Minakhi Misra

Tag: personal

  • An April Fool’s Day

    “It’s a girl.”

    24 years ago, when my mother heard these words, she was so thrilled that she forgot all about the pains of her pregnancy. Her pregnancy had been taking a toll on her lately with the weight increasing too much in the past two months – she had known ever since that it was going to be a big baby and a difficult one at that, given all the kicking it had been doing. Moving around also had not been so easy since her feet always hurt and she wanted to sit down anywhere she could. It was one such occasion that led to the events of her getting the news, which came as a welcome relief from the pain she had been handling in the past nine months. To top it all, she had always wanted a girl. So, in a way, her prayers were coming true. (more…)

  • Sunrise

    You asked me today
    What I would write about you if I ever did.
    If I could paint you, you would know.
    I wish my words could paint your mind
    As the oil colours the canvas of cloth.
    I wish you could see what I see.
    I see a rising sun,
    Red with shyness,
    Trying to hold back her brightness,
    Embarrassed that the world can see her.
    I see this rising sun,
    Aware of her potential for brilliance
    When she ascends the young firmament of receding stars.
    But she is afraid of doing so. Not so early. Not now.
    She does not show that she likes
    When people appreciate her beauty.
    She enjoys it and becomes redder.
    And her redness, the innocence of her reservedness
    Spreads slowly across the wet canvas of the sky behind her;
    Clouds, dark and ominous, start getting silver linings.
    The things that were scary, are now in better light.
    She does this without knowing it.
    She feels that by lighting up the sky,
    She has somehow exposed others around her as well:
    Exposed to the eyes of people
    The eyes that criticise beauty as much as they condone it.
    But she also knows deep down that it is her destiny
    To rise one day to the zenith of this firmament
    And once there, resign herself to full brilliance.

    Resign herself is what she thinks of it.
    Pride is what she needs.
    She bows her head and hides her face,
    Hoping the darkness of her hair is cover enough.
    She does not know that when those eyes open
    And stare directly into the eyes of mortals,
    It is no less beautiful than a sunrise
    For they are too brilliant to look directly into.
    And poets, unlike painters, can only draw
    Inspiration from nature.
    They lack the vision of originality.
    And so they have to reduce a picture
    To a metaphor, an imperfect parallel. A glimpse.
    I am incapable of painting better than this.