The Lengha

I twirled and I swirled.

I spun around the world, leaving everyone behind me.

The bottom of my skirt flowed as I danced—

The pink silk lengha made me feel alive.

People watched as I spun around the ballroom in an elegant motion,

As I showed my true colors,

The person I truly am.

Every fold of fabric told a story,

Of strength passed down through generations.

The jingling of my chudiyan echoed my heartbeat,

A rhythm rooted in tradition, yet beating in freedom.

My braid swayed like the breeze in the fields,

Adorned with flowers and dreams.

The mirror work on my dupatta caught the light—

Just like I caught their eyes,

Not to seek approval, but to shine.

I was not spinning to be seen.

I was spinning to remember—

Who I am, where I come from,

And who I’m becoming.

In that moment,

I was art.

I was fire wrapped in silk.

I was a girl unafraid to take up space.

I didn’t just wear the lehenga—

I became one.