28. When Property Divides What Blood Once United

 

    "Blood is thicker than water." It is an old saying, but every day in our courts, one wonders whether we have begun to forget its meaning.

Today, I witnessed a matter that left a deep impression on me—not because of the legal arguments, but because of the silent tragedy unfolding behind them.

Two brothers stood on opposite sides of a courtroom, locked in a bitter dispute over their late father's Will. The younger brother had challenged not only the probate proceedings but had also filed a separate petition seeking revocation of the Will itself.

The advocates passionately debated provisions of the Code of Civil Procedure and the legal principle of res judicata.

Res judicata is a Latin expression meaning "a matter already decided." In law, it prevents the same parties from repeatedly litigating an issue that has already been finally decided by a competent court. It is a principle intended to bring finality to litigation, prevent harassment through endless lawsuits, and ensure certainty in the administration of justice.

The legal submissions continued with precision and intensity.

Yet, my thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Seated quietly was a ninety-one-year-old mother.

One could only imagine what she must have been feeling.

Her husband had spent a lifetime building his assets. Like many parents, he would have known his children better than anyone else. He would have understood their individual circumstances, their needs, their strengths, their weaknesses, and perhaps even who had stood beside him during his advancing years.

After careful thought, he exercised the right that every individual possesses—the right to distribute his self-acquired property according to his own wishes. His Will was supported by a medical certificate certifying that he was of sound mind, and it had been executed in the presence of two independent witnesses.

Yet, despite all these safeguards, the family had arrived in court.

The law permits a Will to be challenged. There may indeed be genuine cases involving fraud, coercion, undue influence, or lack of testamentary capacity. Courts exist precisely to examine such allegations fairly and impartially.

But beyond the legal rights lies a more profound question.

What is the true cost of winning an inheritance if, in the process, we lose our brother, our sister, and our family forever?

No mother dreams of seeing her children become strangers.

No father accumulates wealth so that it becomes the cause of lifelong bitterness after his passing.

Parents leave behind property as a blessing.

Children sometimes transform it into a battlefield.

As advocates, judges, and litigants, we naturally focus on legal rights.

As human beings, perhaps we should also reflect upon our moral responsibilities.

An unequal distribution in a Will does not always signify injustice. Equality and fairness are not always identical. A parent may leave more to one child because that child has greater financial need, has cared for ageing parents, has sacrificed opportunities, or because circumstances genuinely warrant different treatment. Every family has a story that outsiders may never fully understand.

Not every perceived inequality deserves a courtroom battle.

Sometimes, acceptance demands greater strength than litigation.

Another reality deserves thoughtful reflection.

When children marry, they gain a life partner whose advice, support, and perspective are invaluable. A healthy marriage is built upon mutual trust and shared decision-making. Yet every married individual must also preserve the affection, respect, and lifelong bond they share with their parents and siblings. Wisdom lies in knowing where guidance ends and where lifelong relationships must be protected. Family decisions should be made with balance, maturity  and an awareness that words spoken in moments of anger can fracture bonds that took decades to build.

Property can be earned again.

Wealth can be rebuilt.

Even fortunes lost today may return tomorrow.

But the childhood memories shared between siblings...

The laughter of growing up together...

The comfort of having someone who has known you since birth...

Those are treasures no court can restore once they are lost.

As someone practising in the field of succession law, I have increasingly come to believe that the greatest legacy parents leave behind is not their houses, bank balances, jewellery, or investments.

It is a united family.

Every legal battle over inheritance should begin with one simple question:

"If our parents were sitting beside us today, would this be what they wanted?"

If the answer is "No," perhaps it is worth pausing before allowing property to become more valuable than people.

Because in the end, an estate can always be divided.

A family should never be.

"स्वतःच्या अहंकारासाठी नात्यांना तोडण्यापेक्षा समंजसपणे प्रश्न सोडवायला शिका."
Instead of breaking relationships because of ego, learn to resolve differences with understanding and wisdom.

"रक्ताच्या नात्यांमध्ये गैरसमज टिकवू नका, कारण नाती एकदा तुटली की पुन्हा जोडता येत नाहीत."
Do not let misunderstandings persist in blood relationships, because once relationships break, they can never truly be restored.

 

27. Before Love Reaches the Courtroom - An Advocate's Reflections on Marriage, Ego, and the Silent Victims of Litigation.

