Their eyes bore into me, their stares linger,
Too short is her dress for her stocky frame.
I drape a Saree, I cover my legs.
Decked up for whom, she’s vain, they whisper.
Hair long, plaited neat, bindi, kajal, salwar.
Oh, am I too traditional for their liking?
Do they embrace me with the so-called western?
No. Feisty and pompous, they say I’m too modern.
They mock me if my head is shaved,
They shame me at limbs unshaved.
The disdain on their faces when my skin ain’t fair,
But hey, you think I really care?
I am the boss of my life, mistress of my style.
No onus on me to look the nymph they desire.
Judge me all you want, it’s my life my way.
My poise ignites the Goddess within, my inner fire.
