Indian Housewife by Madathil Rajendran Nair SignUp
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Theme: Wife Share This Page
Indian Housewife
by Madathil Rajendran Nair
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  With the batter
And the ladle
On the pan
She drew a picture
As her toes did do
On the floor
A dream unknown
Humming a Tamil song

Her sweat longed
For her man
Yet to return from work
As the evening collapsed
Into uneven darkness
That knew no heart

Pancakes and pancakes
Made she with vengeance
Stacked them on plate
And waited for her man

He came all sweat
Inebriate to hilt
Went to bed
Snored and bored the night
She wept beside

The Indian housewife
Who drew her dreams
On silly pans
That fried dosas
And cried all night

Wind and cloud
Do you mind
Giving her company
This hapless night?
Share This:
July 13, 2014
More By: Madathil Rajendran Nair
Views: 1256      Comments: 10

Comments on this Poem

Comment dear shri. madathil. r nair,

great work; after a long break; as though longing for this.

regards
ramachandran










































Ramachandran
07/21/2014 06:43 AM

Comment Very good poem Nair. Continue writing....

Vijayan
07/16/2014 05:12 AM

Comment Sir , this is an excellent poem giving us a 'slice of life'. The 'dosa' may also be considered a symbol of the 'vicious circle' she is placed in.

madhavi-godavarthy
07/15/2014 23:30 PM

Comment The life and times of a typical Indian housewife well portrayed Nairji, in this well penned poem.

Padmaja Iyengar
07/15/2014 22:47 PM

Comment sir,
as usual, the poem is realistic and brought her in front of me....appreciate ! keep up the good work....

regards
subhash..

subhash K swamy
07/15/2014 11:42 AM

Comment Almost missed this poem as I was travelling. She is there in flesh and blood before me. Great work.

Rian John
07/15/2014 11:18 AM

Comment Sir, I always love reading you. There is magic in your artistry. Through this beautiful poem you've brought out an ordinary character such an artistic way. Thank you

shinojalex@gmail.com
07/15/2014 10:48 AM

Comment Thanks Sathees. As usual you are great support.

Vinatha-ji, Indian women make dosas (not pancakes) for their husbands as mine does and makes big claims. I do appreciate her culinary prowess although I am inebriate most of the time. Sunanda was known as Pushkar, not Nair. God knows if Tharoor was one although he is from my region. Even if he is, I wouldn't like to see the surname Nair linked with a tragedy. Thanks for your appreciation.

madathilnair
07/15/2014 07:06 AM

Comment The worst case scenarion - Bramacharini even while in holy matri,momy .

i would like it if you substitute Dosas for Pncakes . for Pancakes are breakfast itembut dosas can be eaten morning, afternion and night !

Great poem just like all the other poems you write . Specially the Sunanda Nair poem . Alas , she has become a poem !

Vinatha Kumar
07/15/2014 06:59 AM

Comment One can have all the happiness in the world with in the family circle. The ladies are with a down to earth attitude find it and live on it without loosing its freshness. On the other hand the men with the XY-factor are lost in the mirage of the egoistic self satisfaction forgetting their loved ones and forcing them into desperation and sadness.

This truth has been described here very passionately by this compassionate poet by these magical words. Thanks Madathil-ji.

Sathees Chnadran
07/14/2014 10:28 AM




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