I found this in my drafts folder and decided to share it.
This fictional piece was inspired by a story my mom told me about growing up in India, about how she’d run home after school, throw on a pair of blue jeans, and dance to music she’d recorded off the radio. Particularly this song:
She’s sixteen with a shy smile and kohl-lined eyes. Her hair pulled tight into a braid, part of her uniform as much as the pleated skirt and starch white shirt.
Her day is a carefully constructed routine, not a minute goes to waste. Between prayers, chores, and school, she’s always in motion.
The house is full of love and laughter - six siblings, two grandparents, three aunts, four cousins, and two dogs. Though she loves them, some small quiet part of her aches for just a moment to herself.
Some days, she takes the long way home from school. She makes her way through the bazaar in the center of town. She passes between tight rows of trolleys packed with shiny trinkets and alleyways draped in shiny fabrics dyed in blues and greens. She picks out a garland from a tiny stall next to a video store, marigolds in shades of orange and yellow, tightly woven around fragrant jasmine blooms.
If she’s lucky, she's home before anyone else. She runs up the stairs to the bedroom she shares with her sister and brother.
She lets her hair down slowly, pulling the braid apart piece by piece, fingers combing through the knots. She smooths it down as she stares at herself in the mirror.
She throws off the starchy shirt stained with ink, and the pleated skirt fraying at the bottom. She slowly, with reverence, pulls a red silk kurta out of her bottom drawer. She runs her fingers over the embroidery, hand stitched with tiny gold flowers, small beads sewn into the hem that’ll chime delicately as she moves. Blue jeans are next, carefully folded underneath.
She pulls out her favorite cassette tape, hidden in an old shoebox underneath her bed, kept away from prying eyes and mischievous siblings. She spent hours listening to the spotty radio in the family room, her ear held up to the speaker to catch the right song.
She hits play and a lilting female voice greets her like an old friend. She places the garland around her neck and bangles on her wrists. She smiles, body swaying to the beat of the drum. For this one moment, she’s free.
Dance