         Yesterday, I was walking through the corridors of the Family Court. It was an ordinary day. Lawyers hurried from one courtroom to another with bulky case files tucked under their arms. Litigants sat anxiously on wooden benches, waiting for their matters to be called out. Some wore expressions of hope, some of despair, and many simply looked exhausted. Children clung to their parents, unaware that the building around them was deciding the future of their families.

As I walked through those long corridors, something above my head caught my attention.

Suspended from the ceiling, at regular intervals, were simple white signboards carrying messages in Marathi. They were not quotations from great philosophers. They were not legal principles. They were simple reminders—perhaps the simplest truths about relationships.

One read:

"Instead of breaking relationships because of your ego, learn to resolve differences with understanding."

Another said:

"To preserve relationships within the family, what is needed is communication, not ego."

Further ahead I read,

"For the sake of your children and your future, do not let your family fall apart."

Then came another,

"Resolve family disputes peacefully, because preserving relationships is the true measure of success in life."

The messages continued.

"Dialogue is the best way to resolve disputes. Here, we give you the opportunity to be heard and guided."

"Love is the essence of every relationship. Leave behind conflict and choose dialogue."

"Harmony and communication are the foundation for maintaining peace and happiness in the family."

"The true meaning of relationships lies in rebuilding them when they have been broken."

And finally, one message stayed with me long after I had left the Court.

"Sometimes stepping back is not a defeat; it is a wise step taken to preserve the family."

I paused for a moment.

Then I asked myself a question.

Do you know where these signboards are displayed?

Not in marriage halls.

Not in pre-marital counselling centres.

Not outside temples where newly married couples seek blessings.

Not in schools where children are taught values.

They hang from the ceilings of the Family Court.

There could perhaps be no greater irony.

These messages are read not by couples beginning their married life, but by husbands and wives who have already reached the stage of filing petitions for divorce, maintenance, custody of children, domestic violence, restitution of conjugal rights and property disputes.

The thought reminded me of the statutory warning printed on every cigarette packet.

"Smoking is injurious to health."

The warning is absolutely correct.

The tragedy is that it is read after the packet has already been bought.

The Family Court signboards carry the same irony.

Every single message hanging from those ceilings is true. Every word is worth practising. But by the time most couples pause to read them, months or years of anger have already accumulated. Communication has broken down. Families have taken sides. Lawyers have been consulted. Police complaints may have been filed. Petitions have already been drafted. The relationship has crossed the stage where advice is easy to accept.

As I stood there absorbing these thoughts, a matter was called out in one of the courtrooms.

A young woman, probably in her early thirties, stood before the Judge. There was no advocate standing beside her. She was representing herself because she simply could not afford one.

With folded hands she requested the Court to direct her husband to comply with the maintenance order already passed.

The Judge patiently explained that the Court was not a recovery agency. It could pass orders. It could enforce the law through legal processes. But it could not personally recover money every month. He looked towards the husband and reminded him of his obligation to comply with the order.

Immediately, the husband rose and said that his wife herself earned nearly ₹60,000 a month and questioned why she was still demanding maintenance.

The young woman quietly replied that she was not asking him to maintain her.

"I earn enough to pay my rent and my food," she said.

"But our daughter is not my responsibility alone. Her education, her upbringing and her future are equally his responsibility."

Then she said something that moved everyone present.

"I have forgiven him. I am trying to forget everything that he and his family did to me. I only want him to fulfil his responsibility towards our daughter."

Within minutes, the atmosphere inside the courtroom changed.

What had begun as a legal hearing became an emotional confrontation.

The husband spoke.

The wife interrupted.

The Judge intervened.

Young advocates watched.

Police personnel stood quietly.

Members of the public listened.

The most private moments of two people's married life had become the subject of discussion before complete strangers.

As I watched them, one question kept echoing in my mind.

How does a relationship that once began with love, blessings, music, laughter and wedding vows finally reach a courtroom?

Because no marriage breaks in a single day.

It begins with small misunderstandings that remain unresolved.

Words spoken in anger.

Words that should have been spoken but never were.

Expectations that were never communicated.

Apologies that were never offered.

Forgiveness that was postponed.

Parents and relatives, often with the best of intentions, become emotionally involved. Every family naturally wishes to protect its own child. Advice is offered. Opinions are formed. Ego quietly enters the relationship. Husband and wife slowly stop speaking to each other and begin speaking through others.

The disagreement grows larger than the relationship itself.

