The duties I forget
the compulsive ones most
that being the milk on the stove
it is the day to day routine
I sit reading through with concentration
or gazing through the window more concentrated
while the music in the background plays rhapsodically
the milk boils and boils many a time
I sit unmoved in my place lost in myself
the burnt smell emanates slowly
that is the alert generally cautions me
I rush to see my milk on the stove
there is no milk, not even a drop
the milk pan almost charred lies burnt
this is not on one or two occasions
but being throughout my life with few exceptions
I look up the attic straining my neck
see milk pans in a row shapeless and black
the milk bill escalates two folds and three folds
I stand answerable to my husband
who frowns at me but lets me off with that alone
as he is so fond of the tea 
I prepare all these days.
