She hates the black-and-blue bruises that her husband gives her when drunk. She hates having to forage for a few rupees every day to feed her two little ones, having to protect them from his angry abuses. She hates discovering yet another of her carefully hidden purses or kitchen utensils stolen by him to pay for his vices. Her jewellery is long gone.
She hates her husband, and wishes he would leave her or die. She plays along, day after endless day, because she knows she would hate the abuses her community would shower on her if she left him.