the spices of our pieces (#yourstoryindia)

fireworks

oh, trust me,

i can show you how to be mischievous, tease all the smiles right out of the boxes you hide them inside.

we, too, can be heroes.

we can light diyas and join the dots between the tips of their flames to those of the stars in the sky, form bold patterns that cast shadows on all the darkness, and let the good reign supreme. lets take a moment to celebrate the victory of our brothers, our ancestors, our gods, our Rams, who joined the tips of the flames of the darkest monsters in their lives, and burned them down until the all that was left was light.

we can douse in colour each others' elbows, the backside of our ears, the creases that merge our calves into our thighs, all the parts of ourselves that we tend to ignore. just for one day, the oil you rub on your skin will let itself blend with the lumps of colour until you become a canvas, a startling abstract painting of hues — the context or meaning or significance of which no one understands, but loves to gaze at anyway.

come now, smile. don't you feel beautiful?

we'll play hide and seek with the groom's embroidered shoes on the day that he is celebrating the onset of his wedding, his sangeet. promptly refuse to give in to the warmth of his gentle pleas, until he finally becomes the one to give in and offers a bribe, chuckling at how twisted yet welcoming indian traditions can be. little does he know, he is going to have to learn to give up his shoes sometimes, and even pay a price for them, just so that those in the family he builds feel comfortable with their circumstances.

do you see the fireworks in the sky? there is so much this world has in store for us.

so many dots still left to join, parts still left to find, bribes yet to extract.

if you just let loose for as long as you're here, let loose the strings and let them tie knots around every flame, colour, every compromise, 

i swear these festivities will extract spirits from every dusted box you ever locked away.