Work

“You don’t have to work.
Your dad is rich
And your husband will earn enough too.”
You say.

Trying to control my seething anger
I gently remind you
Of my ninety percent in twelfth grade
And my degrees from the best universities.
I neither earned them
To be a fancy addition
Behind my name on a wedding invitation;
Nor did I study hard
To just slave away in your kitchen
And produce your family heirs.
I did not ace interviews
To be shown off
As the ‘obedient wife’
Or the ‘well-settled daughter’.

Shocked at my brazenness,
You feel ‘sorry’ for the man
I will have to marry.
But I do not pay heed to your words
Because they are shaped
On ego and insecurities,
While mine are products
Of an open mind and
A battle for an identity.

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