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.
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