Will you let me age gracefully?
Will you let me age gracefully without needing to comment on how tired I look or the weight I have gained?
The shadows under my eyes are from reading glass lines and freckles change to age spots everyday.
Will you let me dress without feeling low self esteem that I am not size zero anymore, nor that I wear the season’s couture?
A washed handloom engulfs me providing market to the looms, comfortably accommodating menopause.
Will you let me stop colouring my hair, let me wear it short, without referring to my long tresses in Pushpak, at 19?
The bad hair days get captured, not the wisdom I carry, and that’s demoralizing. Surely cameras can show the depth of a person and not just the surface?
Will you let me discuss meaningful things without interrupting the flow with questions on how I cook or what the season’s latest gossip demands?
My inner being thrives on accomplishing things that make a difference, things I seek to complete before my physical form is put to rest.
Will you let me walk through my day with peace and calm without the endless messages to attend events teeming with emptiness?
I need to complete life’s mission, but I can’t if my head spins in endless carousels, important to you, no doubt.
Will you free me of the box office madness, the TRP wars, Page 3, the likes, the comments, the traps that menacingly surround everything we do?
You have caught me in a time warp, a cage of fame, while my spirit is free.
Allow me a life, some privacy, to engage with humanity and the universe, with purpose, truth, compassion and some respect for those now gone.