Dressing up for a wedding at her place, I watch
as she applies silver lipstick to match
a sequined silver-and-white salwar kameez.
Silver? I ask, coming from a mother
who doesn’t know makeup.
Silver look sexy darling, she says, winking
at me in the mirror. 8-year old me stumbles
over the word sexy, rolls its delicious
danger on my tongue. When we hit the floor
that night, I watch her dance
with all the boys batting
their eyes at her, then pull
my chacha into the circle of her arms.
They spin round
and round, her hips rolling, swirling,
silver sequins flashing in my eye.
Kandala Singh is a writer and qualitative researcher from New Delhi. She lives in a flat that looks out at Ashoka trees, and escapes to the mountains as often as she can. Her poems have appeared in Rust + Moth, SWWIM Every Day, Muse India and nether Quarterly. You can find her on Instagram @kandalasingh.