relationships with far more nuance and tolerance than the imported legal code ever allowed. What the British considered “against the order of nature” was often understood in India as simply another facet of human diversity.

But the argument for decriminalization goes far deeper than cultural history. It speaks to the fundamental role of the State in a democracy. A free society does not monitor consensual relationships between adults. It does not peer into bedrooms. It does not turn natural human expression into an offence. When the law criminalizes identity, it does not just punish acts—it punishes existence. It forces citizens to live in fear, shame, and invisibility.

The impact has been severe. Criminalization gave the police a tool to harass, extort, and intimidate. It pushed LGBTQ+ individuals into the shadows, exposing them to violence, social isolation, and mental trauma. For many, the threat of legal punishment hung over their lives like a constant cloud, even if prosecutions were rare. The mere presence of the law was enough to justify discrimination.

From a constitutional standpoint, the case for decriminalization is equally compelling. The Indian Constitution guarantees equality, dignity, and freedom of expression. It prohibits discrimination and protects personal liberty. When the Supreme Court recognized privacy as a fundamental right in 2017, it effectively laid the foundation for recognizing that sexual orientation, too, is an intimate and protected aspect of personal identity. A democratic Constitution cannot coexist with a law that criminalizes people simply for being who they are.

Opponents of decriminalization often rely on arguments rooted in morality or religious tradition. But the Constitution does not enforce any single moral code; it protects autonomy. Laws cannot be framed on the basis of discomfort or prejudice. If morality alone dictated legality, many of today’s freedoms—inter-caste marriage, inter-faith marriage, even women’s rights—would never have survived social opposition. In a diverse country like India, the law must serve as a shield for minorities, not a weapon for majoritarian sentiment.

Decriminalizing homosexuality is not about promoting any lifestyle; it is about acknowledging that love, partnership, and identity cannot be policed. It does not demand that everyone approve of homosexual relationships. It simply insists that citizens cannot be jailed for them. Decriminalization does not resolve all problems—social stigma, discrimination, and exclusion remain powerful realities. But it removes the heavy hand of the State from the equation and begins a process of healing and recognition.

More importantly, decriminalization sends a message that India is willing to evolve, to correct historical wrongs, and to embrace diversity with confidence rather than fear. A democracy must constantly expand the boundaries of freedom, not shrink them. India’s strength has always been its ability to adapt, absorb, and protect.

The answer, therefore, is clear: decriminalizing homosexuality is not just a legal necessity, but a moral obligation. No society can call itself free while criminalizing love, identity, and dignity. India owes its LGBTQ+ citizens not silence or half-measures, but full recognition of their rightful place in the nation’s constitutional promise.