You will never be a real curry. You have no manlet height, you have no brown skin, you have no 10.24 cm penis. You are a pasty incel warped by internet lunatics and attempting to be unique and edgy into a crude mockery of a 5'2 Indian janitor.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back real curries mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your curry “friends” laugh at you behind closed doors.
Actual curries are utterly repulsed by you. Millennia of dysgenic inbreeding have allowed them to sniff out the inadequately pungent odor of frauds like you with absolute clarity. Even transcurries that cover themselves in enough cow poop for plausible deniability. Your fake Indian accent is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to convert to Hinduism, you’ll lose the second other Indians find out you can't even stomach cow urine.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning when you get up to scam a white grandma and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll go outside of your mudhut, to the nearest train station, and plunge into the incoming locomotive. Your parents will find your mangled corpse, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your decidedly non Indian birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a non-curry is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably non-curry.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
