Matrimonial lawyers have earned infamy for fluffing their roti on the bonfire of love and family, but what goes on behind the scenes?
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IF you have ever had the pleasure— or perhaps the misfortune— of encountering a matrimonial lawyer, you have probably noticed a few things. First, we are always on the brink of something dramatic.
Second, our expression ranges from empathetic understanding to a well-honed poker face as we listen to tales of young love gone awry, streedhan locked away, or custody battles that make Game of Thrones look like a friendly family picnic. And third, our phone is always ringing with the frantic calls of our clients trying to tell us about another scandal they just remembered from 2005.
As a newbie lawyer, before diving into writing about the field of matrimonial law, I spoke to a few seasoned lawyers to gather their insights, who compared it to watching the same Netflix series on repeat— only the cast changes and the drama gets real.
With these perspectives, I have realised that matrimonial law is not just legal work; it is a front-row seat to emotional rollercoasters and courtroom strategies. But behind those legal robes and the confident, measured tones in court (especially in the current Chief Justice of India's courtroom), there is a universe of experiences matrimonial lawyers navigate daily.
“It is a career where you wear many hats: lawyer, therapist, peacemaker and— sometimes— silent spectator to a client's 'creative' version of events.
It is a career where you wear many hats: lawyer, therapist, peacemaker and— sometimes— silent spectator to a client's 'creative' version of events.
Clients— they come in all shapes, sizes and emotional states. Some arrive with a determined agenda, armed with screenshots, Excel sheets and a PowerPoint presentation titled The Many Ways My Spouse Has Wronged Me.
Others sit across from us, teary-eyed, half hoping we will help them patch things up, half hoping we will help them move out with the house, the car and the family dog.
The sessions start with legal advice but quickly turn into a masterclass in marriage counselling. No matter how much you try to steer the conversation toward 'maintenance', clients inevitably begin rehashing their entire relationship history— starting with their wedding day ("Everything was perfect until…").
Suddenly, you are hearing about the time he forgot their anniversary back in 2017. And you are left silently wondering if your law degree should have included a minor in psychology.
It is one thing to understand your clients, but when their in-laws come into the picture, you have entered a whole new realm of matrimonial warfare. You are expected to become the Family Feud referee.
"Can you believe that his mother gave her diamond earrings to her daughter, and not to me?" You nod again, mentally preparing to factor this into the 'alienation of affection' argument, while also realising you have now unwittingly become a key player in a Family Feud.
But let us not forget the self-righteous client. These are the ones who walk into the office, exuding moral superiority. In their minds, they are the blameless victim of an ungrateful spouse who simply cannot appreciate their perfection. We sit there, nodding politely, while silently bracing for the inevitable skeletons that will tumble out of their closet.
Client: "They have ruined my life. I did everything I could to make it work (read: I abused them and their family, why won't they love me anymore?)."
“Others sit across from us, teary-eyed, half hoping we will help them patch things up, half hoping we will help them move out with the house, the car and the family dog.
Lawyer: "Of course, and this affair you had…?"
Client: "A minor fact. Irrelevant, really."
For every complex complaint you write, there is at least one disturbing secret a client will share, believing it to be pivotal to their case. Do you need to know the minute details of their first fight over who forgot to lock the door? No. Will they tell you anyway? Absolutely. By the end of it, you would have heard things about their relationship that you can never unhear.
The court is where the real entertainment happens. You think you have heard it all from your client, and then you watch as they decide, mid-cross-examination, that brutal honesty is the best approach.
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"Yes, I did call her 78 times in a row that night, Your Honour, but it is only because I was feeling ignored!"
It is a funny thing— clients often forget that in matters of divorce, it takes two to tango, and usually, both parties have slipped up in some way. Our job is not to pick sides in the blame game but to cut through the theatrics and work out the best possible deal.
Because let us be honest, no one is walking into a matrimonial lawyer's office with squeaky clean shoes, no matter how pristine they make themselves out to be.
Now, matrimonial lawyers are often accused of being the antithesis of love. We are not. It is just that, after hearing 300 versions of "He doesn't stand up for me in front of his parents!", we start focusing on things like property division and less on love poems.
But the work definitely takes its toll. Seeing cases of domestic violence, infidelity, and intense ego battles, we cannot help but wonder: "What if this happens to me? If this is what marriage leads to, I would rather steer clear of it."
We may seem cynical, but beneath the legalese and property disputes, we are just as scared of love's fragility as anyone else. We are not just working with statutes and case law, we are working with broken hearts and hopes for fresh starts.
Beneath the emotional drama, the therapy sessions, and the constant relationship replays, there is actual lawyering happening. Case precedents, arguments, settlement agreements and court hearings— this is where matrimonial lawyers truly shine. The art of navigating between empathy for our clients and the cold, hard legal framework is where we earn our stripes.
“It is a funny thing— clients often forget that in matters of divorce, it takes two to tango, and usually, both parties have slipped up in some way.
And while we may not always agree with our clients' views on who deserves the last word (or the Goa house), we always aim to guide them with compassion.
So the next time you encounter a matrimonial lawyer, know that behind that calm demeanour, there is probably a well-practised inner monologue saying: "I should write a script about this case and send it to Karan Johar. Sigh! If only I did not have a maintenance appeal to draft."
Just another day at the office.