But First Dear Reader, A Note to You
I have some good news to share! Two bits of good news actually. One, my little poetry newsletter now has over 400 subscribers??
And second, I won a writing contest! Shout out to Alex Lopez from
for hosting writing contests on here, and for selecting my short-story titled ‘GIRLS’ as the winning piece.
I’ve been wanting to write about girlhood for a long time.
It knew it wouldn't be easy because of the honesty it demanded. The rummaging around in the past, scraping through crude layers of silence and violence. But I finally did it, and here is an excerpt from that piece.
I’m thrilled to have won a writing contest, but I’m also just happy that this story has seen the light of day.
I know this newsletter is a space to write poetry about the everyday, the mundane.
But when writing about ordinary beauty and human-ness, I don’t want to overlook how power and violence are also entrenched into everyday life.
So this is an ordinary story about ordinary girls. A composite of the people and stories around me while growing up.
It does contain some heavy themes, and I’ve tried my best to handle them with care. In any case, I’ve only included the opening excerpt below. I hope that some of you will read the full story as well! Let’s begin.
GIRLS (Excerpt)
***
Lola disappeared on a Wednesday.
To tell you about Lola, I have to take you back to the Bad Old Days.
Back then we were Girls. Our mothers yanking our difficult hair into too-tight braids. Just Girls. Throwing stones at the gooseberry tree before biology class. Huddling together in the run-down sports centre toilet, practising how to suck in our stomachs till they looked flat. “Suno, you all are Just Girls,” Mr Shekhar, our maths teacher, would say. “What do you know, other than your gossip, gupshup, fashion, blah blah blah.” So yes, we were Just Girls.
Unlike what the adults thought, we knew a fair bit. For instance, we knew what could get us into trouble and how to do it anyway. Jerusha and I knew that we couldn’t tell anyone about Lola’s secret. Not even Devi.
Every Girl has her secrets. You just have to know where to look.
Anyway, it was June 2013.
There were four of us that year: Lola, Jerusha, Devi, and I.
It was the summer of green-screened cell phones and half-empty tubes of fairness creams. Of expired lip-gloss and getting catcalled by men while still in our school uniforms. Like I said, it was the Bad Old Days. But we didn’t know that yet.
We had all finally gotten our periods (Devi was a late bloomer) and upgraded to adult bras. After school, we bought cheap popsicles and paani puri from the corner stand. On Fridays, we would pool our money together and buy a single cold coffee from the cafe across the street, passing it around the table to take turns. Yes. Life was good.
***
… Don’t go yet!
You can read the full story over here, as published on
's page:PS: If you’ve come back here after reading the full story, I know this is the kind of the piece that can dredge up difficult feelings for a lot of people. So talk to me in the comments if you’d like. All of us are braver together.
Love,
Anagha
“Peach pits are poisonous. This is not a mistake. Girlhood is growing fruit around cyanide.”
- Brenna Twohy
I couldn’t not read. I couldn’t stop reading. You make writing look easy. I know it’s not. What a deserved win!
This was a masterclass in craft! And the story felt so relatable. You spoke for so many of us. We're definitely stronger together!