Sunday Morning


The air hangs heavy on a Sunday morning

Nauseating oil and ghee and the sauted spices

The wives in kichen fry puris. The men on the verandah debate

Matters of national and international interest

Restless kitchen. The new bride – her voice, her opinions

The wrinkled, firm hand restrains her. Tell us. We will hear

The ordeals of the kitchen.The shames of the bedroom.

Let the men deal with the world.

The debates sink in the oil. The smoke is heavy

Close the door- snarls the man. The smell is nauseating

The women do as told. They are safer within closed doors.

With the nauseating ghee. And the sauted spices.


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