Neither happy nor sad
I try being in the moment
Laugh at jokes and pass smiles
to people crossing by
But at the end of the day
I get carried away by emotions
It drills my heart and applies fences
All over my body
I wish I could runaway
And never come back
Because I don't know
How to let go.
Feeble yet proficient, her hands executed the romance of comb with tresses. Separating, solving and sifting down the locks; these were her moments of alleviation. Hair then parted into three, weaved into a braid, were rolled up and above the nape of the neck. Hitting the same spot every time, it was then supported by pins. As she began pinning it, it seemed as if the pins had learnt their positions and needed her lift only for the earthly world.
Born in a family of fair-complexioned women, I was always insecure of my dusky complexion as a kid. It never really bothered me, until one day, my friend in school pointed out the difference in mine and my sister’s complexions. Now I didn’t know it mattered so much and I couldn’t answer her back, so I just kept quiet. The song “Mai aisa kyu hu” kept ringing in my head till the end of school that day.
“Kshitija is the place where the sky and sea meet” he said, nodding to himself as he wiped his hands on dirty trousers, not looking at me. “Horizon”, I whispered weaving my fingers into my hair and not being able to take my eyes off his. Shrugging, he countered, “Means the same, but mine’s more poetic.” I was only ten but I knew I had fallen in love with a nameless boy I met at the railroads every day.
