On the day of their son Tulsi Nair’s divorce, tension hung heavy in the air. Kamala Nair broke the silence with a bitter edge to her voice. “It began the moment our daughter-in-law crossed our threshold,” she lamented, her words dripping with resentment. “Left foot first, right after the ceremony … an ill omen, unmistakably.”
Prabhakar, her husband, interjected with a scoff. “Trust me, my doubts arose long before that. Remember the photographer they hired? Not even Hindu, they said he was an ‘artistic professional.’ Clicking away during sacred rituals as if he were a Brahmin, defiling our temple and traditions. It was only a matter of time before the temple authorities found out about the defilement. We footed the bill for the purification ceremony, all thanks to that imposter with his fancy camera.”
He shook his head in disdain. “The moment that non-Hindu set foot in our temple, I knew this union was doomed. It was cursed from its inception.”
“Extreme cruelty of the in-laws and the absolute indifference of the husband,” Tulsi screamed in frustration. “That’s what she alleges in the divorce papers. Lies! Every word of it. Just the twist of fate beyond our understanding as the ill omen plays its tricks on us, what else.”
