When Love Turns into Litigation

A courtroom is perhaps the last place one imagines when dreaming of marriage. Couples walk into wedlock with fantasies of companionship, celebration, and stability, but far too often the destination turns out to be a family court, where strangers in black coats decide the fate of what was once believed to be a sacred bond. The Indian family court today is overburdened not because marriage has lost its importance, but because the expectations placed upon it have grown unreal, and when those expectations collapse, the law is forced to carry the burden.

The truth is uncomfortable: what we see in courts is only the visible tip of a vast iceberg. For every divorce petition filed, there are dozens of households where husband and wife live like silent prisoners of their own decisions. They are trapped not because reconciliation is possible, but because alternatives are scarce. Society frowns on separation, parents fear shame, children become bargaining chips, and financial insecurity chains them together. The result is paralysis—people neither walk away nor fully commit to living together. Only the most determined, desperate, or courageous couples bring their disputes into courtrooms, which is why judges themselves often remark that they are “merely formalizing what was already dead.”

The Evaporation of Fantasy

The story almost always begins the same way: attraction, romance, or a socially arranged match packaged with hope. In the beginning, couples mistake infatuation or novelty for love. The honeymoon glow creates a fantasy of eternal companionship. Yet as months pass, the daily grind takes over. The thrill subsides, and reality takes the driver’s seat. Loneliness creeps in, petty quarrels multiply, and boredom grows heavy. Both partners discover that the other is not the fantasy they married but a real human being with flaws, moods, and limitations.

This is when complaints begin to dominate conversations. Men feel unappreciated, women feel unloved. The silver coating of rituals, ceremonies, and social validation wears off, exposing a plain existence. Many men start feeling that marriage is more of a responsibility than a companionship; many women feel suffocated, unrecognized, and emotionally starved. Psychologists describe this stage as the “post-romantic disillusionment,” a universal phenomenon where the brain shifts from the dopamine rush of novelty to the serotonin stability of routine. For those who expected fireworks forever, this feels like betrayal.

The Silent Trap

In such a climate, most couples feel trapped. Divorce is an option, yes, but not a simple one. For men, it often means lifelong financial obligations, loss of home, or alienation from children. For women, it often means stigma, insecurity, and the struggle of single parenthood in a still-judgmental society. Thus, many stay together unhappily. They avoid courts, not because their marriages work, but because the price of legal exit appears even harsher than the prison of daily discontent.

But a smaller, more determined segment takes the leap into litigation. And once inside the court system, a private tragedy becomes a public dispute.

The Courtroom Theatre

The courtroom strips away intimacy. Lawyers argue in the language of petitions, affidavits, and cross-examinations. Every private quarrel becomes a public allegation—cruelty, neglect, harassment, dowry demand, violence, adultery. Even when neither party truly believes these accusations, the legal strategy demands exaggeration. Courts themselves acknowledge this, noting in several judgments that allegations are often “amplified” or “embellished” to strengthen one’s case.

Judges, in turn, frequently record observations like “the marriage has broken down irretrievably” or “the couple lives like strangers under one roof.” These statements are not merely legal jargon; they are admissions that what was once celebrated as sacred has turned into coexistence without intimacy. One High Court recently remarked that “forcing parties to remain in such a marriage is cruelty in itself.” Such remarks cut deep because they reflect the futility of dragging dead relationships through endless litigation.

The Disproportionate Burden on Men

A recurring reality in this legal theatre is the disproportionate financial burden placed upon men. Historically, the law sought to protect women from being abandoned without support. But in today’s context, where many women are educated and employed, the same legal framework often becomes a weapon of imbalance. Maintenance, interim alimony, litigation costs, property attachments—these terms dominate the petitions filed against men.

Men’s rights groups have emerged, arguing that marriage has become the most expensive gamble of a man’s life. Their members share stories of being reduced to “monthly ATMs,” obligated to support wives they no longer live with, while simultaneously being denied custody or even visitation rights with their children. One such activist once put it bluntly: “Marriage has become the only contract where breach by one party is rewarded and compliance by the other is punished.” Though harsh, his words echo the frustration of thousands.

Of course, women’s rights groups counter this, pointing out the centuries of economic and social dependence women have endured. But the ground reality remains: men often perceive themselves as financial hostages long after emotional ties have dissolved. This perception fuels resentment and widens the gap between genders.

The Expanding Grounds of Divorce

In earlier times, divorce was rare and stigmatized. Grounds were limited: cruelty, adultery, desertion. Today, the grounds are far broader. Mental cruelty now includes sustained indifference, lack of companionship, even humiliation on social media. Some petitions cite “irretrievable breakdown” as justification, even though Indian law has yet to formally codify it as a ground except through judicial interpretation.

This expansion reflects a psychological shift. Marriage is no longer seen as primarily a duty or social arrangement; it is increasingly measured by personal happiness. The moment happiness fades, dissatisfaction becomes a valid legal claim. Psychologists warn that this fragile definition of marriage—rooted in emotional gratification rather than resilience—makes the institution unstable. And the courts, by validating this shift, have become the new custodians of personal unhappiness.

Historical Contrast

A few generations ago, marital disputes were handled by families, community elders, or panchayats. There was bias, sometimes oppression, but there was also containment. Social mechanisms forced compromise. Today, families have retreated, and the State has stepped in. The law has replaced the elder. But law cannot replace affection, nor can it generate compromise. It can only issue orders—orders about maintenance, custody, property division. And orders, no matter how fair, rarely heal emotional wounds.

Thus, India has landed in a paradox. We celebrate marriage as sacred in rituals, but treat it as a contract in courts. We spend fortunes on weddings, only to spend years in litigation that destroys whatever financial stability was left. The rituals glorify union; the courts record separation. The irony could not be starker.

The Invisible Majority

And yet, for every such case, there are hundreds where couples suffer in silence. They avoid courts, not because their marriages are better, but because the cost of litigation is unbearable. They live parallel lives, sharing a house but not a relationship, presenting a façade of unity for society while feeling hollow inside. They represent the invisible majority—the unfiled cases, the unspoken grievances.

This hidden tragedy is the real crisis of Indian marriage. Courts only deal with the visible fallout, but the silent majority continues to rot in the background. The iceberg is far larger than the tip we keep pointing at.

The Children’s Cost

Perhaps the greatest casualties of marital litigation are children. Courts, in their wisdom, often grant custody to mothers, with limited visitation to fathers. While this may seem fair in principle, the child grows up learning one parent’s narrative while losing emotional connection with the other. Psychologists warn that such children often carry unresolved trauma into adulthood, repeating the cycle of fractured relationships. Yet the legal system rarely has the resources to address this deeper psychological damage.

by: Rajan Veda