Revolutionaries ~ Mother’s Day ~

As I was going through my mother’s photos to recreate her magic, I discovered that I couldn’t be even close. So instead I did what I could do best. I wrote her a poem. This one is really special and not so much about fashion (although I must admit she is a hella beauty) Thank you for always being there. I will try to be a better person.


You can watch it ON YOUTUBE


or read the script below:


I have always been drawn to strong women. In stories, poetry, voices.

Feminism first opened its window to me in the 7th grade, I had just turned 13,
my aunt and grandma asked me
to stay home and not go to school because they believed
that the purpose of a girl of my life was to get married
My mother was on a hospital bed that evening and I am glad she wasn’t home.
Had she been home she would have looked at them in the eyes and said “please leave.”
You see I have always been drawn to strong women.
My mother almost lost me even before I was a person.
One afternoon she bled through her sari
floor colored with tears and fears
of losing me
The doctors were skeptical and nervous
But her heart was made up
We don’t look very alike but I pretend sometimes
I have her eyes
The fierce kind, the burning kind,
The I-am-not-going-to-give-up-on-you kind
As I said her heart was made up. It was all over her eyes
And no doctor could tell her otherwise
I have always been drawn to strong women
My mother helped me form bonds of friendship
with dusty torn out pages of old classics
sometimes tragic stories, like that of Anne Frank
and mysterious stories, like that of Nancy Drew
to be honest though I liked Agatha Christie and her crew
She made me fall in love with Mr. Darcy
But not before she taught me
how to stand up on my feet like Elizabeth minus her sense of superiority
If anyone ever thought I could be a writer
Its because she’s the storyteller
I could drag on about a story
But with her,
it’s a castle, and giant mountains, violent storms and a heroine who is going to save the world.
You will always find lessons in her stories
only if you listen closely.
I have always been drawn to strong women
I have seen them behind counters working three jobs, two shifts
Seen them holding their four month baby and putting bricks after bricks on a wall
Heard them on phone urging you to buy their product
I have touched their feet. I have kissed their cheeks.
I have cried with them listening to their stories.
For so many of them their home is a battle-ground
Their weapon is education
And their technique is patience.
They are revolutionaries behind closed doors where no one sees them
But they are working tirelessly
Second by second making sure the clock doesn’t stop.

They are revolutionaries clad in vibrant dresses hiding
War scars. Some inflicted by us, some by society.

They are revolutionaries decorated with ornaments
But you only glimpse the real diamond when they laugh

So when my mother tells me the story of Hirkani
And how she climbed down a steep hill just so that she could feed her baby
I see my mother, climbing down years of patriarchy
Stereotypes and prejudice
when she lets her daughter live her dreams fearlessly
I see my mother not as a metaphor or some beautiful poetry
I see my mother flesh and bones, fists and thumps,
She is all of them Jhansi ki rani, Ahilya Bai, Rasia Sultana and more
And not just a revolutionary behind closed door.



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