Tag: Humanity

On Looking Down, and Looking In

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I met someone recently—someone I’d spoken to online—at a party I attended not long ago. In person, though, something felt immediately off. Not because of chemistry or the lack of it, but because of an almost compulsive need he seemed to have: to look down on everything around him.

The party wasn’t good enough.

The music wasn’t up to the mark.

The people weren’t interesting enough.

Nothing passed muster. Everything required commentary, and all of it was dismissive.

He told me he was 22. And instinctively, I wondered if this was an age thing. But then I stopped myself. I was once that age too. I don’t remember needing to belittle an entire room to feel significant within it.

What unsettled me more was the familiarity of it. I’ve encountered this posture before—among people I’ve known, been friends with, sometimes even admired at one point. A certain self-appointed elite, defined not by kindness or depth, but by what and whom they reject. How others dress. How they speak. What music they like. Where they come from. Everything becomes a metric for exclusion.

I’m not pretending I’m immune to prejudice. I’m not. I know exactly where mine lies.

I don’t tend to judge people by caste, class, race, or colour. But I do judge—quietly, perhaps arrogantly—on intellectual and emotional grounds. Empathy matters deeply to me. Curiosity matters. The ability to question inherited beliefs matters. And yes, I struggle with people who are blinded by unexamined faith or rigid dogma. That is my bias. I own it.

So the uncomfortable question arose: was I doing something similar to him, just dressed in better language?

I don’t think it’s the same. Or at least, I hope it isn’t.

Because there is a difference between choosing not to engage, and actively deriding. Between recognising incompatibility, and making contempt a personality trait. What I witnessed wasn’t discernment—it was dismissal masquerading as sophistication.

There’s something deeply sad about believing that to appear intelligent, dapper, or “above it all,” one must constantly signal what one is not. That one must shrink others to inflate oneself. It’s a brittle kind of confidence, and it cracks easily.

Perhaps age does play a role. At 22, there is often a frantic need to impress—by saying the right things, having the right opinions, aligning oneself with the “correct” tastes. Sometimes that performance hardens into habit. Sometimes it softens with time. I don’t know which way it will go for him.

What I do know is this: I don’t need to pull anyone down to feel whole. I don’t need to sneer at a room to belong in it. If I don’t resonate, I can simply step away—with grace.

We live in a world already cruel enough, stratified enough, lonely enough. Choosing empathy over elitism isn’t naïveté; it’s resistance.

And perhaps the real marker of maturity—emotional, intellectual, human—is not how sharply we judge, but how gently we hold our differences.

When Sinners Preach Sanctity

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Religious faith has long been considered a moral compass, guiding individuals on how to live righteous lives. Yet, history and modern reality prove that some of the most vocal defenders of religious purity are also the worst offenders of the very principles they claim to uphold.

From conservative Hindutva proponents who are secretly gay to Muslim men leading double lives, from Christian priests accused of sexual abuse to ultra-Orthodox Jewish leaders involved in scandals—this hypocrisy is not exclusive to any one faith. It is a pattern seen across religions, where individuals who should be champions of morality use their power and influence to condemn others while indulging in the very acts they claim to oppose.

As an openly gay man who values honesty—especially with those I love—I find this behaviour deeply reprehensible. Not because people struggle with faith and identity (many do), but because these individuals actively harm others to maintain their false facade of righteousness.

In India, the rise of right-wing Hindutva ideology has led to an aggressive push for so-called “traditional values,” often at the expense of LGBTQ+ rights. Ironically, many of the most vocal proponents of this ideology are themselves closeted gay men who weaponise religion to mask their own identity. Reports have surfaced of right-wing influencers and politicians using gay dating apps like Grindr while simultaneously advocating for laws and policies that suppress queer visibility. Instead of standing in solidarity with LGBTQ+ individuals, they become enforcers of homophobia, believing that condemning others will prevent scrutiny of their own lives.

In deeply conservative Muslim communities, homosexuality is often criminalised or considered a grave sin. Yet, time and again, stories emerge of married Muslim men engaging in same-sex relationships in secret while maintaining a facade of religious piety. Some of these men actively promote patriarchal religious norms, oppressing women and policing public morality while secretly violating the very rules they impose on others. Their hypocrisy is glaring—they demand the privilege of secrecy while ensuring that openly queer people face persecution.

Perhaps the most well-documented example of religious hypocrisy comes from Christianity, particularly within the Catholic Church. The Vatican has faced countless allegations of sexual abuse by priests, bishops, and even cardinals—men who preach celibacy and moral purity yet have used their positions of power to exploit the vulnerable. The systemic cover-up of these crimes, where the Church has moved abusive priests instead of holding them accountable, is a testament to how religious institutions prioritise image over integrity. Evangelical preachers in the U.S. have also been caught in scandals involving extramarital affairs, drug use, and financial fraud—all while condemning homosexuality and “immorality” in public sermons.

The ultra-Orthodox Jewish community, known for its rigid religious laws, has also had its share of hypocrisy. Reports have surfaced of rabbis involved in sexual abuse cases, often targeting young boys or vulnerable women within their own communities. Despite strict religious codes governing gender segregation, modesty, and sexual behaviour, some of these leaders have abused their positions while continuing to enforce these restrictive rules on others.

