That day he understood.
the laundry to be put out
and the lunch boxes to be made, before the
bus arrived to take the kids, bit before
mid-day…and other chores,
without any respite!
the maid played truant
as if destiny wanted it that way only.
she, the wife, ill
he, running around
the suburban Mumbai apartment
answering door bells, cold calls, couriers
and storing filtered water in bottles
due to daily shortage
then straightening the rooms
piling the newspapers into a bundle
managing the washing machine
and the office e-mails, simultaneously
—he, working from home, that hot day,
muttering sotto voce, all the obscenities—
his feet running off a tired body
about to tilt like the Tower of Pisa
the manager- guy understood perfectly
what does it mean to be a superwoman
with multiple hands
a galley slave
but never-ever grunting!
those sexy ads
of working women
becoming a grim reality.
the being that was a 24X7 machine
the machine then
morphing into a smiling wife
a great care-giver
to an ungrateful/uncaring
fat Indian middle-class family!