This is a poem that describes the sad plight of many Indian women who are thrust into the marriage market. I wrote this from the point of view of a mother-in-law. Please bear in mind that i don't at all endorse anything i've written here. I'm completely against it.
Let me see what she has in her purse.
Let me total all her assets.
Is she tall and pretty and fair?
Is her skin as
velveteen and unblemished
as a newborn's buttock?
Is it a warm shade of peaches and cream?
Does it give a pearly glow
when she pulls back her pallu?
Is her hair
long and thick and lustrous?
Does it ripple behind her back
and fan out like a monsoon cloud
when she loosens her bun
to retire for the night?
Can the curve of her waist be discerned?
Are her breasts big enough
to fill my son's palms?
Are her hips wide enough
to securely cocoon an heir in her womb?
Has she been to school and college?
Can she speak English like an Angrez?
Will she be an arm candy to my son
for his numerous work parties?
What wealth can i wrest from her father?
How much will her dowry
add to our coffers?
Are her rotis as round as mine?
Can she darn torn clothes?
Can she whip up a feast
at a moment's notice?
Can she keep calm in the face of
bawling babies and domestic catastrophes?
Will she stay at home to do the
cooking, washing, bartan, jhadoo and pocha?
Or will she abandon her family
to shamelessly chase dreams?
Let me see her and then decide
whether she'll ever be
as good to my son
as I am to my husband.
Some terms which need explaining are-
roti- it's a form of unleavened bread