Sunday, September 29, 2013


A bundle of joy is born
With all the sorrows gone
From pretty pinks to radiant reds
Of frocks and skirts and lovely blouses
She is dressed in everything
She is treated as the little princess amongst all houses
The best of toys and dainty little things, she gets them all to play with
Invariably every little Indian girl child plays with a kitchen set
The reason behind this is a perennial quest
She plays with her peers and has no fear
She can sleep all she wants, not a soul in the family would even say a word
She needs good rest, so don’t be a pest, an older member would chide
She is sent to the best of schools in town, without a frown
Only so that  her standard of education is as high as the sky
She has more privileges than her male sibling
Does not know an inkling
About gender bias woes
She is watchfully monitored for all the marks she scores
And is never given any of the daily chores
Only so that she gets a job in her field of study
She could choose anything she wants so long as she is happy
Her dressing style is the style statement of her home without a hesitation
She has now transcended from frocks to gowns
Of chic kurthas and gorgeous saris
She is asked to try them all and becomes the style diva
She could befriend her male colleagues sans any restriction
Lest her parents know where she is off to and when she’d return
All the rest seems a safe haven to her
Until one day she is asked to tie the knot
Her head becomes hot
She’s told she’d rot
For she ought to tie the knot
She begins to think whatever happened to her career dreams
The world now does not hear her scream
With coaxing and cajoling she does tie the knot
Her kitchen set from childhood now comes to life
When she is another person’s wife
All this while she has only been nursing a career dream
And was told to study with her mind steady
It’s not all about money always, she does want a job only to carve a niche for herself
For sure she does not want to be dependant
And wants to sing songs of independence
She says, “So be it,” and gets going with her work
Whatever happened to all the intensive care
She now gets a stare
If she runs like a hare
To her workplace
Grades and Percentage were always products of comparison back in her days of education
Which earned her a great deal of dedication
For what joy? She now begins to whine
Only so that she cooks and thinks beyond her books
Of course she could work all she wants
Not a soul is going to haunt her
Lest she takes the pill of multi-tasking
She is expected to chill and work on uphill tasks
She is lashed for her nonchalance
And is asked to beware
Is told that her presentations at work would have no bearing
She needs to veer the steering
In the right direction
Else she is in for a strong rejection
She now has a little one
Again a bundle of happiness
And the cycle goes on...

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