A person’s voice can reveal a great deal,
it fluctuates depending on the situation and the temper of its bearer.
Like an orotund voice showcases confidence,
whereas the poor wobbly one is a plea for help.
Such two voices dominated my life, they did.
Father's gravelly voice was full of strict splinters and cautious consents,
Constantly apprising me to dress appropriately and study incessantly.
Mother’s soft-spoken manner were the keys to the door gaurding the world of
These voices controlled me.
These voices fabricated my Personality.
These voices stole my Identity.
Who am I,
Who am I without voices constricting me?
I am the embodiment of the saying “We came to America for a better education opportunity for you and your siblings.”
I have eaten from the mango and jackfruit trees that line up the countryside roads,
lightened by the warm sun.
I have swam in the ponds filled with little fish,
that hide away from the fish lines.
I have lived by the river’s edge,
where the streets flood after a short rainy day.
I am free.
Endless situations that clash with my beliefs.
Situations that either fortify my existing views or be robust enough to replace them,
finally make me who I am.
My pianissimo voice has gained substance,
transformed into a silvery soprano,
that takes notice of its surroundings before presenting itself,
thinks twice before making any decision,
tries its best to deliver sincere judgments.
I finally found solace when it was my own voice that guided me.