Born with no mirror in hand I was ignorant of my skin,
Then, how did I ever get to know of this thing?
I may have been very attractive to the eyes;
People around me looked up to the blue sky,
Then at me, and said, you are so black, why?
In my own country and to my country men,
One should have black hair all their life,
But not dark skin which is mistaken for black,
Coloured by the night sky and kissed by the sun,
I pity my people for most of them are colour blind!
The problem did not end here for me,
Some hurdles compel you to learn high jumps,
I was born not just brown under the blue sky,
I was a left hander trying to find my place,
In the right hander’s world – by all fair means.
The specification of my features were not as per the rule book of social concepts released by beauticians;
The genes, my DNA, my biological ratio was questioned,
A threat of social slaps always looming like a guillotine –
Why is my skin black when my father is a foreigner?
How is my nose flat, my obsidian eyes narrating stories,
A name which is Christian and Chinese but I did not know how to speak the language;
Yet cook Chinese recipes in the drop of a hat?
I had too many good but not a boy friend?
Finally when a man with grit did strike a chord in my heart,
A stoic, detached soul- it was never expected of him.
Once again my countrymen turned every stone to mutiny –
Religion-unmatched, caste, creed, food- no match found;
The news went viral, like a wet hen my countrymen under the blue sky,
Jaded eyes, locked minds, narrow thinking , open mouths-opined,
This is not love, cannot be so, a black girl, left hander, half Indian,
chinky eyes, tomboy and our boy? Diamond mine!
No horoscope, how do we match, is the match fixed?
When the hearts have been stolen already, is there anything else to snatch?
My people, my countrymen, thriving on gossip,
Under the infinite blue sky for thousands of years,
Why do you continue to have a mind block on my identity?
How is she managing in a Brahmin vegetarian household?
Some have their doubts unshaken – ‘Paom? Paapa? She knows karate, too?
Did her mother-in-law not mention the other day?
There is no end to the brewing of tongue wagging twisted stories,
The black girl loves the way ignorance creates pots of black tar,
Splashed by its owner on the spectrum of creation to turn it into darkness.
The open blue sky with shades of grey, blue and white
Beckons this black girl with brash behaviour, chinky eyes and button nose,
A teacher, a learner, an individual with the wonder of a child,
An adult within whom the child is still alive,
Not a weeping and wailing child in a broken adult.
This is how I sum up my life, a beautiful one, with a variety of flavours,
Which keep heads turning and eyes popping, still begging to know –
Only one daughter? No son? Fair? Dark? Science or Arts?
My countrymen! Please do not grow up!
You drive people insane and they know;
You keep them alive.
The sky would have never ever been so blue,
if not for you.
Your gossips lubricate the pace of their life.
My black skin was blessed to bloom in such criticisms,
I fell on my flat nose, I tripped, crawled with my ‘chinky’ eyes
getting smaller and smaller, with my left hand I steered,
With no makeup and lipstick, this black girl conceived success.
The sky above me turned even more blue and fluffy,
I soared – hearing those taunts and wearing those dagger looks,
Your unfriendly words worked as buoyancy to thrust me much beyond.
Oh, if not for my countrymen I would have bit the dust,
Social inflictions I love to love you,
You fell, so I could fly!
You may reach every corner but not the open blue sky,
Lookup; Here am I!