Wash the dishes after every meal and set them in the cabinet; wash your hair on Saturdays and braid it tightly; don’t walk outside without your brother or father; don’t leave the house at night; you are just a girl; mix the spices thoroughly into the fish and then fry the marinated salmon in oil; fold the clothes neatly as soon as they are dry on the rack line; when taking care of your hair, be sure that you don’t comb it while it’s wet, because that way you’ll lose more of those luscious locks; wear your gold earrings and kolusu; is it true that you listen to the girl's rumors?; I would never do that Amma; don’t chew with your mouth open and certainly don’t eat in an appalling manner; on weekdays try to look nice with a sari and red pottu; go natural and don’t wear your hair down; you mustn’t speak to those dark, creepy boys; in fact, try to avoid boys at all costs; you wouldn’t want to be like the girl down the street sobbing over her newborn; is it true you listen to explicit music?; I only listen to bhajans Amma; this is how to make a bread; always gather the wood to begin the fire; don’t cook banana fritters; you know your brothers don’t like it; sit properly with your legs together; you’re not trying to invite boys; this is how you water the plants; this is how you clean the bathrooms; when your father and his friends are drinking kallu, don’t sit near them; this is how you sing songs to make babies fall asleep; this is how to sew clothes for your family; this is how you clean the home; if a smart, good boy flirts with you, ignore him; condemn him for liking a girl above his caste; this is how to love a man; this is how a man loves you; this is how a man bullies you; But I don’t want to be bullied Amma; do not be disobedient; marry this one.
44 years later. Wash the dishes if you are not tired; wash your hair on Saturdays and braid it tightly to keep it healthy; walk outside but bring your pepper spray; try not to leave the house at night; it can be dangerous; mix the spices thoroughly into the fish and then fry the marinated salmon in oil; once the dryer has finished running, fold the clothes neatly; when taking care of yourself, be sure that you clean your luscious locks; wear your gold earrings and kolusu if you want to; don’t listen to the girl's rumors; she’s distracting you from your goals; get the best grades you can to have a successful future; eat with good manners; wear any clothing you would like, but don’t forget to bring your jacket because it is cold; experiment with makeup and see if you like it; go natural if you don’t, and wear your hair however you would like; avoid those dark, creepy boys; you can tell their intentions by their eyes; make friends with smart, kind boys; listen to any type of music you like; it is natural to express your sexuality(men do it too); don’t shame the poor girl down the street who is sobbing over her newborn; help her out; I know Amma, she deserves to be treated better; this is how to make tasty cakes for yourself and maybe your future children; always put the exhaust fan before you cook; you wouldn’t want a fire; cook banana fritters; it doesn’t matter if your brothers don’t like it; they can cook for themselves; sit in whatever way that makes you comfortable and confident; boys should know their place; this is how you water the plants; this is how you clean the bathrooms; remember these life skills; I will never forget Amma; don’t let your father and his friends drink kallu; treat them to some coffee instead; this is how you sing songs to make babies fall asleep; this is how you sew your own clothes; if you like boys and a smart, good boy flirts with you, go ahead and strike up a conversation; don’t condemn him for his feelings or his caste; teach your partner the skills he or she doesn’t know and let him or her teach you what you don’t know; protect each other when you go out; be yourself and marry the person you love; do not let anyone bully you; do what it takes to make yourself happy Raja. Author's Note: I was inspired to write this piece after reading "Girl" by Jamaica Kincaid. In "Girl", Kincaid writes as if a mother is trying to teach her daughter how to fit into a society that oppresses women. However, in my writing, I wanted to address how South Indian women are slowly overcoming their oppression and gaining rights in their societies. Around forty four years ago, South Indian women had little to no rights, but with the activism of our bold grandmothers and mothers, we have gained more rights and better lives now. Unfortunately, my writing does not apply to all South Indian women nor all women yet, but, one day it will and I hope that on that day we will all be equals. A vague memory flutters in my mind from time to time. It has been there for many years, and it was formed on one fine evening on the streets of New York. I was a sleepy eleven-year-old sitting in the car’s back seat gazing out the window, when I saw a beautiful woman out of the corner of my eye. She was wearing a lace short A-line dress, raising her heels which were in stilettos, and kissing a tall man. A black purse hung on her shoulder, and her long dark hair flowed down her back. The sunset placed the elegant couple under a golden hue, and the moment was perfect. Unfortunately, the car turned right quickly, and the couple went out of my line of sight, and I was left feeling a sense of déjà vu and longing to know more about the woman. I imagined what it would be like to be the elegant woman, what it would be like to walk in New York City as a financially independent and confident woman with pretty clothes, high heels, and a beau; it would be a dream come true. Over the years, I have dreamt of various locations and occupations where I could have this lifestyle, from a New York City news journalist to a Paris fashion designer and to now a Boston businesswoman. Regardless of where or who I am, the dreamy feeling never changes, and as my imagination grows wilder, the need to achieve these desires gets stronger.
