Usha Akella in Conversation with Vinita Agrawal Read Single →
Six months old, propped up
against a white sheet, wide-eyed
and bewildered, a tiny refugee
in a new land. Ten years old,
gap-toothed smile, pigtails
askew, a reluctant immigrant
in a school uniform. Sixteen
years old, braces and acne,
a rebellious teenager
in a passport booth. Twenty-one
years old, college graduation cap,
a hopeful dreamer
in a foreign country. Thirty
years old, baby on hip, a tired
mother in a government office.
Forty years old, wrinkles
around the eyes, a settled
citizen in a photo studio.
Fifty years old, grey hair
and glasses, a proud
grandmother in a family picture.
Sixty years old, smiling
at the camera, a woman
who has lived, loved, and
lost, a story etched in
every line on her face.
