a vase of bones

}~mehrin muskan~{

I would use the word glance but it would be an extremely gentle term to explain the situation.

smirks.
sly smiles.
eyes rolling.
whispered giggles.
corners of lips lifting.
single corners.
stares. rude ones.

the new student experience.

it was lunch period and
my mind was filled with enough of ruckus,
and a hefty meal was the last thing I was into

and so I had decided to stay at the library.

the librarian looked at me inquistively leaning beyond her counter to have a clear view of me,

but I hurriedly hid behind the humongous book shelves and looked for the most alienated location of the hall.

somehow a dominant thought i had was a bizzare perception of myself,
because of my outlandish appearance.

I was too shocked that this was me thinking all this.

outlandish?
How could I stand in my very own soil and call myself outlandish ?

absolutely dissapointed and confused with myself, I pulled one of the hardbound poetry books from my bag,
and layed them slowly on the table.

could I blame myself for how solitary I am?

amma's hugs and anbu pulling my hair,
seemed so far away.

my heart ached for some homeliness.

and amidst all these snow skinned people,
their waistcoats and loud ankle boots,
with its sharp sounds of clamping,
marked their regime here.

wherever I went, people would stop doing what they were doing and choose to observe every inch of me .
I was treated as an abnormality.

an abnormality.

the lack of our people in this place made me feel very empty, I couldn't imagine life abroad.

I remembered anna's words,
"edhuku idhellaam? sollu? just because you managed in school!!
there wont be much indians there, let alone girls!what is the necessary for all of this?
you think you can easily be successful is it?
idhellam adhiga nambikai!!!!"

I had underestimated the situation.
I was drenched by the looks that indicated unrivalled status,
success and opportunity
and also many of pity and empathy
for the poor Indian girl.

although I was richer than any of them here, the power and confidence was truly dominant.

I was sitting in the farthest end of the library in the corner tables,
which was erstwhile called the
'the private medical hall'' of Sir Mortimer,
who had started this university in this very small room.

the commencement of a legacy.

these halls and these buildings,
teaching the art of reading bodies like books
and sculpturing organs
into their places.

also being a real life regalia for invigorating the
empowerment of women.
for the world's first women doctor graduated from here.
From madras medical college.

I stroked the cover of the book, which stood rigid and stern covering the hundreds of pages.

I flipped through the pages and
dropped my hands at a random page.

I started reading the first sonnet I saw.

"sentamizh naatenum bodhinile,
inba thenvandhu paayuthu kaadhunile,
engal thanthaiyar naatrendu pechinile,
oru sakthi pirakithu moochinile,"