With books, bag and pencils and a wooden footrule.
Then I too like brother shall add two and two-
And read all your letters
Like the village Postmen do.
I'm tired of rolling out flour everyday
Of milking the cow and cutting the hay.
Oh ! daughter, my daughter, I would send you there
If you were a boy, my son and an heir
Stay shut in your oyster, hush bridegroom's pearl-
Because oh ! my daughter you are only a girl.
( In India, even today, in the remote areas and villages girls face discrimination. They are not educated and often mal-nourished. This poem speaks of this.)
Read more articles by joy clarkson or search for articles on the same topic or others.