#roshniwrites

bhaiya wasn’t sure, but he said somewhere between three and seven. because the air quality is absolutely abysmal and the crime is awful and it is so busy all the time. and because it’s home.

and he asked us, and my brother said 4. because there are so many mosquitos, even in winter, and my brother is their favorite victim; and houses have weird heating; and the air pollution makes his eyes feel funny.

and i said 7 or 8. because the air is awful but when i’m away, i smell smoke and think of delhi. it is gross, the crime is so bad, and frankly it’s pretty unsafe for women and it’s cold inside the house in winters and blazingly hot in summers but i miss it like a lost limb. i walk out of indira gandhi international airport and take a deep breath and i think i’m home. this is what home is meant to feel like. a return. i go to bodela and look at the street shops and the mehendiwalas and the ornamental dresses on blonde mannequins and i think this is it. this is it. this is it.

and i know if i stayed here long enough, my rating would be lower. i know staying in a place makes you hate it, just a little. enough to see the flaws and the annoyances and the bad shit. i know it. i know it like i know my hometown, because even though it’s the city in the world i know best, the city where all my friends are, sometimes i think i hate it, that i would do anything to run away. but a part of me still loves it so. and that part always will.

i’m idealizing delhi because it’s the place i most remember; because it is the city of my childhood, the city with family; my destination and my haven after more than a whole day of flying and travel and awful sleep; because it’s the home that was never mine to keep.

i find myself wondering: what if i stay here? what if i stay here — just long enough to hate it.

my city back home is telling me it’s almost time to go. and i can’t yet, not quite, and i’m not quite ready, but almost. almost.

i want to wander, and i want to get lost.

i want to stay somewhere where i can be a face in the crowd, i want to drag my siblings places and to laugh like it’s my last chance, and i want to breathe deep and smell the smoke, be outside till the pollution stings my eyes.

just enough to know this is real: i am here, and this is real. this is all i need.

i will stay here until i hate it like the rest.

“a home that isn’t mine”

hello i am roshni !

they/them

indian-american

studied english with a creative writing concentration at uni (now a corporate slave)

i like to write ! here is my ao3. i am trying to write more. ^-^

we are three people, bound by blood and brotherhood and we are not breakable.

see how fast it took for the teacup to come back together? see how fast the glue set? we are not things to shatter and never be repaired.

we will not be shattered again.

and if we are, we will come back.

but i worry.

(that it will never be like this again.)

blood and breakable things

it was music that understood me when no one else did. it was music that let me know i was not alone, that if there was nothing else i was certain of, there was me and this song and that meant something.

it is music now, that lets me know it’s okay to feel things. when i don’t know what i am feeling, playing a song helps. and if i find the right one, at least for a little while, the world will click into place and i am known and understood. i can sit and make sense of my racing mind, my flitting thoughts, and i feel the drums and the violins and the flutes and i feel them knitting my soul back into place. it had fallen a bit, you see?

the words are cement being poured into all the cracks in me, and the gaping hole, the thing that was missing in me isn’t empty for once. the cement shines and it is gold paint, and i am being born again in a new way. i am broken and put together and the places where i healed are stronger than i was.

in a world where we are infinitesimal and our lives pass by in a blink when compared to the endless cosmos, i know this:

there is me, and there is this song. and for a moment, we are both eternal.

“kintsugi”

tell me where to put the screams. sometimes i think about opening my mouth and letting something go, just so i will be heard and and those feelings spirited away. but he was right. it is perched under my chin but i’m afraid that if i open my mouth i will never stop.

tell me where to put down this anguish. i wake every morning and feel it sink into my chest. only in my unconscious do i get any reprieve, but even so i am not unconscious for nearly as much as i should be. sometimes i feel like i can fill an ocean with my grief. sometimes i wish i could try.

tell me where to put down myself. just for a break. just for a moment. just so i can gather my strength and take a rest before i lift everything onto my back again. it won’t be forever, not even close. just a moment, long enough to feel ready to move again.

tell me where to put this weight. i am so sick of carrying it with me.

“things i carry”

if it were something i could claim, even if it took time and trying, i would reach. i would try.

but it isn’t. what i am owed, what we are all owed, is beyond any jurisdiction. i will simply reach up to the sky and hope, reach towards the water and pray, and as both fruit and water evade me, i will die of hunger and thirst.

“tantalus”

i’d fly over right this minute if i could. i would drive across an ocean if i were able. i would grow big enough that i could pinch the distance between us so you were just a step away. and i’d appear at your door and it would be fine. it would all be fine. and i would give you a hug and i’d probably cry like i’m crying now, and i would hug everyone and i’d cry more but it’d be fine. it would all be fine. i would string together flowers and watch your serials and lie on the tiles while you are away — there’s no need to worry, i promise, i’ll be fine — and i will be here when you come back.

for now, thatha, i am here. i am stuck for now. but i will see you soon enough. i will see you soon enough, i swear.

“soon enough, i swear”