Scientist with a Bindi

By Apurva Srivastava

I saw her every morning,
As she rushed in her traditional attire.
Under autumn’s shredded trees,
In her anklets and bangles she perspired.

Clad in my denim jeans and cotton shirt,
I found myself and her walking together for a while.
She greeted me inquisitively as our momentum matched,
And I replied with a condescending smile.

I adjusted my branded shades,
Then flipped my cap as a gesture of pride.
I introduced myself as an accomplished woman scientist-
And admiring me, she paused her stride.

I boasted of my innumerable researches and talks,
I flaunted my wisdom, struggles, and strife:
“Breaking the shackles of orthodox traditions,
Unbound by anklets, I soar high.”

“But I feel sad for women like you,” I told,
“Who still adorn vermillion, anklets, and bangles-
Dwelling in the past, embracing traditions,
Or forced to do it to avoid societal wrangles.”

Surprisingly, she just smiled with a sigh,
And politely enough, breaking my monotony,
She explained, “As I rush under trees with chirping birds,
My jingling anklets resonate with their musical symphony.

My traditional dupatta is held in place by my laptop bag,
My bangles tinkle with joy as I type codes in seconds.
The finger ring shines with pride,
Whenever I write or I reckon.

That trinket in my earring flits,
As I flit from computer systems to files.
I learn from some, I guide others-
Embracing science in my traditional style.”

She spoke about her lab experiments that failed,
And scientific simulations that were held.
She wiped away the drops of stress,
Condensed as sweat on her forehead.

That was when her bindi came undone,
Snapping me back from the spell of her discourse.
“Your bindi,” I said abruptly with concern.
For replacement, hurriedly she opened her purse.

“Honored to meet you, scientist madam,” she said,
“But I too have my share of sky.”
Placing her bindi between eyebrows, she asserted,
“As you are a scientist-so am I.”