She wakes up at dawn,
Relinquishing her yawn.
Slips out of the blankets,
No sounds from her trinkets.
So that she doesn’t disturb your sleep.
She would choke her giggles and quieten her weep.
She prepares the breakfast,
and bites the crumbs at last.
“Parantha again!”, she hears you blast.
She’s forgotten she likes Ginger tea.
She’s forgotten who is she.
She warms the water for you to bath.
She warms her heart to endure your wrath.
Chooses your clothes, presses them hard.
If at all that will make you glad.
She turns the newspaper
and you snatch it from her hands.
She doesn’t know what’s inside her,
Why may she worry about unknown lands!
She goes to the grocer, the laundry and the milkman.
With you in your office.
she can no more stay a “woman”.
But you will return soon
and show her her right place.
She wouldn’t mind,
She has learnt to accept fate with grace.
Dressed like a maid,
Turmeric tempered hands,
Garlic smelling fingers,
hot oil burnt palms.
You feel ashamed that she stinks of sweat.
Messy, untidy and wet.
She will take time to match your attire.
She has burnt her identity in the kitchen fire.
She cooked your favourite dish today.
Just ignore if its salty and please say,
“This tastes so good you know.”
And she can crumple all her dignity beneath your ego.
Hobby? She can’t have those,
kids and hubby she can.
Who question her intellect,
bully her for “trying to be a man“.
She has all the time in the world for you.
You can watch the NEWS for hours in lieu.
“After all hunger deaths in Somalia,
are more important than her.
What does she know other than home?
Nothing before. Nothing after.”
She has no Sundays.
She can never fall ill.
Just give her a little love.
that’s her real pill.
She utters her name. You don’t recognise,
It’s not your fault, you are too wise.
She’s forgotten to tell you whose “Mrs” she is,
How on earth would you know her! doesn’t she know this!
She smiles at your guests,serving them tea.
You frown at her, thinking she’s stingy.
You don’t realise she had no money with her,
“Where on earth do you spend all that I offer?!?”
On your make-up, clothes and jewellery?
Bills. Laundry. grocery.
The electric bill is high.
She’s the one lazying at home.
Can she deny?
“The new curtains,the sofa and the crockery?
You buy them all,
with whose permission?
Permission, certainly she needs to seek,
she doesn’t earn even a penny a week.
If her husbands’s status she wants to show.
It isn’t her own, she should know.
She starves her desires
and saves a bit.
Not for her saree,
but for your birthday gift.
She complains you didn’t do a few errands,
“Mad woman! Does she think you have a million hands?!
She’s the one who sits at home
all the while idle, she has the guts to groan!”
People say she does nothing,
but gossip all day long.
After all an “idle-mind” is a devil’s workshop,
where all malice shall throng.
“C-A-T isn’t Saaaat, It’s Kaaat“, she tells.
“You know nothing Mom. Or you would have gone to offishh“, he yells.
Even that seems like melody to her loving ears.
Letting the flesh from her womb, innocently pierce-
her identity, her being into a million holes,
Such that a soul cares for a million souls…
He grows up to correct the world,
“She isn’t a house-wife, she’s a home-maker.”
But does this logic convince himself as its taker?
The in-laws are asked what does she do,
They say, “she does nothing, but a house-hold jobs few”.
The husband is asked, what does she do,
Embarrassed he sites her qualifications and says ,”she knew,
she wouldn’t be able to handle so much pressure,
Her world is her family, her only treasure.”
Her family is a treasure for her.True.
But does it consider her a treasure too?
After each fight she’s reminded.
She is fed and clothed by them,
she better not be blinded.
“What’s her worth?
A grain of sand.
She must understand.”
Yes.She has understood well her value.
hence sacrificing that grain of sand too.
To hide it in her womb and nourish it with care.
Into a pearl drop- flawless and fair.
She sees her dreams through your eyes.
Knowing what if she didn’t shine,
But you must certainly rise.
She goes to the temple,
Prays for your success.
She forgets without fuss,
she too had a few wishes.
Whatever makes you happy,
That makes her happy too.
But what brings her tears,
does that bring tears to you?
The world points at her and curiously asks.
You say,”Who? She? She’s a House-wife.”