I remember how the skirts in my wardrobe in a day got replaced with dark coloured pants, when this red started to drip from between my thighs. I was taught how to use my arms as defensive weapon on local buses and creepy crowds. I was given a manifesto of how a woman should walk, sit, sleep and laugh.
I recall my sister's wedding and think how just a pinch of red brought with it an ocean of tears in my father's old eyes.
And how could a shiny red lipstick on a woman's lips at night could ever raise a question on her modesty.
I read a book about my country which distinctively describes how this red, when was vanished from a woman's head, became the subtle reason for her to quietly lay on her husband's pyre and end her herself into ashes.
And in shades of red I see a colour of love, and wars, of births, and deaths, the story of a woman's begining and her end.
Last Edit - May 16, 2020, 10:18 a.m.