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One visit from Uma Devi and my insecurities creep in

Mother I do not know what to do with myself 

Shall I shave my hands and legs, and all parts of my body?

Shall I wax myself clean 

inching closer to what femininity is supposed to look like? 


Do I sculpt my body like Uma Devi herself? 

Do I spend effort to look pristine and perfect like Uma Devi herself? 

Can I ever be as perfect as her? 


I don’t believe I can, mother. 

I am sickly, and hairy. 

and detestable to look at.

I am made of hairfall, and dandruff 

And hair growth everywhere 

I am made of broad shoulders and back acne

tan lines and double chin

love handles and a pot belly

I am made of the features of a man, a monkey. 


Mother I am all this and more.


Where am I anywhere close to you Uma Devi?

You have bewitched me with your beauty 

And held me at a distance from it yet the same 

Impossible to reach, impossible to emulate 


Mother, you who have made me 

Why not show me more grace, mother?


All this I shall accept.

What else do I do?

Uma Devi has entered my life 

Only to pull the strings of my heart 

Making me sing praises of her beauty 

And now I am left to myself 

What I do with this now is

a story and an ending I weave 


But despite how it ends

What I have written is the truth. 


What I have written is the truth.

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