At the tender age of twenty one
They decided I had had enough fun
And with a herculean effort they found me this speci-man
With whom my life’s idiosyncratic farce began
He first appeared like any normal guy
Just the usual, short & pale & shy
The regular engineer with an average salary
To all things smart & funny, an allergy
Romance with a man this ordinary
Turned the bedroom into a boring purgatory
However, surprising was the fact
His inflated ego remained perfectly intact
His brain seemed to be shrinking with time
Or perhaps, it was always the size of a dime
Not that he bothered to use it at home
For here he suffered from “I’m God” syndrome
All things always had to be ready for his highness
For locating his own socks caused him great distress
Anyways, what is a wife’s existence if not
To make the husband’s every moment a perfect snapshot
The husband could glutton & grow a tummy
But an added pound on the wife, and came his mummy
Who went on to rant on how exceptional was her son
And deserved nothing less than a nymph from heaven
And how, wasn’t I lucky to be the wife of this parameshwar
The mummy taunted in a threatening whisper
O yes, lucky, for who better, I asked my diary
Alas, all Indian husbands are assembled in the same factory
***Written as part of Write Club Bangalore’s session on Parody
Dreams Unlimited 