Let them be. The purple colour hair-dye I never tried.The tattoo , I am wishing for since the big Four-Oh!The delish vegetables I forsake The

You are Durga; C’Mon, scream out your lungsDon’t you put on the Fairness Cream; you are Kali after all You are MahaGauri ; not just

You are Deepawali. You aren’t defined by the dripping faucet;the one you “wished repaired” by DeepawaliYou are the one who still ensures a dry floor.

Oh, Yes we are. Fat, Harried Mothers.Our Hips have lost track of your waistsWe have lost track of our husbands.But, we are determined –We believe,

“Just charge my phone, please.” I say to no one in particular, and yet it means to everyone within earshot. No one stirs. As if.

“Hey, listen, we never did a pre-wedding shoot.”“Okay.”“That’s not a good response.”“Well, I agree with you.”“That’s not good enough, but I will take it. I