We are back in the pods once again, as a second series of Love Is Blind UK has dropped on Netflix. After being glued to the American version of the show, we now get a chance to see British singles try to find love without ever setting eyes on their romantic partner. Instead, engagements happen based on emotional and intellectual attraction alone.
It’s a concept I used to believe in wholeheartedly. When asked in a secondary school RE lesson to rank how important things like race and religion were to a marriage, I said “not important at all.” I still do believe that, to some extent. Love is uncontrollable, chemical and sometimes unexpected – but love alone isn’t always enough to sustain a marriage.
In Love Is Blind UK season 2’s first batch of episodes, two singles, Kal and Sarover, found a connection through a wall. They discussed their career aspirations, their hopes for a family and their family traumas, getting more vulnerable than you’re likely to do on any other first date. But after a revelation about Kal’s family, the couple realised there was something big that could stunt their relationship.
The Love is Blind UK pods are back in business.
Kal is mixed-English and Pakistani, from a Muslim background, while Sarover is British Indian. As two brown singles, on the surface there might not seem to be an issue. But after finding out about each other’s heritages, the pair immediately joked about the historic divide between India and Pakistan, wondering if they could “bridge the gap” and “solve history.”
It’s a concern many South Asians are aware of, and a situation that’s arguably harder to navigate than straight-up racism. After the British ripped apart India in 1947, known as Partition, Hindus, Sikhs and Muslims were forced to ‘choose’ a side. Communities and families that had once peacefully lived alongside each other were pushed to either stay in the newly defined India or move to Pakistan, displacing between 12 to 20 million people. The uprooting caused riots, massacres and sexual assaults based on religion, with anywhere between several hundred thousand and two million people affected. No side was innocent.
Happening less than eighty years ago, the scars of Partition continue to be felt deeply around the diaspora. My own grandfather was caught up in the violence, spending six months in a refugee camp after his entire family was nearly murdered on a train crossing the border. Religious tensions are also still rife in India, whipped up by Prime Minister Narendra Modi of Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party.
These political and historic frictions have led to a situation where many South Asians are discouraged or forbidden from dating outside of their religion or caste. As Sarover shares to Kal, she’s only ever dated Indian boys, feeling a lot of pressure to make her family “proud.” Kal also admits that he might not have spoken to Sarover or an Indian woman outside of the pods, knowing the extra strain this could add to a relationship.
It’s these notions of shame that make even the most progressive of South Asian singles cautious to start a relationship with someone from the other side of the border. As Dr Belynder Walia, founder of Serene Lifestyles, explains, “The India-Pakistan dynamic adds deep layers of complexity. For some, this is a perceived declaration of loyalty as well as a love story because of religious and historical tensions.
“These dynamics are frequently caused by identity preservation, generational wounds and deeply embedded cultural narratives, which focus on what the participants represent to their communities rather than just the individuals themselves,” she adds. Walia also notes that the burden of this shame can disproportionately fall on women, as “women's decisions are still influenced by family ‘honour’ in many traditions, whereas men are given more social freedom.”
It’s something I’ve felt first-hand. As a mixed-Sikh Punjabi single, I dated a Pakistani Muslim man for nearly two years. We met on Bumble during the pandemic, not knowing we lived on the roads next to each other, but were forced to keep our relationship quiet. We both lived with family, who we knew would disapprove and we didn’t want to upset. I could never go to his house and had to hide from view and stay quiet whenever his parents called when we were out together. Trips away had to be booked on my card, as his parents had access to his bank accounts, and when I bought my own flat, he could rarely stay over.
I knew I’d get tired of this dynamic – I told him so at the start of our relationship. But throughout lockdown, when everyone’s world got smaller, having someone nearby was a comfort. When restrictions lifted and I wanted to go out more, I wasn’t happy to stay a secret. I didn’t like the things his mum said about me or my body, clearly suspicious of and trying to deter our ‘friendship.’ I loved him, but I knew I had to end things.
While we were together, I constantly asked myself why I couldn’t just tell my family the truth – after all, I’m consistently vocal against injustice. During lockdown, I taught my Granny why we say Black Lives Matter rather than All Lives Matter. I wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for a partner of another race, but something about an Indo-Pakistani romance feels delicate and harder to pinpoint. As psychotherapist and founder of Care2Counsel Tina Chummun adds, “you’re dealing with accusations of disloyalty and dishonour, as shaped by deeply rooted generational narratives of partition, colonialism and communal trauma.”
Sonal Dave, who appeared in the last series of Love Is Blind UK in her role as a celebrant, continued to say that approval from our families can also indicate love in a way that “isn’t always shown in Indian households: “When a family embraces our choice of partner, it strengthens our sense of making a ‘right’ choice. If they are critical and disapproving, it can make us doubt ourselves, even if the relationship is healthy and fulfilling.”
I’m not alone. As a teenager, Indian-Pakistani relationships were conducted in the school playground or library, away from the eyes of older brothers ready to use their fists to enforce the message. An Indian friend also told me she’d never subject romantic partners to the racism they would face from her family, that it was “better not to even attempt to date someone from Pakistan.”
Sarover and Kal are very aware of the challenges they face, justified or not, and able to discuss them openly. There’s a mutual understanding that these are community rather than singular prejudices, and a knowledge that relationships are sometimes with a choice: your partner or your entire family. Feelings of loneliness, rejection, isolation and even selfishness can cause an internal tug of war.
So if you do find yourself in this situation, how do you handle it? The first step, according to Dave, is to understand where your family is coming from: “our elders grew up in a different time, where history, duty, religion, tradition and stability were their only choices. Younger generations have the opportunity to value love and companionship.” Being aware of this can help you approach the conversation with empathy and context.
Unfortunately, the only way out is through open conversations. Allaying any fears your family may have can be important, while also being clear that this is your life and your decision. “Try to keep conversations calm. Let the person say what they are worried about, feel heard, then share your own thoughts,” Dave says. It’s also important to note that acceptance might not happen immediately, so give it time.
Ultimately, the decision is personal. You deserve love on your terms, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be an easy ride. Love might be blind, but marriage is better with your eyes wide open.
“My relationships don’t have to fit into boxes others expect them to.”
