a foolish daughter

(starsfromanothersky.tumblr.com) Smita Patil in Mandi.

i forces that dingy ceramic bathroom into theater. the mirror acts as audience and performer; act remains. perpetual voyeurism. a socket right next to three thin long mirrors. who else stood here? creases and an oily forehead. i counts blackheads. who stood here dangling between a laugh and a threat? we throw up in the peachiest of shallow sinks. i stands waiting to see what could possibly be me. the teeth seem accurate. sectioned off and neat, just the way those braces were. we scrub that sink until dusk. i muscles a range of faces. even these left behind in three mirrors. i forgets if the bathroom had a grey carpet, if it hid skin in crumbling egg-yellow walls. i has forgotten the warmth of a cotton dupatta and its impish throes. hours go by. for four years, i does not need to know how many.