He sits in the hall with a Bottle of Old-Monk, Demanding half-fried omelets And bhindi fry- Seventh time this week. She oils the pan. Tries to keep The yolk intact while sprinkling Chilly powder and salt. After the fourth peg or the fifth? She waits there in anticipation Of beatings from him. With a fake smile as armor That's never enough. Just the Seventh day of the week. Tomorrow, the first again.