As someone who has chosen to live openly, I find this behaviour unacceptable. The issue isn’t that people struggle with faith and identity—many LGBTQ+ individuals grapple with religious teachings that condemn them. The problem arises when, firstly, They betray the communities they belong to. Instead of standing with other queer people who are fighting for acceptance, they work against them, reinforcing homophobic narratives to protect their own secrets. Secondly, when they uphold oppression while privately benefiting from the freedoms they deny others. Openly queer individuals must fight for their right to exist, while these hypocrites live their truth in secret and then turn around to punish those who do so openly. Finally, when they use religion as a tool of control rather than personal faith. Instead of questioning outdated doctrines, they weaponise them to maintain their power and influence.

Faith and identity do not have to be at odds. Many queer people find ways to reconcile their spirituality with their truth. But doing so requires honesty, not deception. The real moral failure is not in being gay, struggling with faith, or questioning religious doctrine—it is in preaching one thing while living another, in punishing others for sins you yourself commit, and in using religion as a shield for your own hypocrisy.

True morality is not about pretending to be virtuous—it is about having the courage to live authentically, even when it is difficult. Those who continue to live a lie while condemning others will eventually be exposed. And when they are, they will not be remembered for their faith, but for their betrayal.

The Ambition of Love

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Be careful how much you tolerate, because you are teaching others how to treat you. I learned this lesson the hard way. I’ve been giving of myself for as long as I can remember. I came from a broken home where my father was abusive, and this fostered an inferiority complex early on. This feeling of inadequacy grew into an overpowering need to be loved, especially by men. It suppressed my will to shine.

I am talented. I speak well, I write well. I used to paint and still sketch occasionally. I’m a good photographer, with a keen eye for style. People often come to me for fashion advice. I can orate. I am intelligent— and I am aware of how rare a quality that truly is. I am courageous. I’ve stood up to bullies, for as long as I can remember. I am a survivor, enduring my father’s regular abuse from the age of 13 to 19. I never show that I’m scared, even when I’m in the midst of an anxiety attack. Despite knowing I didn’t have to hide my fear, I did.

I haven’t succumbed to depression, though I came close. At 21, I was on the verge of taking my own life but stopped myself, realising that life isn’t just about one experience, one decision, or even today. I came out to my mum at 16, and by 19, my whole family knew. I was out and proud.

Human relationships became paramount in my life, and I placed a high value on abstractions like love and fidelity. I looked down on those who struggled with the pursuit of material ambition. I used to dismiss their drive for money, believing it paled in comparison to the importance of human connection. During my studies in English literature, I came across the famous lines in Paradise Lost, where Lucifer (Satan) declares in defiance:

“Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.”

This quote, from Book I, reflects Satan’s refusal to submit to God’s authority and his preference for ruling over his own domain, even if it meant enduring eternal damnation. His ambition and desire for power were central to his rebellion.

Over time, however, I stopped believing in God. I began to read what various religions had to say about ambition, because I was free from the tethering to one. Most theologies encourage ambition, but only when it’s rooted in moral, spiritual, or altruistic goals—serving others, improving oneself, or seeking knowledge. And, unchecked or self-centred ambition—linked to pride, greed, or ego—is frequently seen as a source of suffering, spiritual downfall, or ethical corruption. A balance of ambition with humility, selflessness, and alignment with higher principles is a common thread across these belief systems.

While ambition in both material and relational spheres can be noble, it is still bound by human limitations. No matter how altruistic the goal, human fallibility—whether one’s own or others’—can lead to suffering. The pursuit of meaningful relationships, like any other ambition, sometimes results in disillusionment.

This realisation led me to further reflection. If both material and relational pursuits are prone to failure, what remains? Perhaps this hints at the need for a broader acceptance of impermanence, acknowledging that all human endeavours—whether rooted in religion, ambition, or love—are inherently transient. The sense of abjection I’ve experienced after nearly 50 years of human interaction points towards the same fundamental truth found in spiritual teachings: that suffering arises from attachment. This time, however, the attachment wasn’t to material gain but to relationships themselves.

In this sense, the ideology I have developed may be evolving towards a philosophy where the emphasis is not just on ambition or relationships but on a broader equanimity. The wisdom lies in accepting that ambition—whether spiritual or secular, whether tied to relationships or success—is part of the human experience, but it is not its endpoint. Life’s impermanence flows through everything we pursue, and the challenge is to navigate ambition and relationships with care, knowing they too are temporary.

The trajectory of my life shifted from religious ambition to the pursuit of human connection, only to discover that even these relationships, which I once saw as the ultimate goal, are susceptible to profound loss. This ideology grapples with the limits of ambition in any form—religious or secular. The ultimate challenge seems to be finding peace in the space between striving and letting go. While the ambition to cultivate relationships is meaningful, it must also come with the understanding that even the best connections can be lost.

In the end, it is only the self that can truly be relied upon. Even though we need wider sustenance—whether in the form of money or love from the outside world—what we fold into ourselves remains ours. This, perhaps, is what I’ve learned. There is no right or wrong way to live. In the end, everything crashes and burns, only to build up again. And that’s life.