Young woman with a pinched nose,
Bow legs outlined by the salwar.
Bespectacled with uncut brows,
Stubby unpolished fingers with rough palms.
Small lips pursed, the unforgiving virtue,
An all-weather tongue darts inside.
You are the chosen one from
among a thousand horoscopes.
No doubt, nor pride, just a friendly gaze,
squared shoulders and powerful arms.
The heavens shower blessings as the dasa unfolds,
with the right nakshatra overhead.
Stop what you are doing!
Welcome her one and all,
The carver of destiny, eldest bahu
Will rewrite the writing on the wall.
She has a role that calls for strength and looks,
Not to be found in parlors and gyms,
Cradle the traditions in her formidable lap
We will do well to sit at her feet.