Although I wanted to be like the elegant, confident woman, eleven-year-old me was too shy to even pretend to be so. She was scared of going out of her comfort zone and making mistakes; she was scared of asking questions and introducing herself to others; she was what everyone loved to call a, "turtle with a closed shell," and she hated that. Every year she would try to talk openly, make new friends, and be a bit more confident than how she was the year before, but her mother would come back from another parent-teacher meeting to tell her that, once again, the teacher had compared her to a closed-off turtle and that her efforts were in vain. Her mom would desperately push her to make friends with children in the neighborhood and playground, but she would peep out and say hi just to retreat behind her mother's back. The other children were not very helpful either because they would refuse to invite the new girl to their preexisting group of friends. When she got a baby sister, she would play with her sister to avoid interacting with others at parties and get-togethers. Was it wrong? Yes, but she could not help it, and I would never blame her, and she was not all too shy. Inside her home, she had the loudest voice ever, and she would share all of the stories she experienced in the outside world with her mom, and when she went walking with her dad, she would fabricate the most outrageous stories anyone had ever heard of. Although she was not social or confident, she taught me how to listen, care, and stay strong during lonely, difficult times. More importantly, she taught me how to analyze people and choose my friends wisely. When my mom talked to her friends about how shy I was, I observed how one auntie would keep talking about her daughters and the food she made for attention and compliments, how another auntie would comment on how skinnier someone has gotten because she wanted to achieve that, and how another auntie would complain about her children being naughty because she wanted them to be disciplined like me. Analyzing people was a handy skill to learn at a young age because as I grew older, I gradually grew out of my shy phase: I bloomed from the closed white bud into an elegant jasmine flower with strong roots and pretty petals. When I started to share my personality with the outside world I noticed new people: the green-eyed people who wanted everything I had, the people who interrupted me to boast about themselves, and the people who acted like my friends to influence me badly. When I was shy, I was too busy focusing on my work and ignoring these individuals to understand the power they had in affecting others. Fortunately, I also found people who stood by my side as faithful companions, people who aspired to be like me, and people who believed in me and my potential to succeed. People consistently say that shy children ought to be pushed to be more open and extroverted, but I think parents should encourage their shy children to be extroverted at home and let shy children open up on their own to the outside world once they are ready. This way, their characters are built to be strong from the inside out, and they have the confidence to leave toxic people and negative situations. I can now describe the feeling which made my shy, eleven-year-old self want to be the woman she saw in New York City: it is the inspiring feeling of being accomplished. The idea of becoming accomplished first pushes you to work harder and achieve your goals, and once you become accomplished, you are inspired to continue your hard work to achieve the utmost satisfaction and happiness. Muhammad Ali described this feeling when he said, "I am the greatest, I said that even before I knew I was," and now I can boldly tell my eleven-year-old self that her sense of déjà vu was accurate because I am confident and elegant and in a few years I will be the financially independent woman who achieves her dream life. I will be the woman who is walking down the city street after a long day of managing my company, who sees her fiancé coming down the street grinning at her, and who raises her heels to kiss him as the sunset makes her glow from the inside out. The pink wispy clouds in the sky drift around as the sun sets with a golden aura. A jet has left a stream of loopy white clouds, and tiny blue birds are flying from tree to tree, some chirping melodies, some playing, and some feeding their babies worms. Plump brown and white bunnies rest with their young, munching on grass, and squirrels are scavenging for nuts.
