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- Our Kamla Bai,
- With a pierced nose and a bun
- Both held up higha
- A rose clipped in her hair
- Behind her ear,
- Shouts, “I have come!”
- In a thin, high-pitched voice
- That can make birds shudder
- And glasses break.
- Our Kamla Bai,
- With her bangles tinkling
- As she rolls the dough into chapattis
- Swats away a random fly,
- Curses the heat.
- Our Kamla Bai,
- Her ears all open
- For household gossip and workplace arguments.
- Grins as if she knows all the solutions,
- But makes her face serious
- In front of the younger maids.
- Our Kamla Bai,
- With dreams of Nokia and a cement roof,
- Thinking about a Colors enabled television
- And big gold anklets
- Dreams on as she chops instead of dicing.
- Our Kamla Bai,
- Working seven houses, decidedly skipping the eighth,
- Removes her pallu from her waist.
- Forgetting to clean up,
- Leaves with a mighty air.
- – Sanyukta Dharmadhikari
