Emotionally together, legally strangers – The Hindu

They shared their home, their dreams, even a shelf of medicine, one for his blood pressure, one for her anxiety. But when the hospital asked for a legal caregiver, the silence was deafening. Their story wasn’t written in law. It was lived, and that didn’t count.

In a country governed by paperwork, where recognition often demands rubber stamps and registered deeds, love without documentation is love without legitimacy. For millions of Indians in live-in partnerships, especially interfaith and LGBTQIA+ unions, emotional commitment doesn’t translate into legal standing. They are present in life but absent on paper.

As a law student, I’ve spent hours dissecting judgments, scribbling procedural flows, and debating case law that tries often too cautiously to accommodate new forms of relationships. But theory rarely prepares you for the quiet ache of unacknowledged existence.

The law around live-in relationships is evolving. Courts have offered protection from harassment, acknowledged domestic violence claims, and occasionally even granted maintenance. Yet, inconsistencies persist. Where one judge sees cohabitation as companionship, another dismisses it as “morally unacceptable”. Legal validation, if it comes, often comes late only after trauma, separation, or death.

What do we call a bond that endures illness, joblessness, bigotry, and family estrangement but still doesn’t qualify for a joint bank account or tenancy rights?

“Emotionally married, legally strangers.”

The irony is cruel. The legal system, meant to protect the vulnerable, inadvertently renders them invisible. Interfaith couples navigate fear alongside bureaucracy. LGBTQIA+ partners, despite historic judgments, tiptoe around state recognition. Many heterosexual live-in partners too remain unprotected, left wondering if the law can offer more than posthumous condolences.

And the documentation trap? It’s relentless. Housing societies demand no-objection certificates. Government forms ask for marital status with no “other” option. Insurance companies squint at cohabitation affidavits. You either fit the boxes or you’re forgotten.

But legality isn’t just about paperwork. It’s about respect, access, safety. It’s about being able to say “we” in front of a system that insists on “I”. In its current form, our legal framework doesn’t just fail to protect, it fails to see.

I dream of reform — not just statutory amendments, but societal empathy. A future where love isn’t ranked by rituals, where a partner isn’t penalised for not being a spouse. Where the law listens not only to documentation, but to devotion.

Because some relationships are drafted in care, signed with loyalty, and sealed by time.

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