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I wish it had been simpler
words that my mouth could wrap around
like I had tried to rub the leeching brown
out of my skin so hard I bled
but instead it came slowly
tip toe tiptoe tiptoe
like how darkness creeps into the night
and slinks away before daylight
the indifference was the first thing I noticed
it should have been the silences
like all the others, I thought I would be different
but just like them, I mistook necessity for respect
then I heard about the marriages, fit for royalty with the seedy underbelly
of royal sums of money, maruti 100s, flats in metropolitan cities, and diamond rings
like grooms are worth their weight in gold that girls' families
start saving for at birth, that girls are doused in kerosene for
then I read the stories of baby girls bathed in milk
gurgling gasping silent
like they had been dolls or numbers
yet in death, they became just that, +1 and move on
then 2012 happened and the earth shook
six men, one iron rod, and a medical student who looked
like me, like you, like anyone
I was fourteen and scared of the 70 year olds who stared
I grew up watching Poo(ja) strut in faux leather skirts
and Geet talk to strangers in lonely trains at night
like they did not have anything to fear
then why do my mom and my naani have stories to tell me in 2019
it's not hard or easy being a hyphen, just weird
I know the stories are real, but its
like the few oceans and mountains between
clean up a lot of reality
the natives, the real ones, they tell me I should be proud
proud of my heritage but it feels
like going to a museum or a hotel
heritage hotel I call it
here the walls are ornate with rubies and gold and turquoise
the framed pictures are luminescent
like Shah Jahan's symbol of marble love
every nook screams centuries old heritage
the restaurant in heritage hotel has paneer
soaked in makhani sprinkled with cashews and saffron that melts
like snow on my tongue
and the gulab jamun has real silver sheets pressed onto it
heritage hotel has a movie theater with 1000 films added annually
the opulence of Mugal-E-Azam, the melody of Pakeezah
like the soulfulness of Dil to Pagal Hai, the path-breaking-ness of Queen
gritty? or glittery? you can find them all
there's boutiques too! they boast
silk sarees embossed with gold flaked peacocks and meenakari chokers studded
like a cacophony of Ajmer emeralds, Kohinoor diamonds, Manar pearls
in-house fairy godmothers to turn you into modern Mumtaz in blood-maroon lengha
heritage hotel is famous for its colorful festivals: the Navratris and Holis
but none are like Divali, when it lights up
like a thousand fireflies and a thousand lanterns swaying in the star-lit sky
1 billion laughing, breathing, celebrating in sync
for me heritage hotel is confusion
pride that silences
blood-maroon lenghas doused in kerosene
beloved paneer curdled from deathly milk
tragic, glossy movies that normalize abuse and oppression
silks, chiffons, linens wrapped around shivering bodies
blinding lights that don't shine on dark patches
like a labyrinth I can't get out of
Muskaan Aggarwal