That day, after dinner in our Gurugram apartment, I was cleaning the kitchen when my husband, Rohan, rolled up his sleeves to wash the dishes. I was happy because he knew how to divide the household chores; it was no big deal. Just then, my mother-in-law, Savitri Devi, suddenly arrived.

As soon as she entered, she saw her son washing the plate under the soap suds; her face darkened. Without saying a word, she went straight to the kitchen, snatched the bowl from Rohan’s hand, and threw it with a “clang.” She threw the pile of steel utensils onto the sink and screamed:

“What respect does this house have? Does my son have to wash the dishes? Can you be my wife, or should I marry another woman for my son?”

The sound of the utensils breaking, her shrill voice, left me speechless. I quickly ran outside, and Rohan, frantic, grabbed my mother’s hand: “Mom, what are you doing? I just helped Asha take a bath…”

But she pushed his hand away, her eyes bulging:

“Shut up! It’s shameful for a man to be like this. I’m telling you…” – she pointed directly at my face – “If you let my son do more housework, don’t blame me for teaching someone else to be a wife instead of you!”

I trembled, my throat choked, and I didn’t know whether to cry or argue. My whole body was burning, anger was surging. Suddenly, Rohan stood in front of me and said:
“Mom, you’re too much! This is my wife, this house is ours. I did it willingly, no one forced me. If you continue to humiliate my wife like this, from now on, please don’t interfere!”

The kitchen suddenly fell silent, so tense it was suffocating. Savitri Devi was shaking with anger. I was stunned—hurt and emotional that my husband had the courage to stand up to protect me.

After breaking the bowl and scolding me, my mother-in-law left that night with a sad face, not even looking back. I huddled near the pile of tumbling steel pieces, tears streaming down my face.

The next morning, my parents found out what had happened. Some aunts, uncles, and cousins ​​called to complain:

“What kind of daughter-in-law makes her mother so angry? What kind of man is he to do women’s work?”

In the afternoon, my mother-in-law brought two aunts and three cousins ​​to a family meeting in my living room. She sat in the middle, her voice hoarse:

“My son is married to take care of the house, not to be his wife’s maid. He’s washed the dishes once, what about next time? If this girl doesn’t change, I swear I’ll get him married again—to someone who knows better!”

I bit my lips until they bled, my hands trembling. Before I could open my mouth, the other woman spoke:

“Young woman, no child, no manners. You’ll just lose your husband. So many men want to marry you these days!”

Every word was like a knife stabbing me in the heart. I tried to remain calm; my throat was choked. Just then, Rohan came home from work and saw the entire family surrounding me. He jumped in, his voice cold.

“Mother, I beg you not to drag your relatives into our personal matters anymore. Asha isn’t wrong. I washed the dishes because I wanted to; no one forced me to. If you insist on sharing, which is disrespectful, I’ll say it bluntly: you’re insulting your own son!”

The room fell silent. The aunts exchanged glances, none daring to speak. Savitri Devi trembled with anger, pointing her finger directly at my face, her voice stern:

“Fine! From now on, I won’t accept this daughter-in-law in the house!”

With that, she got up and left, leaving behind the smell of cold masala tea and a tense atmosphere.

I sank back in my chair, my eyes red—both humiliated and bewildered. I knew this mother-in-law-daughter-in-law battle was just beginning—and I would face tough days ahead. But at least today, I knew I wasn’t alone: ​​Rohan stood by me as a respectful and supportive husband.