Silhouette Of Memories
The bronze sun stood above, romancing the clouds and bestowing to them its glare. It caressed my cheeks and I knew I had just stepped foot into the big wide world. Cuddled in my mother’s arms, I wondered about the cement building standing magnificently in front of me. Glistening fairy lights dropped from each window. The doors had been carved with intricate designs and adorned with the customary mango leaves to commemorate my homecoming. I sat there looking around, and a warmth filled my heart. I let out a smile, the kind of smile a person smiles when they know they are loved. A smile I never stopped smiling. Each brick sheathed a thousand memories. Every piece of stone, granite, and marble etched a thousand smiles, tears, and lessons. I looked around to find a piece of me hidden in these walls, resonating my name. This house, my city and my country, India was a place I boldly called home.
The family which this house houses is an ornate collection of paradoxes.My family is a typically atypical family. A family which steers out of trouble but stands up for what’s right. A family which laughs, dines, and hustles together. A family whose members think alone and reflect together. A family whose members sing the same song but find their own rhythm. A family which stays together and lets go. A family like none you’ve seen, yet like so many. A family which edges at idiosyncrasy while making the sanest decisions. A family which is perfectly imperfect. A family which breaks all stereotypes:
An apathetic, inexpressive patriarch. A submissive mother and wife. A family that incapacitates freedom in the name of “honour” and religion. This is the cliche of an Indian family we have all been shown by cross-cultural media for too long. International perceptions like these have stereotyped all Indians. India is a land of diversity. Diversity and difference are two faces of the same coin. My country’s people aren’t ubiquitously perfect. A considerable portion of my society still holds regressive and orthodox beliefs. My country isn’t a utopia, and still we demand representation like any other community. Not the false presentation which stereotypes us, but the representation which voices our problems and narrates our story. Media that shows real issues about real families.
Our families are beautifully woven with love and care. Women of the family have recently been finding their voices. The importance of sharing the load of unpaid labour between the family has been realized. We have seen considerable changes in our society these past few years. But the international media doesn’t show this. As Indians, our demand for representation is ubiquitous. We can agree that we deserve representation like any other community. Brown representation matters.
The silhouette of my memories is an image I want on screen.