She had an MBA, and she had walked ramps. She was the kind of woman many young girls look up to. She met her husband through a dating app, fell in love, and had a beautiful wedding. Twisha Sharma, age 33, a former model and Miss Pune titleholder from Noida, married Bhopal-based lawyer Samarth Singh in December 2025 after they connected online, and seemed to have done everything right.
On 12th May 2026, Twisha was found dead at her marital home in Bhopal’s Katara Hills. Her family calls it a murder, whereas the marital family calls it a suicide. The investigation is still tangled. Her husband, Samarth Singh, is a criminal lawyer who fled from the location after her death, and her mother-in-law, who is a retired district judge, had obtained anticipatory bail. According to her family's FIR, the harassment started in February 2026, just weeks after the wedding. She was taunted over her family's wedding spending, she was denied personal money, and was financially isolated while her father quietly transferred funds to her bank account to keep her afloat.
In April, Twisha was pregnant when her relationship was tense, and her husband began questioning whether he was the father, and accused her of being involved with someone else. She was pressured to undergo an abortion. During his interrogation by the Madhya Pradesh SIT, he said that he actually wanted to become a father, and Twisha chose the abortion herself after medical consultation, and that they both visited the doctor together. The investigators recovered messages that directly contradict this, showing Samarth had raised doubts about the child's paternity.
Twisha’s family also mentioned that she lost nearly 15 kilograms in those final weeks. Her last conversation was with her mother on the night she died. Mid-call, the line went dead. Twenty minutes of unanswered calls later, her mother-in-law picked up and told them Twisha was gone. The post-mortem cited antemortem hanging as the cause of death. There was a suspicious three-hour gap between when she was last seen alive and when her death was recorded through the CCTV footage. The police issued a circular to find her husband and offered a reward for his arrest. The case was eventually transferred to the CBI after the Supreme Court cited concerns about potential institutional bias, as Samarth's mother was a retired district judge in the same system. As of late May 2026, the CBI has registered a case against both Samarth Singh and his mother, Giribala Singh, under Sections 80(2), 85, and 3(5) of the Bharatiya Nyaya Sanhita, along with provisions of the Dowry Prohibition Act.
A PATTERN, NOT A COINCIDENCE
Twisha’s case did not stand alone. Just after five days on 17th May 2026, another young woman lost her life under circumstances that raised similar questions. Deepika Nagar, age 24, from Greater Noida. She had been married for just 14 months, and reportedly she fell from the terrace of her in-laws' three-storey home in Jalpura. Her family had reportedly spent nearly ₹1 crore on the wedding, yet her in-laws were demanding an additional amount of ₹50 lakh and a Toyota Fortuner. Before her death, she called her father crying and told him that she was being beaten. Her post-mortem showed she had a brain haemorrhage, a ruptured spleen, a ruptured liver, and a ruptured kidney, which is more than a simple fall. Three people, including her husband and father-in-law, have been arrested. Deepika's father broke down publicly and said, “If they did not want to keep my daughter, they could have sent her back home. They should not have killed her.”
Two women. Two cities. Two families who tried to do everything right, saving up, celebrating, sending their daughters into what they hoped would be good lives. And yet, here we are.
When cases like Twisha's and Deepika's go viral, the society, the world, and the conversations are usually around the individuals, the husband, the in-laws, and the police response. Very few actually talk about the things that actually matter. The larger symbol at the centre of both stories is the dowry system itself. What makes these stories unbearable is that neither of these women was invisible.
Twisha was educated. She had a career, a voice, people who loved her, and she was loved. Deepika’s wedding reportedly cost a crore. Their families did what Indian families are taught to do: educate their daughter, marry her “well,” give what is asked, and protect the relationship at all costs. And still, it wasn’t enough. Because dowry is not just a demand made at weddings. It is a system that quietly decides a woman’s worth long after the rituals end.
A World Bank study that tracked 40,000 marriages in rural India between 1960 and 2008 found that dowry was paid in 95% of all marriages. This isn't just something that happens in poor or uneducated families; it happens across caste, class, religion, and region.
Twisha was educated. She had a career, a public profile, and parents who were paying attention. Deepika's family had spent a crore on the wedding, and sadly those 1 crore could not save a life. And that's the point: the system isn't defeated by individual wealth or awareness. The forced abortion adds a dimension that Indian law has almost no language for. There's no specific criminal charge for coercing a wife into terminating a pregnancy. The law will term it as “cruelty”, but that does not capture what actually happened. She was isolated in a new city, financially dependent, and was accused of having an affair, pressured to end a pregnancy she may have wanted. That's not just cruelty. That's a complete dismantling of a person.
NCRB data for 2024 shows 5,737 dowry-related deaths across India and around 15 to 16 women every single day. Uttar Pradesh, where Deepika lived, recorded the highest number in the country.
What's different in 2026 is the speed at which social media turns these cases into trending hashtags within hours. What hasn't changed is the institutional response: SITs are formed, arrests are made, and the deeper issues that are low conviction rates, social acceptance of dowry, and underfunded forensics stay exactly where they were.
In Twisha's case, the Supreme Court stepped in and directed the CBI to take over, citing concerns about institutional bias. The CBI re-registered the FIR, named Samarth Singh and his mother Giribala Singh and a Special Investigation Team arrived in Bhopal on May 26. That level of attention is far more than what most families of victims ever receive. But attention after someone has died cannot replace protection while they are still alive.
The real question both cases force us to ask isn't "why didn't the system catch this?" It's simpler and harder: why does a system still exist where a woman's safety inside her own marriage depends on how much her family can pay?
Deepika's father just wanted his daughter alive and happy. Twisha's mother was on the phone with her daughter when the line went dead.
The symbol that failed them both isn't a bad husband or a greedy mother-in-law. It's the quiet, stubborn belief baked into weddings and WhatsApp groups and dinner table conversations that daughters are a transaction. Until that changes, the names will keep coming.
References:
- The Wire (2026, May) — 16 Dowry Deaths Every Day in 2024, NCRB Data Shows
- The Print (2025, September) — 20 dowry deaths a day, but conviction for 1 in 6
- SheThePeople (2018) — Are Indian Women Aware Of Reproductive Coercion?
- ScienceDirect / SSM Population Health (2019) — Reproductive coercion in Uttar Pradesh, India
- Centre for Reproductive Rights (2021) — Legal Barriers to Accessing Safe Abortion Services in India
- New Lines Magazine (2024) — India's Abortion Laws Offer Pregnant Women an Illusion of Choice
- Deccan Chronicle (2026, May) — Dowry Deaths Continue Across India Despite Strict Laws
- The Week (2026, May 26) — Inside Twisha Sharma Case: SIT probe
- DNP India (2026, May) — New Twist In Twisha Sharma's Case As Husband Speaks Up, CBI Takes Over
- IDR Online (2022) — India's abortion rights: Why we need to do more