| Hom Raj |
Posted
on 23-Apr-01 11:50 PM
Here is a drop in the bowl of the literature page.
A GIRL IS SUPPOSED TO CRY DURING HER MARRIAGE
(for my mother)
The lines are incomplete in her palms.
Her fingernails are too soft,
like the beak of a two-day-old bird.
One could squeeze well and get the milk
from beneath the fingernails,
or from her lips,
which had latched onto her mother's
teenage-rosy nipples
every now and then
until just three years ago.
Today it is her turn to step into the world,
where she must remember what she did
with her mother's breasts.
They say her husband is on the way
to claim his bride.
On the trail his feet are kicking pebbles
that spin and clatter
like her questions.
"What will I do with a husband?"
"You have to fulfill his demands."
"I can bring him discarded cloth
from the tailor's shop
so we can make dolls together."
Her smile shines like her new glass bangles.
No one had ever answered her question
so thoroughly.
No one had ever included her
in the hushed talk of grown-ups.
She wished she could get married everyday.
"What does a real husband look like?
Let me go she him. I want to see my husband."
"You silly girl.
You cannot see your husband before you worship him.
When he arrives, you'll worship him with us."
Her face is wavering in the hand mirror.
The gap between her front teeth
is a holy doorway
to admit the air of maturity.
"Will my mother go with me to his house?"
"No. You've to go by yourself."
"But I always sleep with my mother.
Who will I sleep with?"
"With your husband."
Now, she is crying.
Seven-year-old milky tears
are leaving their home forever
as the bridegroom's arrival
is heard outside.
Perfect timing.
A girl is supposed to cry
during her marriage.
(Published in Walkabout, Issue XVI, 1999, U.S.A.).
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