water wives

On this piece of a very parched Earth 

I walk ten thousand leaden steps 

under the burning merciless orb, 

We call the life-giving Sun 

dangling on hips a pot full of water 

while I carry two on my stiff head 

to provide succour to my thirsty hearth  

where the heavily pregnant first wife 

Of my middle aged husband 

bake millet chapatis for the master of the house, 

as I wash away the dirt, sweat and blood 

to ready myself for the nightly chores 

befitting a dutiful new wife. 

-Neha Bansal

 

Arranged Marriage: the old fashioned way

He went there with his five aunts

and three brothers-in-law.

The banarasi-clad aunts spoke a lot,

the co-brothers a little

and the groom not at all.

He sat almost broodingly,

the branch manager of a sarkari bank,

with your average Indian moustaches.

Kachoris  with tangy tamarind chutney

from back-street Natthu halwai served,

whose laurels  along  with bhua’s 

cross-stitched table cloth 

shamelessly ascribed to the bride.

The aunts nodded approval when she

brought forth the tea tray,

with bowed head and bashful eyes,

 tutored by her omniscient mausi.

Gulping down the elaichi tea

and eyeing her surreptitiously,

the groom quickly noticed her

besan-cured complexion;

her long snaky braid, pliant

 yet promisingly passionate.

No questions were ever asked

about bride’s aspirations.

Topic of dowry hushed up but

Traditions were to be respected.

Leave taking now, the groom afforded

a lingering glance on his bride-to-be,

definitely not lost on chuckling aunts

and the beaming parents of the bride.