Not Every Sad Woman Is a Feminist Icon

Shruti and Akash begin as college lovers, eventually marrying and moving into adult life. She’s a broadcast journalist, he's a musician and a dreamer stuck in a developer’s job. One day, when Akash shares his spiraling dissatisfaction, Shruti offers support—including getting an abortion.

The story begins now. Akash moves to Mumbai to try and make a mark in Bollywood as a musician. Shruti, who had once given up her job in Delhi for him, returns there alone. As she resumes work, a new colleague slowly becomes more than that. A single father, this colleague offers Shruti the emotional comfort and familial warmth she craved. Meanwhile, Akash’s calls go unattended, and the distance grows. As she slowly pulls away from her struggling husband—emotionally, verbally, and often ruthlessly—the real problem begins.

Akash suspects infidelity and blames the wrong man, but that’s not the point. Eventually, after calling her husband a failure one too many times, Shruti decides to move to Mumbai because she believes he needs her. But just a few days into the chaos, she proves to be little more than an onlooker—disappointed in her husband, and in her fate. As finances collapse further, the couple throws communication out the window entirely. At this point, Shruti gets another abortion—this time, in secret. And we’re told—quietly, cinematically—that this is the cost of sacrifice.

Let’s be honest. Shruti wasn’t silenced, she chose silence. She wasn’t powerless, she had work, autonomy, and choices. What she lacked was the belief that she could lead when her partner faltered. Despite working for years, she didn’t prepare for the family she claimed to want. The plan, it seems, was to supplement until motherhood—and then exit the workforce while her partner carried the rest.

And we don’t talk enough about that. Why are most Indian women still financially dependent on their partners—fully or partially?

“Shruti wasn’t silenced—she chose silence. She wasn’t powerless, she had work, autonomy, and choices. What she lacked was the belief that she could lead when her partner faltered.”

Yes, women play substantial roles in a household that money cannot measure. Or perhaps no one ever bothered to measure it well. But does that mean women cannot be independent in the real sense? Must we continue watching stories like these, where one popcorn crunch later, the woman gets another abortion—because her partner couldn’t offer her financial stability?

So we still believe women don’t have growing power? While I’m not promoting men running off on their partners and leaving them as single moms, I do think it’s unavoidable to notice just how many women are earning—not in a supplementary capacity, but fully, for the whole dining table. Single moms are raising not one but multiple kids. Women are single breadwinners. Women are out-earning their husbands and running homes with grit and grace.

The issue isn’t ability. It’s perspective. Women still believe they are to be taken care of—and this trope is somehow made to feel empowering? But who does it really serve, and who does it quietly weaken? Meanwhile, men are still expected to provide, to set the tone for the household, to give not just their name to it but also its class symbol. And this burdens them too. Gender roles haven’t served us well so far—but we don’t seem to learn.

“So we still believe women don’t have growing power? Single moms are raising not one but multiple kids. Women are single breadwinners. Women are out-earning their husbands and running homes...”

Akash finally gets a break with Imtiaz Ali but walks away mid-shoot when asked to imagine a child for a song—triggering memories of the child (children, actually) that were sacrificed for the career he desired. That’s his moment of reckoning. He runs to Shruti, and they reconcile. But once again, it’s him who sets the tone. He has now chosen her, so all is well? Shruti wanted a family at the start of this story. She sacrificed that for her husband’s dreams, but only on paper. As resentment built, the walls of loyalty broke down, only for silence to creep in until sacrifice became the norm.

Is this modern love? Or are we recycling the '90s, dressed up in glossed-over social media clippings to make it feel like present day? Because for me, a modern love story can deal with silences and disloyalties, sure, but does it still deal with women depending on men’s incomes to the extent that a wife gets an abortion, then another, because the husband doesn’t earn enough, and then calls him a failure?

What would make this story great is a dash of a conversation on gendered responsibility, and why we still measure female strength in endurance rather than initiative. As we slowly nudge more and more men toward the kitchen so they do more than just “help out” at home, we must push women too, nudging them a little further outdoors so they own their earning capacities and do more than just “help out” financially.

Because in dino, in the metros of India, financial independence among women is a fortunate commonality, the theme of the hour is financial leadership. Are women ready?