The morning Ajay was found dead, the news didn’t reach beyond the local page. No candlelight vigils. No protest hashtags. Just a brief headline: “Man found murdered in West Delhi home; wife and lover absconding.”

The neighbors were quick to whisper: He must’ve done something. Men like him always do. But nobody asked who Ajay really was.

Ajay Malhotra, a 34-year-old journalist, was a quiet, compassionate man—devoted son, loving father, and patient husband. Known for telling others’ stories of struggle, he silently endured emotional abuse at home, choosing to stay for his daughter’s sake. Gentle in nature and strong in values, 

At home, things were different. Priya, his wife of eight years, had grown distant. Bitter, even. Fights weren’t rare—but the bruises on his arms were. Not from blows, but from restraint. The emotional jabs were worse.

"You’re not a man."

"Your salary’s a joke."

"Maybe I should’ve married someone else."

He never told anyone. He was a man, after all. Ajay’s suffering went unseen, lived—silenced, misunderstood, and ignored by a society and system that never saw men like him as victims.

One evening, Ajay confided in his friend Abhishek over tea. The words trembled out. "She threw a plate at me last night. Missed my head by inches." Abhishek laughed. "Arey yaar, you’ve got it easy. Imagine if you were on the other side. Women suffer so much more." Ajay smiled faintly. That was the last time he brought it up.

A month later, Ajay was gone.

Poison, the police suspected. Traces of sleeping pills in his system. A forged note about him running away. But the truth unravelled when CCTV footage showed Priya and a man dragging a suitcase into the car at 2 AM. His body was found two days later, buried near the Aravalli hills. 

But by then, the media had moved on. There was no righteous anger. No feminist or masculinist discourse. Just another man gone, presumed guilty even in death.

The Story We Don’t Tell

Ajay is fictional. But his story isn’t.

• There was Amit in Pune, murdered and dismembered by his wife and her boyfriend.

- Kiran in Andhra Pradesh, stabbed in his sleep after months of humiliation.

- Ravi in Lucknow, who died by suicide, leaving behind 143 voice notes begging for help—none of which were ever taken seriously.

What links these men is not just their tragic end—but the society that didn’t listen when they were alive.

Being a Man, Being Silent

In India, a man in pain is a contradiction. The idea of a male victim feels absurd. "He must’ve deserved it. Maybe he hit her first. Maybe he cheated."

The law, too, agrees in silence. Section 498A of the IPC rightfully protects women from cruelty in marriage. But there is no legal recognition that men can be victims of domestic violence, emotional trauma, or manipulation.

Ajay couldn't file a complaint. No helpline would take him seriously. No counselor would understand. Even his own parents told him: "Adjust kar lo, beta. These things happen in marriage."

Justice Doesn’t Wear a Gender

This isn’t a war between genders. It’s a call for fairness. For truth.

While women continue to face horrifying abuse in marriages, men are not immune to suffering. The absence of legal support, the mocking societal perception, and the lack of safe spaces mean that men like Ajay suffer in silence—until silence is all that’s left. We don’t need less protection for women. We need more compassion for everyone. Because behind every headline, there is a story. And sometimes, that story belongs to a man who never spoke—because he knew no one would listen.

The story of violence within marriage is not one-sided. Just as women deserve protection, dignity, and justice—so do men. This is not about undermining women’s rights; it’s about expanding the umbrella of empathy and legal protection to include every victim, regardless of gender. Because until we begin to see pain without bias, victims without labels, and justice without conditions—we are all complicit in the silence that screams.