She wakes before dawn,
Lighting the home before the sun does.
Hands kneading dough,
Heart kneading dreams she never speaks of.
She feeds them warm rotis,
Forgets the hunger in her own belly.
She packs lunches, braids hair,
And tucks away the ache in her bones.
In the quiet corners of Indian homes,
Sacrifice is stitched into the curtains,
Hung on walls with wedding photos,
And whispered in lullabies:
“Family first, always first.”
Her body aches,
But the grocery list is longer than her symptoms.
Her heart races,
But the dinner must be ready on time.
Her soul tires,
But there’s homework to check, bills to pay, parents to call.
Anemia hides behind her smile,
High blood pressure behind her silence.
Fatigue walks with her shadow,
Depression sits quietly at her bedside.
They call her “superwoman” —
A title she never asked for,
A crown that feels like chains.
If Only She Knew
That love need not mean losing oneself.
That strength is also saying, “I need rest.”
That her laughter, her health,
Is the heartbeat of the home she nurtures.
If she cared for herself,
She could care for them longer.
If she listened to her body,
Her family would hear her joy.
A Gentle Plea
Dear woman,
Pause.
Eat when you cook.
Sleep when you are tired.
Visit the doctor when your body whispers,
Before it screams.
For you are not selfish
When you choose yourself —
You are saving the very home you hold.
“The world calls you selfless, but you deserve a world where you are loved, even by yourself.”
Pearl Vohra Bhatia