The Indian Girl said No
To the sari hung in her closet
Though a pretty dress, a shade of lilac with a silky touch
And gold wrapped around her hand, shimmering, shining,
It had a torturous weight, pins pinching, stabbing her waist
Gold suffocating her hand, biting, scratching her skin
But her mother’s pride drowned out the No’s
“The perfect dress, the perfect wife”
She always said with a smile

The Indian Girl said No
To the long black pants, reaching her feet
What could be wrong with one's barely above the knees?
But the gaze of the men was constant and unwavering
Eyes steady and unashamed
The women gasped as she passed by
Looking and then looking away
Hushed whispers, glances, and upturned noses
Mockery and ridicule
“The curse of Westernization”, they said
Polite name for a slut
Shame and more shame, to pour on guilt and more guilt
Why shouldn’t she feel ashamed?
Why shouldn’t she feel guilty?
She was, of course, a disgrace

The Indian Girl said No
To the doctors and engineers twice her age
“The perfect husbands”
But her father laughed and laughed
And her mother cried and cried
“What will you do," they said
“What will you do when you have no husband to save you?”
To be alone was a sin
Yet to her it’d be a blessing
But a woman was not a woman
Without a man by her side

The Indian Girl said No
But he wouldn’t listen
He was her husband, her savior, why should he?
She shouldn’t, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t say No
That was what they always said
He, the husband, and she, his wife
His to use and do with as he pleased
Her duty was to obey
No matter what she had to say

The Indian Girl said No
But no one heard
The Indian Girl said No
But it was as if she’d never said anything at all