I am not dark skinned. I don’t know how I would fare on the “fair-o-meter” (pun purposefully intended), but I am pretty fair. Not milk-fair but fair enough, if there ever was such a term. But when I was growing up, I wasn’t as fair as some of the girls around me, and was made to realize that every now and then.
But soon, this love, whose manifestation up until a while ago was squeaky platonic, began turning non-platonic. Feelings of possessiveness, of obsession and of jealousy began overpowering her.
Time slowed down, and we remained there for hours, almost falling asleep. The waves rose and fell, as if telling us its story, as if inviting us to stay with it and as if scolding us for not meeting with it earlier.
You couldn’t tell your father that you had your periods – The information was passed to him by a series of uncanny Chinese Whispers, and at the end of the day, you would see him walking into the house with a package eerily wrapped in black plastic.
I don’t care much about labels too, and I wouldn’t name the title of this blog Pen Friends, if I didn’t have anything better – More like “I-Don’t-Know-What-Kind-Of-Friend” – But, that’s too long and unromantic anyway.
Natasha had taken the last line of my blog to heart, where I had said, that the easiest way to switch from being the daughter-in-law to the daughter, is to make the in-laws your parents.
She never got close to him, because at that time, boys and girls never spoke to each other like friends without inviting the stigma of being labelled boyfriend-girlfriend.
They don’t know me – They don’t know what I do – They don’t know who I was before I moved here, and they don't even care – But here we are, talking to each other, our relationship with each other, nothing more than having the same address – This Earth.