Always in odd numbers, at the door they stand
You receive the wedding card in both your hands,
You’re invited next week, the whole family must attend,
Everyone will be there, to a ceremony so grand.

Have to look for gold earrings, bangles and choker,
A sari, and a blouse that fits with a matching colour,
Your success in life is assessed by your weight in gold,
The cost of the material too, plays an important role.

Ironing a five-metre cloth to wrap around your torso,
Is as tedious as getting it on, an hour before you go,
It wasn’t so bad years ago when one was svelte and slim,
The sari would cling so, like a second skin.

Now with inches added on, you’re a tragedy,
Like a band of steel round you, it’s a calamity,
Opting for a knee length shift with silk pants to match,
Before I leave, round the neck I tie a beautiful sash.

Entering the hall I’m happy in loose comfort and style,
Their stare tells me, I stand out like a mile,
“Why aren’t you in sari?” they hiss as they pass by,
“I’m a modern mummy,” I psst in reply.

Now, when the card arrives and we’re invited to go,
To the man of the house I say, “Please do so.”