Stubby fingers hover over the buttons hesitantly, wondering which ones to press.
Press number one, and a red-roofed building on a busy street will explode into a cloud of fire and shrapnel. A beggar girl’s skin will peel off her hands and a chaiwallah’s body will be torn into pieces of browned cloth and rubbery flesh. A middle-class engineer’s ears will ring with his daughter’s cries for help and the sharp screech of oblivion that follows after. A mother’s mouth will be stretched into a silent scream as her body splits into a thousand fragments of unseen dreams before her new born son’s eyes.
Press number two, and on a high, craggy mountain cloaked in fog and sky, a man holding a rifle will crouch behind a rock; gasps gushing out of his mouth like the blood gushing out from his wound. A son will watch with blank eyes as his father returns home dressed in the colours of his country and a twelve-year-old girl in a village caught between the teeth of chaos will quake with fear as the other side’s soldiers strip her down, silent prayers embedding themselves into her bare skin.
Press number three, and a boy will curl his body into the corner of a wall, tears bleeding onto his cut wrists as he remembers his father’s hands yanking fistfuls of his hair and pushing him out onto the street, spitting the word ‘F*****’ at him, watching as the word coils around his cowering son, strangling the courage crawling up his throat.
Press number four, and a woman in the shower will close her eyes in an effort to numb the sting of the cold water as it digs out the scars on her back and brushes against her husband’s fingers’ imprints on her hips.
Press number five and a family of four will be turned out of their house by a landlord with bundles of banknotes and considerable influence.
Press number six, and a good-for-nothing eighteen-year-old will enter the halls of a prestigious college after showering the Dean in his father’s money, while the boy who topped his class juggles three jobs in an effort to pay the minimum fee for college as well as pay for his father’s medication.
We put this remote in your hands. We slid the batteries into the back of it, supplying you with its power. We trusted you to press the right buttons.
We are your people, and when you press the wrong buttons you dishonor us. We are your people, and when you switch to the channels which entertain you but demean us, you dishonor us.
We are your people, and when you betray our trust, you dishonor us. We are your people, and when you don’t keep your promises, you dishonor us.
Our pleas are whispers which you do not seem to hear, but ignore us and we will make you listen, as we shout for justice.
Nidhi Krishna is a sixteen-year-old from Pune who has just recently completed her ICSE board exams from St. Mary’s School and is now pursuing her eleventh grade in the humanities stream from Delhi Public School, Pune. When she’s not procrastinating, she can be found devouring a large number of books. She also loves dogs and dark chocolate, and knows the lyrics to a large number of Disney songs. You can follow her on her blog here.
NAKED: The Honest Musings of 2 Brown Women was born in the autumn of 2018, when Mimi Mutesa and Selvi M. Bunce began sharing their poetry collections. It was scary, beautiful, and terrifying when they decided to trust each other with their most intimate thoughts. Not only did they feel relieved after doing so, but Selvi and Mimi also felt more seen as women of color. They embarked on their publication journey, so others may feel as seen as they did on that fateful autumn.
“Ingrown Hair” deals with the themes of societal and family pressures that are reflected throughout NAKED. Mimi and Selvi have always written for themselves. They see poetry as an outlet, and their poems exemplify their personal frustration and vulnerability. “Ingrown Hair” speaks to Selvi’s experience with the societal pressures of South Asian women, such as getting married, being a good wife, becoming a good mother, and leading a certain kind of life.
There is something strange beneath my skin
telling me to build a house,
make a home,
mother children.
I am not sure how to reconcile it.
My mother was strong
and a mother after all.
My philosophy has been to spend my time
on myself and the world.
I have always thought
I could simply address the thing under my skin
when it finally crawled out.
But when my family starts guessing
who will get married first, and my father
has been saving wedding money for years,
I begin to wonder
if I will have to pluck it out.
