Glasses and I

I wonder what my glasses see that I do not notice.
•
Today I saw two people enjoying the Delhi summer/fall night, lying on the ground. In that moment, all the sky was theirs to see and all the earth was theirs to rest on.
Maybe the next moment, the city dolour would creep up on them. I hope it didn’t. I hope it doesn’t. •
I’ve gone through a couple of glasses since I started needing them. Some broke on me, some didn’t fit me well with time and some got too heavy after a while. Most of them are with me in their boxes, in a drawer that I keep opening.
Maybe the same goes with people I’ve met in my life.
Somedays I hope I helped you notice things you never noticed, other days I wish I stayed in my box. Most days, I’m happy you keep me in your drawer somewhere, still existing. •

Me

It took me years to find Love within myself; from growing up depending on my big brothers for friendship I never found with my peers, to latching onto relationships that — I thought at that time — fulfilled me.
•
“You look just like your Dad. If only you look like your mom you’d be prettier.”
“You look just like your aunty. Gain some more weight.”
“You have the gummy smile that your Dad has.”
“You haven’t grown any taller still?”
•
What are seemingly just normal remarks in everyday conversations affected me to the point that in my late teens, I hated everything about myself.
I did not like my face, so I grew my hair and hid behind it. I did not like my gummy ugly smile so I laughed a little less, tried to smile pretty. I felt little and short, so I walked painfully in heels.

Looking back, I cry and hurt at how unkind I was to myself. I was filled with bitterness over things I have no control over.

I punished myself for just being who I am. These days, I do it a lot less. I’m a lot kinder to myself. I cut my hair and love how it looks, I wear flats and shoes I love, and I smile the biggest smile when a picture is taken.
•
Sometimes I tell a friend, “It hurts”
“What hurts?”
“Life and loneliness and everything in between”
•
This dialogue happens only on bad nights, when I find myself longing for something or someone that will make me happy. I know this happiness is temporary, and this want for it, extremely unhealthy. 
On better nights, I am happy with myself, and all that I am: body and mind, joy and grief, anger and compassion, mistakes and forgiveness. I am so proud of how far the little girl at first grade, who got lost in town because her friend left her behind, has travelled to find her way back home.

Plastic Trees

I am not my mother. 

Precious flower

Living by the river

Tending to her plants

Making them flower.

Sitting below her trees

Singing to their fruits.

I am plastic bags

And polluted lungs.

Failed attempts

Desperate actions

Zero effects 

Reusable bags

Forgotten plastic straws

She will not be. 

Earth, Birth.

In pain, in vain. 

Carbon printing

As we lie waiting

Living while dying.