Cooking, Woman and the Husband

Why is a woman's character, judged by her ability to cook?
I have lost count of how many times,my grandmother,seemingly distant aunts, and some relative I would have heard of for the first time, won't refrain from asking me, what I can cook, how do I cook, how often do I cook and what recipe do I use. The rest of the questions follow only if the first question is answered in the affirmative.

And what happens if just to incite them, I say 'no I cant cook'. They look at me as if I just started an avalanche. This is almost always what anyone, by that I mean any woman after puberty, would get if she said she did'nt know how to cook.
"We know you are educated and modern, but a woman still cooks food for her husband. What will you do if your husband asks you for a chapati, and what if they aren't round...even if you stay alone you have to cook. Every woman should know cooking, if the cook doesn't come the house cant go hungry!", cannot tell you how many times I have heard that one.

Why am I groomed to keep a guy happy, someone I may not figure out before I have 2 kids with, in this puritanical world, someone I may not even meet before i get married...

Why should I learn to cook just to satisfy the mystery creature called the husband?

Any Day

There are days when life is beautiful. Even the idiot at workplace, looks like a court jester. The sun seems to smile or if u like the rain, then it’s raining and the weather makes you feel like a soft toy...

Then there are days when, you’ll curse your favourite cricketer, because the same idiot at work, tells you, you need a brain lift. 

You’ll kick your door and manhandle the remote. Not realising that, what it needs is just a change of batteries. The telephone bill, electricity bill, water bill, and all other bills of livelihood, chose this very day to arrive.

And all you can ever manage to say is that blessed four letter word!

Gray

There lies beneath the surface,
another layer
A layer not white
A layer not black
A sheet of liquid gray


Between you and me,
What lies there?
It's pure white
With him it's dark black
Is there no time when you turn blacker
and he whiter
untill what reveals itself is the gray
Then who do I go to?