The Indian Bride (inspired partially by Bhartesh Chaudhary's Post)

Over the long years when she struggled alone,
she learnt to live in less and in dignity
when her youth and her beauty was kept to hone
she never was the one for shame & pity

and along came the man who was a mirror
to her own simplicity & depth of soul
and he made promises to win her & love her
She, trusted him, slow and then in whole

Together they created dreams & worlds
their laughter shone like the rising sun
he would swerve in the smell of her curls
and she was sure that , he was 'the one'

Though Indians are still divided in 4 factions
and he was alas, but one above her
but their love was less words more actions
it was strong enough for differences, to cover

but they were wrong, she was wrong
she wasn't perfect or enough for the bond
the list of inadequacies in her was long
it stretched to her age, her family & beyond

and he nodded when they asked her to blend
and agreed to make her divorce her pride
unknowingly, he made her heart & soul rend
well, that's the price to be an Indian bride

She wondered about the promises and the vow
that they both silently undertook under the moon
the bond of equality- where was it now
was this the beginning to an end, so soon?

the answers lay buried somewhere in Indian mindsets
where daughters and brides are beneath sons & grooms
where dignity's quota is decided by a human's sex
and where an obligation on 'her', always looms

The truly liberated ones are either lost or rare
or the ones who are judged for their money or riches
in whose home a woman wont feel pride-bare
where her head is held high- and no one twitches

would she resign or rebel- no one would know
her heart,though, ached with yet another deceit
would she choose her respect over the good bride show
would she let go or attempt , all her life, to fit?

Excerpt from 'The Palace of Illusions'

"..Once a boy came running in from play and asked, Mother, what is milk? My friends say it is creamy and white and has the sweetest taste, second only to the nectar of gods. Please, mother, I want milk to drink.
The mother ,who was too poor to buy milk, mixed some flour in water , added jaggery , and gave it to the boy.
The boy drank it and danced in joy, saying, Now I, too, know what milk tastes like!

And the mother ,who through all the years of her hardship had never shed a tear, wept at his trust and her deception..."

- Chitra Bannerjee Divakaruni