The Indian Husband

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

Published by Iris

I'm an aspiring blogger... Experimenting with poetry, fiction and self-help articles.

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