Sometimes when I come back home
You ask me about my day.
If it was all fine.
If I made new friends.
If this new course thrills me.
If having my dream come true feels good.
(‘you wanted to do it from DU, didn’t you?’ You would say)
I am not fine.
I don’t feel good.
Yes! The idea of being where I wanted to be is thrilling.
But I am scared of messing things up.
Maa, I don’t belong to that place.
I feel alone. I feel sad.
I am on my lowest.
I am unable to gel up with people there.
I feel like crying. I feel like giving up.
While you roll perfect chapatis spicing up my favorite Dal,
You would tell me about the aspirations you have from me.
About how you wish for all my dreams to come true.
And how you would love to contribute to my own studio apartment
decorated with fairy-lights, bookshelves and some Polaroids.
I have started doubting myself.
It scares me to think about the future.
To think, where I will be after 4 years.
The place does not make me happy.
I am unable to fit in.
I don’t know how to tell you that I am not doing fine.
Maybe tomorrow when I come back home
I will muster up the courage to tell you all this.
To tell you how I have become weak in a matter of months.
Maybe tomorrow I will cry in front of you; cry a little harder.
I choose to do it alone maa!
Because I know you will be more worried than me.
And I know you won’t be able to accept that you gave birth to a fragile girl.