biharis—it’s about the failure of a nation to live up to the ideals it claims to stand for. I hate that India has become a place where hate is normalized, where prejudice thrives, and where the cries of the marginalized are ignored. Maybe one day this country will change. But for now, all I can do is be honest about why I feel the way I do.