My grandma was a superhero, Fictional in the century where she never existed. No one really saw her Except my really old dad And seven other aunts. Grandma had a really strong womb That could hold two babies at a time Every nine months. She had whacked Grandpa once, Twenty five years after getting raped For the first time. (That was the last time she had a kid.) Grandma was a superhero And had a costume like one- A red sequined saree, A part of which she used as a mask- Hiding her identity under the veil ("Like Spiderman," my brother in Ahmedabad observes) Grandma had scars From her battles. There were few on her face From all the beating Grandpa gave her every evening In heavy dosages Like a medicine for cancer. There were a few between her legs And a few on her breast That each new kid renewed every year Like a new years's present. Grandma fought With accidents and whiplashes, She fought burns and beatings And cleaned up the broken plates That were thrown at her. She fought the furnace fire Raging in the kitchen Like that monster from dreams Trying to gulp us in. She dissolved as a mother, A wife And a torn,dusty doormat. My grandma was a superhero, Fictional in the century where she never existed.