The sun has finally set, and twinkling, bright stars slowly come out. The air is humid, but a light breeze flows by and I shiver. I am skipping on the concrete sidewalk with my two thick black braids swinging from side to side. My parents are chattering and walking behind me. Suddenly, I skid to a halt and gasp. My eyes follow the moving yellow light, and, mesmerized, I start following it. I hold my breath and start tiptoeing as I get closer to the light. The light starts flying away and I start to run after it, but my mom calls out my name. I stop running and twirl around with a swish of my skirt to see my mom send me a reproachful look. I knit my brows together and wonder if I will get a lecture for running too far in the dark. To my surprise, my parents catch up to me and my mom looks at me with a joyful smile and says “let’s go catch one.” “Catch what Ma?” “Fireflies!” “Fireflies?” “Come on, I'll show you!” I grin and start running with my mom to catch and have a peep at the newfound idea of fireflies. We follow a firefly’s blazing yellow lights, watching its blinking pattern. Blink----blink----blink----blink. “Oh no Ma, the light’s gone!” “Shushh. The firefly is nearby.” “Really?” I exclaim. I follow my mom as she edges quietly towards a firefly that’s balancing on a blade of grass, and swiftly my mom cups her hand as the firefly begins to flutter its delicate wings. I giggle quietly and my mom’s eyes are bright as she opens her hand and shows the firefly traversing over the hilly knuckles and on to the deep lines of her palm . She says “Baby, bring your hand closer” and motions for me to touch my hand with hers, creating a bridge. My hands are quivering, and I grin in rapture as the graceful firefly starts climbing on my palm, showing off its long legs and golden light. It tickles and I start laughing. My mom laughs with me, looking at my silly face. “Stay quiet, baby. It will fly away.” And right on cue, the firefly shimmers its glittery yellow light and flies away. Reaching my tiny hands out, I quickly cup my hands like how Ma had done and catch the firefly again, doing it on lark. Amused, my dad watches me and says “Honey, you have to let it go.” “But I don't want to. I want to stay with it.” “It needs to leave to be happy, baby.” I admire its elegant fairy-like wings, and pouting, I let it go. ❖ Eleven years later, I am sitting again on the moist grass, sniffing a sweet jasmine. Darkness has settled in and the few stars that are left sparkle in the sky. The air has gotten hotter. A yellow light blinks, and this time I know it’s a firefly. I watch it flutter from one blade of grass to another, flashing its golden lights synchronously to attract its love. Then I hear a little girl giggling. I tilt my head back to see my beautiful baby sister zipping up her jacket giddy with excitement. My parents come out from behind her, and I leave the grass to go walking with them. My sister and I are strolling along the sidewalk, her small hands in mine, while our parents walk behind us, chattering away. As we approach the large, green pine tree, I glance at my sister’s small face to see her eyes widen in fascination. I smile and say “let’s go catch one.” “Catch what Sis?” “Fireflies!” “Fireflies?” “Come on, I'll show you!” Holding her warm hand, I run with my sister and swiftly we switch to tiptoeing as we approach a firefly. Gracefully cupping my fingers over the firefly, I present it to my grinning sister. As I connect my hand to hers, the firefly flies away and her smile falters. “Aww. It’s gone.” “Don’t worry, I’ll get you one.” “Hmm. Okay.” Intransigently, I find another firefly and manage to move it onto my sister’s hands, and laughing she runs to show Ma. As she runs away, I think about how lonely it must be in this big world. Even though the fireflies are under the same pine tree, they have to flutter with all their might to reach one another, just for a person, like me, to separate them. Maybe they are not lonely, maybe they like exploring the large world alone and making friends with the flowers and the sweet, golden-brown nectar. But if they miss each other, it is okay. The wind will blow, and the fireflies will fly far away from one another, but they will overcome the conundrum of not knowing where the other is and reunite through their persistent, flashing golden lights. At least, that is the chimera I would like to believe; what I would want for our world. It’s said that each firefly has its own unique light pattern to recognize other fireflies of its own species, but our lights distract fireflies and hinder their quest to find their mates. Now I look under the pine trees and the golden lights are disappearing. Soon the fireflies will watch us from above as the world burns, and we will become the firefly that is trapped in a green glass jar, whose golden light fades away and whose strong, winsome brown wings wilts, and finally our hearts will ache. We need to shatter the glass into shards now to escape desolation and rediscover greenery. |