Purani Genes aur Nayi Genes

Last night, was chatting with an old friend about how far we had come from those singleton days of first-day-first-show fillum viewings, mindless shopping sprees, strange excursions to even stranger restaurants. Post-marriage we seemed to have become milder versions of Ekta Kapoor kkkkreations (or kretins, same difference), trying to balance home and hearth while trying to retain some semblance of the fun person we used to be.
My theory was that maybe, somewhere we all have a dormant "bahu" gene (associated with Responsibilities) which suddenly comes alive after we get married. Then, after some days, the now-repressed "Sex and the City" gene (associated with our singleton independence) slowly starts to register protest. Then battle ensues between the "bahu" gene and the "Sex and the City" gene. And what you see below is just one manifestation of the resultant chaos.
(This is a collaborative work-in progress envisaged by Cynic and moi during an afternoon crib session about hunger pangs, lack of chai, nuisance of bais and how all poems about wandering away from responsibilities seemed to have been written only by men and not women.)

(With due apologies to Yeats)


I will arise now and go and make some tea
And a small breakfast built of eggs and bread made
Nine baked beans will I have there and a hive for honey for the toast
And eat all this in some cozy tree-shade

And I shall have some juice there
for juice comes dripping slow
Dropping from the juicer into the tall big glass
Dripping after whales of effort
To where the bai groans

I will arise and go now
For always night and day
I hear sounds of the dhobi, milkman, maid
Banging on the door,
Or moping with low sounds by the floor