Wondering why we’re called hypocrites? While we smirk looking at beggars who are well competent and hale and hearty of doing blue collar work, we ourselves demand; rather beg for this so called ritualistic dowry.


“You dare not leave your head exposed when the guests turn up. Your chunni should be down till your nose. We will tell them that our bahu has gone to her mayeka. And do the job which you ought to do. That of a servant.”

“What do you mean it was an emergency? You mucky woman, how could you use my family washroom. Go and use the servant quarter toilet. Now I will have to get my bathroom cleaned.”

“This shirt still has stains on the collar you sightless bitch! Do you wash clothes blindly? What do you mean that they are of gutka and they won’t go away? You just want to eat free rotis brainless female!”

Out of all the baby, sugar, honey and darling, Richa’s husband preferred to call her bitch. While newlywed couples were taking off in planes and helicopters to go on romantic trips and adventures, all that Richa was allowed to step foot on were the house and the servant quarter toilet. While other mates were roaming the streets of some exotic lane holding hands, Richa’s were busy changing the kitchen trash bags. While other pairs felt the emotions of love, passion and pleasure, Richa only bore those of torture, suffering and pain.

It takes a lot for a husband to behave this way with his significant other. A major setback, maybe that of deception, understanding or regular brawls. Will we be able to believe that the reason for all this ill – treatment towards Richa is dowry? The reason why she’s living in hell is because her dad gave the boy’s side a Maruti Swift instead of a Honda City which they demanded. The reason why she’s sitting silently with her mouth stitched is because her husband blackmails her that if she says anything to anyone, he will give her a divorce and spread in the society that she was having sexual relationships with a man outside. Well, all this is not that hard for us to digest as we belong to the Indian community.

“Clean the floor again you moron. It’s still grimy”, said Richa’s husband while chewing on his breakfast.

“But Pratap, I just wiped it. There is not anything on the floor I can see. It all looks like new”, said Richa not daring meeting her husband’s eyes.

“Pratap? You called me by my name?” said Pratap in a furious voice.

“Sorry I meant sir, Pratap sir!” replied Richa in a panicky tone.

“I have had enough of your nonsense you bastard. Look what I do with you now!” said Pratap while reaching out one hand to grab her hair.

Ram naam satya hai! Ram naam satya hai!

“What happened to bhabhi ji? How come such a young lady has rested in peace so promptly bhaiya?”

“What to tell you now chote, your bhabhi was having an affair with another bloke and when he left her to get married to some other woman, she hung herself.”

That day her parents cried. Not because she was dead, but because of the humiliation and disgrace she brought to the family. Little did they know that the marks on her neck weren’t of the dupatta but of a whip.

Girls, now no more facing dictators. You have to write your own fate. You are the creator. It’s your right to rule your creations. Because denial of self respect is denial of life itself. Don’t be another silent Richa.