THERE WERE SOME DAYS; I LOOKED INTO A MIRROR DEEPLY HOPING TO FIND SOME SEMBLANCE TO MY MOTHER. NOTHING, BUT I KNEW MY RESTLESS EYES WERE HERS, AMMACHI’S. UNLIKE HERS, MINE NEVER UNDERSTOOD THE WAYS OF SEEING.
The summer of 1999 takes me back to the lawns that were rarely trimmed and the sun-kissed grounds where some lazy cotton sarees* were stretched out. Starched and looking like crumpled paper, her sarees eerily reminded me of snakes that basked in the sun. And in that moment of temptation, on the scorching ground, I blazed towards the garden. My bare feet felt the jaded edges of tiny stones and the harsh grunts of the burning grounds. Running waywardly, I picked up the saree and skipped around the garden, imagining it flittering like a kite. Just until the maid caught it on the other end. I tried to yank it off her but she held on to both corners adamantly. With her tacit eyes, I knew I lost, she then taught me how to fold a saree for the first time.
“You wear a saree only when you become a woman.” It sounds like a sentimentally wise thing to say, but let me break it down to you. In other words, it also meant, “When you’re ripe enough for the marriage market.”
“When will I wear a saree?” She already had an exhausted face that said she’ll never say. Thus I scampered to the kitchen, my grandmother was adding some dried mango to the fish curry, she assuredly answered, “You wear a saree only when you become a woman.” It sounds like a sentimentally wise thing to say, but let me break it down to you. In other words, it also meant, “When you’re ripe enough for the marriage market.”
Run parallel, meet at intersections, skip a few lines, the line of thought has journeyed across a few latitudes and longitudes. To more miles before the big sleep. Cheers, Atheena
Its been a journey from being a young soul where I have felt only love but unaware of its importance in my life I searched for love all over and only felt pain, scars and reality but never true love I still keep searching.
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