"Invisible Abuse and Legal Silence — A Reflection on Mrs.

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Good [afternoon] ma’am,
I will be presenting a critical analysis of the film Mrs., which goes beyond the
screen to mirror the lived realities of countless women in conservative
households. The movie serves as a quiet yet scathing commentary on patriarchal
control, systemic emotional neglect, and the complex legal silence that surrounds
invisible forms of cruelty.

At the heart of Mrs. is Richa, a young woman married into a traditional Indian
family. Her dreams, dignity, and desires are gradually smothered not by physical
violence, but by persistent, veiled abuse — the kind that society often refuses to
recognise as cruelty.

Let me take you through five core themes from the film that illustrate this
"invisible abuse."

First Instance
Throughout the film, Mrs., Richa makes three earnest attempts to seek
permission from her husband and father-in-law to pursue a career, only to be
dismissed each time. Their rejections are not grounded in any substantial
concern but stem from superficial reasons such as the family's reputation,
perceived lack of need, and the patriarchal belief that a woman’s primary duty is
to the household. This repeated dismissal reflects a denial of Richa’s personal
agency and aspirations.

The right to work, as recognised by the Hon’ble Supreme Court in the Olga Tellis
judgment, is a fundamental right under Article 21 of the Constitution of India. By
suppressing Richa’s wish to work and denying her the opportunity to be self-
reliant, her husband and father-in-law have effectively violated this right. From a
legal standpoint, the question arises—do such instances constitute cruelty? The
Madhya Pradesh High Court in Poonam v. Naveen, 2024 SCC OnLine MP
7375, held that neither spouse has the right to compel the other to work or refrain
from working. In that case, the husband forcing his wife to quit her government
job until he found employment was held to amount to cruelty. Applying this
principle, Diwakar and his father’s refusal to let Richa pursue a job, especially
one she was passionate about, clearly amounts to cruelty in law.

Second Instance
Moreover, Richa is not subjected to isolated incidents of neglect, but rather to a
pattern of sustained disrespect, ridicule, and emotional abandonment. Her
contributions at home are consistently belittled, and even her simple household
requests are ignored. The Delhi High Court in Manju Panwar v. V.P.S. Panwar,
2016 SCC OnLine Del 5313, held that behaviour displaying a lack of respect,
empathy, and repeated acts that cause pain or discomfort amounts to cruelty.
Richa’s continuous humiliation and the erosion of her self-esteem through
repeated emotional neglect satisfy this threshold.

Third Instance
In addition, Richa’s right to bodily autonomy is repeatedly violated. Diwakar
disregards her consent and attempts to force her into physical intimacy, mocking
her when she voices her discomfort. At one point, he humiliates her by
questioning her character and physical appearance. Although marital rape is not
criminalised in India, the Kerala High Court in X v. X, Mat. Appeal No. 151 of
2015, has recognised that such non-consensual acts, even if not punishable, still
constitute physical and mental cruelty within matrimonial law. Diwakar’s
behaviour is emblematic of this form of abuse.

Fourth Instance
Richa’s identity as a dancer—her one source of independence and joy—is also
threatened. The film opens with her dance performance, yet throughout the story,
her passion is stifled. Diwakar goes so far as to demand the deletion of her
dance videos from social media, framing it as a matter of family reputation. This
attempt to erase her identity and limit her digital freedom can also amount to
cruelty. In D. Narsimha Inarsimlu v. Smt. D Anita Vaishnavi, 2024 (TS) 107,
the Telangana High Court acknowledged that acts harming a spouse’s
reputation, social standing, or career prospects fall under the ambit of cruelty.
The court even hesitantly noted that restricting access to social platforms like
Facebook and Instagram may constitute cruelty. Thus, Diwakar’s actions fall
squarely within this definition.

Fifth Instance
Ultimately, the breaking point arrives when Diwakar once again lashes out at
Richa for not deleting her videos. In a moment of desperation and deep
emotional anguish, Richa retaliates—she serves the guests water from a leaking
drain that Diwakar had long ignored, symbolising the toxic environment she’s
been forced to endure. Legally, her act may fall under Section 122 of the
Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, which deals with “voluntarily causing hurt or grievous
hurt on provocation.” Diwakar’s response—storming into the kitchen with raised
hand, saying she needed a “tight slap”—constitutes assault under Section 130 of
the BNS.
Both acts can be viewed as mutual cruelty. However, it is critical to acknowledge
that Diwakar’s actions were repeated and systemic, whereas Richa’s was a
single, reactive episode. As held in Mahalaxmi v. State of Karnataka, 2023 SCC
OnLine SC 1622, a solitary incident, may not be enough to establish cruelty
unless supported by substantial evidence of ongoing interference in marital life.
Thus, while both spouses engage in hurtful conduct in the final scenes, it is
Diwakar’s pattern of controlling and degrading behaviour that clearly meets the
legal threshold for cruelty.

