Tying Your Paranda, Holding Your Hand

The sweet blend of a sister’s love

I see you by the mirror, eyes full of wonder,

Fingers fumbling through strands that won’t stay under.

A braid half-made, dreams halfway told—

You’re growing so fast, yet still so bold.

Let me tie your paranda, bright threads in your hair,

Stories of love woven with care.

Each twist a tradition, each knot a prayer,

A legacy of women who’ve always been there.

I’ll tell you the meanings you’re starting to seek,

Why Nani’s kaade sang when she’d speak.

Why Chunni is grace, not just fabric and thread,

Why history still whispers in each word we’ve said.

I’ll hold your hand as you walk into the world,

A lioness in sneakers, her jhumkas still twirled.

You don’t have to choose between two skies—

You were made for both roots and rise.

We’ll laugh at our mishaps, the Pinglish slips,

Share secrets between gulab jamuns and chips.

I’ll braid your doubts into strength, your fears into flair,

Reminding you always: your voice belongs there.

So when the world feels heavy or hard to understand,

Know I’m right here—tying your paranda, holding your hand.

Not just as your sister, but your bridge and your guide,

A keeper of stories who walks by your side.