The Tragic Cost of 'Saving Face': When Social Pressure Becomes a Death Sentence
There’s a chilling phrase that keeps echoing in my mind: 'Galat ho gaya'—'It went wrong.' Twisha Sharma’s father uttered these words with a weight that no parent should ever have to carry. But what exactly went wrong? Was it the marriage? The societal expectations? Or the collective failure to listen to a woman pleading for help? Personally, I think it’s all of the above—and more.
Twisha’s story isn’t just a tragedy; it’s a mirror held up to a society that prioritizes the appearance of harmony over the well-being of its most vulnerable members. Five months into her marriage, she was dead, just days before she was scheduled to return to her maternal home. What makes this particularly fascinating—and horrifying—is how her story exposes the toxic underbelly of cultural norms that trap women in abusive marriages under the guise of 'saving face.'
The Pressure to Conform: A Silent Killer
Twisha’s father blamed the 'middle-class mentality' and the relentless social pressure to keep a marriage intact, no matter the cost. In my opinion, this isn’t just a middle-class issue—it’s a deeply ingrained cultural mindset that transcends socioeconomic boundaries. The idea that a marriage must succeed, regardless of the emotional or physical toll, is a poison that has claimed too many lives.
One thing that immediately stands out is the absurdity of the timeline. Five months. That’s all it took for Twisha to go from a 'happy-go-lucky' woman to someone who lost 15 kilograms due to mental and physical torture. What many people don’t realize is how quickly abuse can escalate, especially when the victim is isolated and gaslit into believing they’re the problem.
The WhatsApp Trail: A Cry for Help Ignored
Twisha’s WhatsApp chats with her mother are heart-wrenching. 'Why did you send me to Bhopal? He isn’t talking to me,' she wrote. These messages weren’t just words—they were desperate pleas for rescue. From my perspective, this raises a deeper question: Why do we, as a society, wait until it’s too late to intervene?
Her mother’s regret is palpable: 'We should have pulled her out of that place. We shouldn’t have left her in that house.' But here’s the thing—this isn’t just a failure of her family; it’s a failure of a system that normalizes suffering in the name of tradition. If you take a step back and think about it, how many women are out there right now, sending similar messages, hoping someone will listen?
The Husband’s Taunts: A Window into Emotional Abuse
Twisha’s husband, Samarth, a lawyer, reportedly taunted her for receiving calls from her mother. 'Your mom writes ‘Love you’ and ‘Miss you’ way too much,' he’d say. A detail that I find especially interesting is how abusers often weaponize love and affection, turning them into tools of control. What this really suggests is that emotional abuse isn’t just about violence—it’s about eroding a person’s sense of self-worth.
Since Twisha’s death, Samarth has gone on the run, and his mother, a retired judge, has been granted anticipatory bail. The legal battle has taken a disturbing turn, with Samarth’s bail plea painting Twisha as a psychiatric patient and drug addict. This narrative isn’t just a defense—it’s a smear campaign designed to discredit her and shift the blame. What this really suggests is how abusers often manipulate systems to protect themselves, even in death.
The Broader Implications: A Cultural Reckoning
Twisha’s story isn’t an isolated incident. It’s part of a larger pattern of gender-based violence enabled by societal complicity. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it intersects with class, tradition, and the legal system. The fact that Samarth’s mother, a retired judge, is an accused in the case highlights the privilege that often shields perpetrators.
In my opinion, this case forces us to confront uncomfortable truths. How many of us have turned a blind eye to a friend or family member’s suffering because 'it’s none of our business'? How many of us have prioritized social harmony over justice? If you take a step back and think about it, Twisha’s death isn’t just a personal tragedy—it’s a call to action.
The Way Forward: Listening and Acting
Twisha’s brother, Harshit, vowed to fight for justice, saying, 'We are here to fight and we will be fighting. We are part of the system, we will fight against the system.' This is where hope lies—in the refusal to let her story be forgotten. But it’s not enough to fight after the fact. We need to dismantle the systems that allow such tragedies to happen in the first place.
Personally, I think the first step is to stop romanticizing marriage as an institution that must be preserved at all costs. A marriage is not a success if it’s built on abuse and suffering. What many people don’t realize is that sometimes, the bravest thing to do is walk away.
Final Thoughts: A Life Cut Short, but Not in Vain
Twisha’s story is a haunting reminder of the human cost of societal norms. It’s easy to point fingers at her family, her husband, or the legal system, but the truth is, we’re all complicit in some way. From my perspective, the real tragedy would be if her death doesn’t spark a broader conversation about the toxic pressures women face.
As I reflect on her life and death, one thing is clear: Twisha didn’t just lose her life—she lost her voice. It’s up to us to amplify it, to challenge the norms that silenced her, and to ensure that no one else has to pay the ultimate price for 'saving face.' Because, in the end, what’s the point of a marriage—or a society—if it costs us our humanity?