Soon, what was once a misunderstanding becomes a contest of self-respect.

Then comes the legal notice.

Then the police complaint.

Then the maintenance petition.

Then the custody proceedings.

Then the divorce petition.

And something changes the moment litigation begins.

The purpose is no longer reconciliation.

It gradually becomes vindication.

The husband wants the Court to believe he was right.

The wife wants the Court to recognise the injustice she suffered.

Every WhatsApp message becomes evidence.

Every bank statement becomes an exhibit.

Every conversation becomes an allegation.

Every family member becomes a witness.

Children become silent spectators in a battle they never chose.

Years pass.

Money can be earned again.

Cases eventually conclude.

Judgments are pronounced.

But emotional wounds rarely follow the court's timetable.

This is why every marriage should begin with a conversation that is far more important than discussing the wedding venue, jewellery, careers or finances.

What exactly is marriage?

Marriage is not merely a ceremony performed before relatives. It is not merely a legal status recorded under personal laws. Marriage is a conscious decision taken every single day by two imperfect human beings to protect their relationship from pride, suspicion, interference and silence.

Trust is not built in one day.

Communication cannot begin only when problems arise.

Transparency cannot be selective.

Truthfulness cannot be occasional.

If husband and wife are not each other's safest place, someone else will occupy that space. And once outsiders begin influencing every disagreement, the marriage gradually stops belonging to the couple.

Parents deserve respect. Their blessings are invaluable. Their experience is immense. But every married couple must decide where guidance ends and interference begins. No parent can truly understand what happens inside a marriage unless both spouses continue speaking honestly with each other.

Not every marriage can be saved. There are cases of cruelty, abuse, violence and addiction where approaching the Court is not merely justified but necessary. The law exists precisely to protect the vulnerable.

But countless other cases do not begin with cruelty.

They begin with communication breaking down.

And perhaps that is why those ten signboards hang silently from the ceilings of the Family Court.

They are not addressed to litigants.

They are addressed to society.

They remind us that the greatest victory is not obtaining a decree of divorce, a maintenance order or a custody order.

The greatest victory is ensuring that such litigation becomes unnecessary when understanding prevails over ego, dialogues prevail over silence, forgiveness prevails over revenge, and wisdom prevails over anger.

The law can dissolve a marriage.

Only maturity can preserve one.

 

26. My First Visit to Belapur Court – A Day of Learning and New Beginnings

         Today was a special day for me—my first visit to the Belapur Court. Having lived in Kharghar for so many years, it was amusing to realise that I had never even known exactly where the court was located!

The day began unexpectedly when Vaishali called and told me that she and Monica were going to court and asked me to join them. I reached there 10 minutes earlier than the appointed time, excited and curious about this new world that I am now beginning to enter as an advocate.

Vaishali and Monica took me first to the Ladies’ Advocates’ Room and then patiently guided me through the various courtrooms. They explained the civil and criminal courts, the NMMC matters Court Room, the different proceedings, and many practical aspects of court functioning. They introduced me to fellow advocates and, throughout the visit, made sure that I felt comfortable and included.

In some ways, the experience took me back more than twenty years, when, as an Income Tax Inspector, I used to visit the High Court on behalf of the Department. But today felt very different. Then, I was there as a departmental officer; today, I was seeing the world of litigation from the perspective of an advocate. It felt new, challenging and fascinating.

As I watched the litigants, defendants, accused persons, advocates and court staff moving through the corridors, one thought stayed with me: courts, like hospitals, are places that most people would rather not have to visit. Behind every case is a person waiting for an answer, a resolution or justice. It made me feel even more strongly that justice should reach people as fairly and as early as possible.

I was also impressed to see so many young advocates—boys and girls—working hard, learning, arguing and building their careers. There was so much to observe and so much to learn. It was my day out.

A very special thank you to my dear colleagues and fellow advocates, Vaishali and Monica. You were wonderful guides today. You patiently explained everything, introduced me to people, looked after me and made my very first visit to the Belapur Court comfortable, interesting and memorable. You have shown me a direction, and I am truly grateful.

Today was a day of observation, learning and, perhaps, the beginning of a new chapter in my life. I look forward to many more such visits, to understanding court procedures and the practical side of law, and eventually to using my knowledge and experience to be of help to others and to do some meaningful work.

Thank you, Vaishali and Monica, for making my first day at Belapur Court such a good experience. A new journey has begun, and I look forward to where it takes me.