The picture stares out at me from the computer. It is of a child, a dead child. She is being carried by a middle-aged man. He extends her towards the camera. Her arms are stretched to the sides, eerily resembling Christ’s crucifixion. Grey dust covers her hair. Her head looks down. The man holding her is looking to the side, his flushed face both angry and grieving.
Bearing a confused mind and to fulfill my mother’s wish to meet my relatives, my journey started, thinking more about the people I am going to miss and trifle about the ones I am going to meet.
Meeting Chunni Lal was an incident that led me to write this piece of information. My grandmother is an old lady in her seventies and she tries her best to avoid allopathic medicines.
I turned around to look at the guy who got the weeklong detention. He was staring at the lecturer as if asking, “I was just looking at some girls, where did all this nonsense about sex come from?”
Teenage self doubts, commercialism of beauty, imposition of beauty as compulsion for women, and due to my own modest genes, I had insecurities over my looks.
श्रृंगार बिहिन छालाको रङ्ग गुलाबी देखियो ॥
लक्षण भन्नु मात्र रगत मै खराबी देखियो ॥