My Diary Pages

Even though my mother and mother-in law are both successful homemakers and I have immense respect for homemakers who are unsung superwomen, I still find the tag of a 'housewife' as my identity pretty insulting. Blame it to the spirit of feminism that arises from time to time to attack my poor husband or the fact that I had worked for five years at a stretch before marriage and had led a very independent life, I never thought that I could be labelled as a housewife. Alas! God had some different plans.  Early this year, moving to the U.S. on a dependent spouse visa made me the quintessential housewife. I bawled, shouted, and argued with my dear husband whom I held responsible for my plight. As if my feminist rants were not enough to torture him, I decided to exhibit my limited culinary skills to feed him, making good use of all the free time I had.  The Birthday Cake August came and I started planning for my husband's birthday. When we were in a long dist...