-rewind-
Wrapped in a turquoise sari, single golden bangle, austere bun; each strand of taut, silken hair yelling for liberty,
like the voice of all her countrymen.

She was gathering fallen jasmines in my palms when they threw me out. House ablaze, men caged, the wail of a lonely child in the dusk,
The smell of fire and ash and wilted, trampled jasmines.

‘You Indian Scum’

And the sounds of echoing gunshots.

-forward-

Me.
Feet resting on metal rims of the stool, fingers clutching my bottle of chilled Pepsi.
My head swims in the artificial,

kaleidoscopic advertisements, Gucci bags, fur coats,
the aroma of my jasmine scented Calvin Klein perfume I sprayed meticulously earlier in the day.