I am a woman.
I make rice like my mother's mother
Wash it three times till the starch is gone
Till the water runs clear through the fingers I hold at the rim of the vessel
"Fill the water till the first knuckle of your pinky," she whispers to me
Every time I make the rice.
I make rasam like my mother
Boil the tamarind in water with salt and turmeric
A hint of tomato and paruppu to mix
A little rasam powder with the heady spices
"Don't let it boil too much once the powder is in," she says as she guides my hand
Every time I make the rasam.
I make a dosa like my father's mother
Testing the pan with a flick of my fingers
Waiting for the water to hiss when it lands
The maavu smoothened out with the side of a ladle
"Hold it sideways to spread it nicely," she murmurs in my ear
Every time I make a dosa.
I cook like my mother and her mother before her
I clean like my sister
I sew like my aunt
And I worry like my grandmother
I am a woman
Who is more than one woman
Made of bits and pieces I can find all around me
A galaxy of stars picked up from another, despite which...
I write like myself in the dark of the night
Laptop screen glowing dimly in my eyes
I sing like myself in the safety of my shower
Off-key and loud but bright as a flower
I may be a woman who is more than one woman
But I am a woman with a dream of my own
Maybe built by the women who come before me
But a dream that can be mine alone.
Design by Lakshmi
Article 19 