The first time it happened, she didn’t know what to do.
And today when it might be her last, she still was confused.
The very first day, terribly frightened, she cried to her core. No one listened.
Only taunts and gazes thrown at her. What had she done!
Then why, when today it might be her last, she was not happy.
Had secretly this foe became her friend?
That time she had touched her puberty.
Today she was crossing her maturity.
Today, the biggest sign of her femininity was ending. Was it bad throughout?
Or was it a miracle covered under an ugly cloak, by her people.
But has anything changed?
Back then, she was cornered in her house with a list of DON’T- Do not enter the kitchen, Do not touch the utensils, Do not sit everywhere,
And GOD, Oh my God! He, indeed he was male, because he seemed to be angry at her during ‘those days of the month!’
“Maybe something is wrong with me!” She used to think.
She saw her granddaughter sitting in her room, playing on her play-station. Food, books, A/C, everything in her proximity.
A Luxury or An Entrapment?
She could still see the cage. Only this time, it was made of gold.
Granddaughter looked at her and smiled. She met her gaze and sensed.
‘Yes! Mourning is still the same!’
She smiled back. Sighed a relief. Took the hand of her granddaughter and walked with her to the kitchen.
They were celebrating their womanhood together.
Poet: Amruta Bakshi