Red

  It all started with that red saree; The red hands, the smiling faces, That sindoor worn on her head with pride. Celebrated by her family, A goddess had come into their lives,   It all started with that radiant face; Golden bangles, diamond earrings, Her days filled with her child's giggles, Her husband's laughter.   It all started as the hidden monster; Shrouded as her dear mother-in-law Bestowed her with love and her fake smiles.   Then came the reality; Creeping in like a stormy night, From a goddess to a slave, She converted overnight.   The Naari we adorned with garlands, The Durga we cherished, Became the servant who was kicked, For birthing yet another girl. Beaten for being defected, Not having a son, a crime for which she paid.   Then came the reality; The mother-in-law's slave, A child bearer, no more, The husband's property, no more.   Along came the hidden truth; The dowry, the snide remarks, The ugly truth.   It all ended with that red saree; The red hands, the broken smiles, That sindoor worn on her head with fear, Cursed by her family, Her smiles stolen for life.   It all ended with that red saree; Adorned just for show, Insignificant was her happiness, Empty was her soul. -Pooja Aggarwal, V-III