Don’t Call Me Jayam Ravi’s Ex-Wife Until We’re Divorced: Aarti After Hubby Spotted With Kenishaa

Aarti Ravi has written a heartfelt letter after her husband Jayam Ravi aka Ravi Mohan was spotted with his rumoured girlfriend Kenishaa.

What Aarti Ravi Said In The Letter

In a deeply emotional open letter in response to the media frenzy surrounding her husband's rumoured relationship with singer and Kenishaa, Aarti reveals that she has chosen silence for over a year-not out of weakness, she says, but to protect the peace of her two sons, aged 10 and 14. "I absorbed every accusation, every allegation, every cruel whisper thrown my way," she writes. "Not because I didn't have the truth, but because I didn't want my children to carry the burden of choosing between parents."

While the letter does not name Jayam Ravi directly, it clearly refers to the actor as the man she "once stood beside for 18 years-in love, loyalty, and belief." She states that their divorce proceedings are still ongoing and accuses him of emotional and financial abandonment, despite portraying a picture-perfect life on social media.

The most heartbreaking revelation is the threat of home eviction, reportedly triggered by instructions from her estranged husband, despite the home being built together. Addressing accusations of being a gold digger, Aarti firmly denies the label. "I chose love over calculation. Trust over transaction," she writes, "and this is where it has brought me."

The letter paints a vivid picture of a mother fighting for her children's emotional stability. "They are too young to understand legal clauses, but old enough to feel abandonment," she writes, citing missed calls and cold messages that have left emotional scars on her sons.

Earlier in the day, Ravi was spotted at Kenishaa at producer Ishari Ganesh's daughter's wedding in Chennai.

For the unversed, Ravi had announced that she was getting a divorce from her. Later, she wrote an open letter stating that she does not want to part ways with him.

Here is the full text

For a year, I have carried silence like armour. Not because I was weak, but because my sons needed peace more than I needed to be heard.

I absorbed every accusation, every allegation, every cruel whisper thrown my way. I said nothing-not because I didn't have the truth, but because I didn't want my children to carry the burden of choosing between parents.

Today, while the world sees carefully curated appearances and photo captions, our reality is very different. My divorce is still ongoing. But the man I once stood beside for 18 years-in love, loyalty, and belief-has not just walked away from me, but from the very responsibilities he once promised to honour.

For months, the weight of their world has rested on my shoulders alone. Every book, every meal, every quiet tear at night-held, healed, and carried by me. Not a whisper of emotional or financial support has followed from the one who once called them his pride. And now, we face home eviction-from the bank, on the instructions of the man who once built that very home with me. I am accused of being a gold digger. If that were ever true, I would've protected my personal interests long ago. But I chose love over calculation. Trust over transaction. And this is where it has brought me.

I do not regret love. But I will not stand by as that love is rewritten as weakness.

My children are 10 and 14. They deserve security, not shock. Stability, not silence. They are too young to understand legal clauses, but old enough to feel abandonment. Every unanswered call, every cancelled meeting, every cold message meant for me but read by them-these are not just oversights. They are wounds.

I speak today not as a wife. Not even as a woman wronged. I speak as a mother whose sole focus is the well-being of her children. And if I do not rise now, I will fail them forever.

You can move on in gold silk. You can replace roles in your public life. But you cannot rewrite the truth. A father is not just a title. It is a responsibility.

To the others who walk freely through our story- the tears of children echo in places no eyes can see. You may escape my words, but not what the universe remembers in silence.

To the curious minds and self-appointed well-wishers preoccupied with my Instagram name-I remain Aarti Ravi until both I and the law decide otherwise.

And to the respected media: kindly refrain from calling me an ex-wife until the legal process concludes. Until then, patience-like silence-is a virtue.

This is not vengeance. This is not spectacle. This is a mother stepping into the fire-not to fight, but to protect.

I do not cry. I do not scream. I stand tall, because I must.

For the two boys who still call you Appa.

And for them, I will never back down.

Aarti