She Said She Was Trapped We Asked Her To Adjust

Twisha Sharma is dead. Deepika Nagar is dead. Twisha Sharma is dead. Deepika Nagar is dead. Sixteen women die every day in India because of dowry. The question is not whether we have laws. We do. The question is whether we have the will to make sure they work. Twisha Sharma had an MBA. She worked in marketing and communications, competed in beauty pageants and acted in films. She was in her early thirties. She married Bhopal-based advocate Samarth Singh in December 2025. On May 12, 2026, she was found dead at her marital home. Five days later, 24-year-old Deepika Nagar died after falling from the third-floor terrace of her in-laws' home in Jalpura village, Greater Noida. Her family contends she was beaten and thrown from the roof over unmet dowry demands -- a Toyota Fortuner and ₹51 lakh in cash. The autopsy found a blood clot in the brain, a ruptured spleen, a pale left kidney, a 12cm contusion on the right side of her face, bleeding from the left ear, and circular injury marks around her right hand. A Toyota Fortuner. Fifty-one lakh rupees. That is what someone decided Deepika Nagar's life was worth. The NCRB's Crime in India 2024 report recorded 5,737 dowry deaths last year. Sixteen women every single day. Conviction rates have historically ranged between 11% and 17%. More than 90% of cases remain pending in courts. This is not a failure of law. It is a failure of will. So consistent, so entrenched, it has become invisible. Twisha had lost nearly 15 kg after marriage. Her messages to friends and family described feeling trapped and pleaded to be taken back home. She had a ticket to return to Noida on May 15 -- three days after she died. She knew. She was trying. But she died anyway. This is not a failure of intelligence. It is what abuse does to a person. It escalates gradually. It is interspersed with normalcy. Victims internalise blame. In India, they carry the additional weight of family honour, the shame of a failed marriage that attaches to the woman, and the dread of being returned as goods. An MBA does not immunise you against trauma bonding. The more important question is not why she didn't leave. It is: Why, when she was sending messages saying she was trapped, did no one come for her immediately? When your daughter says she is trapped, the answer cannot be waiting a little longer. It must be: come home. Now. Twisha's mother-in-law, Giribala Singh, is a retired district judge. Her son Samarth is a practising lawyer. The home Twisha entered was a household of law. An audio recording has surfaced of a conversation in which Giribala allegedly calls her daughter-in-law promiscuous, references having "worked with prostitutes," and interrogates Twisha's relationships and whether she monetised them to advance herself. A retired district judge. Interrogating the sexual history of a dead woman. Asking none of these questions about her own son. Twisha's family alleges Giribala