A letter to Reshma Khala
Meet Reshma (like silk), my mother's sister, my khala. I never got the opportunity to meet her because she passed away at an early age of 19.
She would often say "ab humaara aur jeenay ka mann nahi karta" i dont desire to live more.
She was a rebel, a liberal, a muslim girl who didn't want to limit herself to what the patriarchal society expected of her, she was a poet, she wrote too many poems and made too many friends, she would sit alone under a tree or celebrate stories around bonfires with her friends. She was what I would call a hippie, a gypsy, a free bird, a lover.
Most say that it's uncanny how much I look and behave like her and maybe that's why I often find myself thinking about her stories.
Whenever I try to make sense of her desire to leave this world soon, I perhaps find myself thinking that she felt misunderstood, she felt like a misfit but for the years she lived, she made sure to make life a celebratory one.
This is my letter to Reshma khala,
you were too good for this world,
world that tries to cage women and their dreams every single day and I'm sorry if you felt misunderstood.
Khala,
the tale of your wild long locks
have made their way
to many
your poems
about the moon, women and their desires,
the hookah, the wine,
your lover that left you far behind
live in the hearts of many,
many can imagine
your laughter
the sparkle in your rebellious eyes
that often lived in melancholy,
tales of your dreams
and how you wanted to change the world
reached many
Photographed in Allahabad, 1978
She was known for her wild knee length long locks. She lost most of her hair before she passed away.
Story of a young, free spirited woman, a poet and a lover from Allahabad, Reshma, like silk.
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