When do I feel the most rooted in my culture?
When I wear my heart on my sleeve, and jhumkas in my ear.
Dangling across my cheek, with silver bells that feel like droplets.
Holding my head up high, to let my bindis shine through.
Crimson bindi on my crown, unapologetically feminine in my soul.
As I press a silver nose ring, an expression of a blooming flower,
Feeling each whiff of breath that passes through, going forth.
Gently letting my fingers trace the lines of the gulbandh on my neck,
Crafted by local artisans, radiating rustic charm.
When I drape into my mother’s ikkat saree, an embodiment of my culture,
Threads dyed in indigo and silver, and blurred into a symphony.
Letting my toes touch the soil first,
Waiting for my payals to chime when my heels rest.
From head to toe, a reflection of softness in the mirror,
Clutching on to this moment tightly, longing for it to stay.
But tomorrow will lack this feeling of groundedness.
Because today, in these moments, is when I feel the most rooted.
