Some of the hardest cases I see are not between strangers. They are between people who once shared a home.

I was at the Tis Hazari Courts in Delhi recently, and somewhere between one corridor and the next, a few lines came back to me: Kailash Gautam's well-known Hindi poem "कचहरी न जाना" (Kachahari Na Jana). A father is advising his son. Put up with hunger, put up with hardship, even put up with quarrels at home, he says, but stay out of the courts.

The poem is funny, in the way the truth is sometimes funny. It is also deadly serious. And having spent more than twenty-five years in and around courtrooms, I think it speaks most directly to families.

A world of its own

Anyone who has spent time in an Indian court complex knows it is a world of its own. Lawyers hurry between courtrooms with files under their arms. Litigants wait on benches and staircases, listening for their names to be called. Vendors sell photocopies, stamp papers and typing services. Tea stalls do steady business. And on some boards and walls, signs for marriage registration and signs for divorce documentation sit almost side by side.

I have stopped noticing that last detail for years, and then, some days, I notice it again. A place where people formalise the start of a marriage and the end of one, within a few steps of each other. It says a great deal about how the same life can travel from hope to hurt.

Behind these ordinary scenes are extraordinary human stories. A couple who once chose to build a life together now sit on opposite benches, fighting over maintenance, custody, or property. Often they are not looking at each other at all. A disagreement that one honest conversation might once have settled has grown into years of hearings.

When a marriage becomes a court case

This is the pattern I see again and again. A matrimonial dispute is rarely just a legal disagreement. It carries hurt, anger, financial insecurity, and broken trust. Once it reaches court, it can branch into several proceedings at once: divorce, maintenance, domestic violence complaints, child custody, and property claims. Each one has its own dates, its own paperwork and its own travel. Each hearing reopens old wounds, because the parties must hear their marriage described, in formal language, by people who were never part of it.

Even after a decision, the relationships often do not recover. Parents who must co-parent for decades find themselves unable to speak civilly. Extended families take sides. Friends and relatives become unwilling witnesses to a conflict that was never theirs. The order may settle the legal question. It rarely settles the quarrel.

Children pay the highest price

In family disputes, the people with the least say often bear the greatest cost. A child caught between feuding parents may grow up amid hostility, shuttled between two households on court-ordered days, or used as leverage in a custody fight. Children learn quickly. They notice which parent goes quiet when the other's name comes up. They learn to carry messages, to hide feelings, to choose.

Elderly parents are drawn in too, as when brothers and sisters fight over a family home or over who looked after whom. A house that held every festival and every childhood summer becomes a battleground, and grandparents who wanted only peace in their last years get court summonses instead.

When I think about the human cost of litigation, it is the family cases that stay with me longest. A won case does not repair a childhood, and a favourable order does not restore a broken bond.

Not every marriage can be saved, and not every one should be

I want to be very clear about this, because a post like this can be misread. Nobody should be told to "adjust" while being hurt. That word has done real damage over generations, especially to women who were told to bear what no one should bear.

But many family disputes are not of that kind. They grow from misunderstanding, pride, unmet expectations, and conversations that stopped too early. In such cases, courts are often the most expensive and slowest route to an answer, and the answer they give is rarely the one people actually wanted. What most people want is to be heard, to be treated fairly, and to be able to move on.

What the poem really says

Gautam makes his point through humour and exaggeration. It should not be read as advice to surrender one's rights or tolerate injustice. It asks us to notice how easily a dispute can take over a life.

There is a difference between standing up for your rights and letting a dispute consume your existence. I have met people who had won their case and still could not sleep, because the case had become who they were. Often, spouses and relatives keep fighting not because resolution is impossible, but because neither side will take the first step. Each is waiting for the other to blink. Pride, anger, and the urge to be proved right can prolong a conflict that might otherwise have ended.

Being willing to listen, negotiate, or accept a reasonable compromise is not weakness. It can be wisdom.

Counselling and mediation: the road often not taken

Indian law already recognises this. Family courts are expected to make efforts towards settlement, and many referrals go to court-annexed mediation and counselling centres. Lok Adalats, run by legal services authorities, offer another route for settlement, and the Mediation Act, 2023 now gives mediation a statutory framework.

In mediation, a neutral facilitator helps the parties talk through their differences and look for solutions that address both practical and emotional concerns. The conversation can cover parenting arrangements, financial support, the division of family property, and even something as simple as how the two of you will speak to each other in front of the children. A court cannot order that last one. A mediation table sometimes can arrive at it.

A settlement is not always possible. But where it is fair, voluntary, and legally sound, it can save years of expense and distress. It also lets families shape their own outcome, instead of having one imposed on them after a long contest.

A little adjustment can save a lifetime of regret

We often celebrate winning arguments, but in a family, winning may mean very little. If you win, who is left to celebrate with? A little patience and a willingness to see the other person's perspective can keep a disagreement from becoming a lifelong feud. That matters most where children are involved, because the fallout reaches people who had no part in creating the dispute.

There is no virtue in preserving a relationship at the cost of your dignity or safety. Equally, there is little wisdom in destroying one over differences that understanding could have resolved. The challenge is telling the two apart, and that is exactly why it helps to talk to someone you trust before you decide, whether that is a counsellor, an elder, or an advocate who will tell you honestly what the road ahead looks like.

Before you file

My visit to Tis Hazari was a reminder of the vital role courts play in protecting rights. It was also a reminder of what unresolved family conflict does to people. Perhaps the real lesson of Kachahari Na Jana is not that we should never go to court, but that we should not let every family disagreement become a legal battle.

The courts will remain essential to justice. But families that resolve more of their differences through dialogue, fairness, and mutual respect will have fewer broken relationships and less avoidable suffering.