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| Meenakshi Mohan |
A diasporic hair elegy
Aah, I still miss my long
tresses
braided in one long flowing
cascade.
but in my early twenties
I was drawn to the allure of
American hues --
short, curly bobbed hair.
My sister advised me to get
them short and permed,
she took me to the Ann Arbor
Campus, a laboratory
where interns learn to be
cosmetologists
and being new on the American
land
on a scholarship’s small bounty
anything worked to save money.
Two-three students started
maneuvering over my head
an intern chopped off my hair
to shoulder length,
holding a long-amputated strand
of hair,
she asked if I wanted to save
it,
their experiments with rollers,
chemicals, and
variety of combs took an
eternity.
Sitting like a statue on their
experimental stool
I had to endure their trial and
error
when the whole project was
finally finished
I couldn’t recognize myself in
the mirror
it was not me, I thought.
My hair felt like spiked rolled
wire
and stood around me like a
halo, I remembered,
my nine-month-old daughter
refused to come to me
and the least remains to be
said about my husband --
who used to love my long hair
locks.
I painted myself in the colors
of America,
but is that what I wanted?
my tresses, a symbol of my
heritage, were gone
and I missed them.
An Indian child’s dilemma
(a dialogue between a mother
and her five-year-old daughter)
She came home crying
threw her lunch box
and flopped on a chair.
What happened, child, Mother implored.
Why did you name me Akshara?
Everyone makes fun of my name,
why can’t I be Olivia,
Cathy, or Charlotte,
her face wrinkled in
displeasure.
Do you know the meaning of
Akshara?
Akshara is the name of the
goddess Saraswati –
symbol of knowledge. It
means you are bright and brilliant.
Why my skin is dark olive,
and my hair ebony,
it is not fair that they
have cream-colored skin
and short, fluffy hair, Akshara scowled
Your long hair and slaty
skin make you unique and
what makes you beautiful of
who you are inside
your kindness, your
smartness, and your creativity,
Mother said with a peck on her
cheek.
A rainbow has so many
different colors –
all beautiful in their
unique ways
you are one of the beautiful
colors of the rainbow –
you have a special sparkle
that makes you shine,
be proud of who you are,
and I love you the way you
are, Mother said with a smile.
Akshara, with a broad grin,
deepening her dimpled cheek,
hugged her mother, I love
you, Mumma, the most in the world.
and my love for you is
beyond words, her mother responded.
the thread of the
mother-daughter bond was woven
into an unbreakable cord.
An unwritten letter to my
mother
(on my departure to the USA as
a young bride)
The ache for home lives in
all of us
Maya Angelou
Ma, when the plane was piercing
the heart of the sky
I looked out. I was leaving you,
my home
then I looked out through its
oval window,
a full moon smiled, clouds like
your soft cuddles floated by,
and I knew I took a piece of
you – the moon and clouds with me.
America -- in a new land,
my heart ached for you,
but when I saw the moon peeking
through my window
streaming through the latticed
leaves,
I thought you were with me.
I sent you messages with the
moon,
knowing they reached you,
my heart felt peace,
your silent words echoed in me,
and I knew you were near me.
Did you know
I slept with your blue foreign
letters
with stamps of India under my
pillow
and your words were you,
you stayed with me all night.
When I opened my puja book
your hand-written shlokas
felt like your blessings
and I could feel you were
praying for me
in front of the mandir in our
home.
You were not there with me
but I felt your presence around
me,
you were in the recipes I cook
when I made mistakes – it
seemed
you smiled and said, it is
okay, you are learning.
When I opened the folds of the
saris you gave me
your sweet fragrance soaked me
with a comforting wave
you were there in my churi tree
I imagined you looking in the
mirror
looking for matching bangles to
wear.
The moon and the clouds, the
letters, the tree --
the life unfolded, many
chapters added
and you found your abode with
the stars
but the old moon stayed the
witness, Ma
I carried every essence of your
love with each breath.
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