The speaking Fawn

I knew some one once. Someone who cared, someone who hoped, someone who would yearn. A little girl, a teenager, an adult, a senior now. I I've seen her go through it. I remember seeing her cry every night, knowing oneday someone will save her I've seen her fight, because she believe the people around her would save her someday. I've seen her shout, so that her soul had some vessel to bleed through. I saw her every night in the window beside mine. I saw her break her own family, so that they could see how broken she is. I saw her offer her temple to every man who showed her a chance of being loved. I saw her lay on the floor of her house while her cat broke a vase I saw her get high every night while her cat went on braking all the bases in the houses, till there were none left. I saw her every night in the window beside mine. I saw her watching the rain as she realized no one is coming any more I saw her stare at her cat remorselessly, as it died I saw her drink every night...

I am someone who has learnt bharatanatyam for the past 11 years. I have heard some of the most beautifully written bhajans, all the way from Ganesha Kautuvam to Kadanakuthualam Thillana. For me, that music was never just cues to tap to. Never just beats, It showed me how I was supposed to use my abhinaya , who I was supposed to be at that moment, whether I had to be Krishn, a nāyaki, or Murugan. The music is my book, my gīta. For instance: [Lyrics from Ganesha Kautuvam] |Hari tiru maru ganai, vighna vinayaka| ‘the nephew of lord Vishnu(Hari), the destroyer of all obstacles.’ Here I raise my eyebrows and display a little sparkle of sincerity towards the father of all multiverses, followed by sharpening my eyes by a smidgen to show pride that lord ganesha is the destroyer of all my problems, all through my eyes. That is the life we put into our music, not just the instruments but also the singers, only then can the dancer bring that life to the stage.      ...

I hate comparing myself, and I don't but my god this one girl. I don't know whether I want to be her or just live admiring her from afar and no, this is not a love confession; this is the confession of a performative over achiever. She wears pink on most days, eyes gleaming with this unwavering spark, like she woke up winning. Her smile could light up entire countries. The youngest in her family, but still an over achiever. I hate it, I hate everything about her. Why does she have to be better? Why does she have to pop up in my head even on the days I fell so fulfilled with myself and ruin it. I want to think like her, I want to speak like her, I want grades like hers, I want of her kind beauty, I want the depth she has in character, her maturity, her kindness, I want her. No no, sorry, ahm, I- I want to be like her. What is it about her, that I notice every detail, oh and yeah, she changed the perfume she was previously using with a new one, an even better one. I t...