Now, I chose to draft a Divorce Petition and not a criminal complaint under
Section 498A based on the grounds provided.
But why? Because I believed that both should be done, but living in the same
home, Richa had no real safety or space to initiate legal action. Divorce was the
first step — an act of self-preservation. Richa’s decision to file a divorce petition
before considering any criminal proceedings was not only emotionally sound, but
necessary for her safety and survival. Though she did not bear visible injuries,
her life with Diwakar was marked by emotional neglect, control, and silencing—
forms of cruelty that often go unrecognised but deeply wound. Still living under
the same roof as him, she was not in a position of safety or power to pursue a
criminal case. Filing one from within that shared domestic space could have
escalated the tension, triggered retaliation, or led to coercion from Diwakar and
societal pressure to quietly reconcile. What Richa needed first was not a
courtroom battle, but an exit.

A divorce petition offered her that—legal distance, the beginning of financial and
emotional separation, and most importantly, a space where she could finally
breathe freely. It was only outside the shadow of that marriage that she could
begin to reflect on the full extent of her trauma and, if she chose, pursue legal
redress on her own terms.
2. Moreover, once she gets divorce, she can opt for a criminal case, which would
also give her time to collect more evidence, and get the appropriate legal
recourse with legitimate legal assistance, and get conclusive justice. The Gujarat
High Court in the case of Rameshbhai Danjibhai Solanki & Ors. v. State of
Gujarat & Anr. Held that a woman after divorce can file a criminal case against
the husband, but only for acts that occurred during the marriage.

The film Mrs. ends with Richa breaking free from her oppressive marriage and
reclaiming her identity as a dance teacher. However, her former husband,
Diwakar, remarries, and his new wife falls into the same patriarchal trap,
highlighting the cyclical nature of abuse. While Richa escapes, the abusers face
no consequences, and their regressive worldview continues unchallenged.
The Root of the Problem: Tradition as Control
The film subtly showcases how traditional norms—like menstrual restrictions and
Karva Chauth—are enforced under the guise of preserving family values. These
customs are used to justify discriminatory practices and are the root problem.
The father-in-law, Ashwin, symbolizes this mindset, rigidly clinging to outdated
traditions without questioning their impact. True change would require families to
critically engage with tradition, keeping the good while discarding the harmful.
Legal Challenges in Seeking Justice
Though Diwakar and Ashwin’s behaviour is emotionally abusive, it may not be
prosecutable under current Indian criminal law. Their cruelty is insidious—rooted
in control rather than overt violence. Courts have previously held (e.g., Sarang
Diwakar Amle v. State of Maharashtra) that expecting a wife to do household
work does not amount to cruelty. Hence, pursuing criminal action would likely be
legally unsustainable, though grounds for divorce are evident.

Reform over Escape:

1. The ideal ending would involve the reformation of Diwakar's family to
embrace modern values and evolving societal norms.
2. Rather than Richa simply walking away, the narrative could show
meaningful change within the household.
Use of Social Media & Support Systems:
• Richa’s online presence could be used strategically to:
• Seek help from women support organisations and counsellors.
• Expose the patriarchal mindset of her husband and father-in-law.
• Prevent others, like the second wife, from falling into the same oppressive
cycle.
Triggering Change via Family Reputation:
• Ashwin, the father-in-law, is highly conscious of the family’s social
standing.
• Public exposure of their regressive values could initially force change out
of shame or reputation management.
• Over time, this could evolve into a genuine change in mindset.
Critique of the Existing Ending:
• The current ending shows another woman entering the same oppressive
environment.
• This perpetuates the cycle of subjugation without consequences for the
oppressors.

What the Film Could Have Portrayed Instead:

• A longer, more nuanced ending showing:
• The resistance to change within the family.
• The struggles of reform with the help of organisations.
• The gradual transformation in attitudes through persistent efforts.
The Emotional Aftermath:
• Even after leaving, Richa would carry the scars of invisible abuse.
• The film could have shown the lasting psychological impact on survivors of
emotional and mental cruelty.
Impactful Storytelling:
• Showing the real, long-term effects of abuse and the incremental nature of
social change would have left a more powerful and lasting impression on
viewers.

Conclusion:
Mrs. isn’t a film about a villain. It’s about everyday misogyny — cloaked in love,
tradition, and family honour. It forces us to ask — how do we define cruelty? Is
bruising the soul less violent than bruising the skin?
For Richa, the answer came not through courts or confrontations, but through a
quiet reclaiming of self.
Let this story be a reminder: Emotional violence is real. Patriarchal silence is not
peace. And the law must learn to see the bruises it cannot touch.
Thank you.