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
I organize play dates for my children. They’re friendships remind me of when I was younger when Fridays were consistently set aside for my friends. Now, it seems play is indeed meant for childhood and work is for aging adults. We often can’t find time for ourselves, let alone our friends, who are busy working mothers like ourselves. Or we moved into unreachable corners of this globe, far away from any means of physical communication. It’s fair to say, it’s hard to stay close to friends like when we were in college. Nowadays, it’s easier to travel, but more difficult to bond with others. “My Friend” asserts that we should not end let our friendships fall by the wayside. Even with physical distance and conflicting schedules, we keep our friendships close with kind words on phone calls, regular FaceTime calls, or even encouraging social media comments. Friendship doesn’t end once we become adults.
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
Social media has stretched a number of news headlines:
“Social media rots kids’ brains.”
“Social media is polarizing.”
Yet those most affected by social media ideals are the teenage users. Apps like Instagram and TikTok perpetuate an image of perfection that is captured in pictures and 30-second videos. As a result, many young women chase this expectation endlessly. “Her” personifies this perfection in an unattainable figure the narrator has always wished to be. These ideals deteriorate mental health, create body dysmorphia, promote a lack of self-esteem, and much more. Even so, social media is plagued by filters and editing—much of what we hope to achieve isn’t even real. Therefore, young women, much like the narrator of “Her,” strive for a reality that doesn’t even exist.
When she walked into my life
Her smile took up two pages of description
In a YA novel.
My arms could wrap around her waist twice
If she ever let anyone get that close
Her hair whipped winds with effortless beach waves
And a hint of natural coconut
Clothing brands were created around her
“One Size Fits All” one size to fit the girl who has it all
With comments swarning in hourglasses
But when sharp teeth nip at her collar,
She could bite back biting back
And simply smirked with juicy apple lips
Red hearts and sympathy masking condescension
“My body doesn’t take away from the beauty of yours”
“We are all equal, we are all beautiful”
Beauty
A sword she wields expertly
Snipping, changing,
Aphrodite in consistent perfection
Cutting remarks with sickly sweet syrup
And an innocent, lethal wink
When she walked into my life
She led my life.
My wardrobe winter trees
Barren, chopped in half
Unsuited for the holidays
Mirrors were refracted under in my gaze
Misaligned glass was the only explanation
For unsymmetrical features
And broken hands
Still I taped them fixed
Over and over
Poking, prodding
Hoping to mold stomach fat like wet clay
Defy gravity,
Move it upward
To chest
Instead of sagging beneath a belt on the last hole
In the spring
She would stir me awake at 2 AM
“You need to be me”
Lies spilled from her tongue but
Solidified, crystallized
Fabrication spelled dichotomy
And I drifted farther out to sea
When she walked out of my life,
I was drowning.
Reliance had me capsized
Others witnessed
Furrowed brows and glances away
Like spectators of a shark attack
They can watch but the damage is done
They clung to my mangled pieces
Gravestones spelled
“Stressed”
“Depressed”
But I was mourning too
Today I looked back at my mirror
But glass turned into prism
Broken pieces rainbow
Colors coating clothes
She didn’t pick
Aphrodite
Perception changing
She wasn’t perfect
Just lost at sea
The opinions expressed by the guest writer/blogger and those providing comments are theirs alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Brown Girl Magazine, Inc., or any employee thereof. Brown Girl Magazine is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the guest writer/bloggers. This work is the opinion of the blogger. It is not the intention of Brown Girl Magazine to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual. If you’d like to submit a guest post, please follow the guidelines we’ve set forth here.
Nidhi Krishna is a sixteen-year-old from Pune who has just recently completed her ICSE board exams from St. Mary’s School and is now pursuing her eleventh grade in the humanities stream from Delhi Public School, Pune. When she’s not procrastinating, she can be found devouring a large number of books. She also loves dogs and dark chocolate, and knows the lyrics to a large number of Disney songs. You can follow her on her blog here.
