one hoodie. many lives.

Sarang Gupta

Mumbai, 2022

Her mother had pestered her about Diwali cleaning
And as she worked through the piles and rifled through the closet
Her hand reached uncharted territory, an abyss and her very own Bermuda Triangle
Except she’d found something
Her fingers hesitantly touched the braided toggles
She extracted the hoodie, the only material memory of him
She pulled the heavy cotton over her head in a cloud of cedar and dust
It once encased his scrawny chest
But he always stood tall and proud
She decided to sit up straighter, suddenly feeling weightless

………………………………………………………………

Everybody needed something from her
Sticky tiny fingers constantly prodding
Voices - sometimes sugary, sometimes unbearably shrill
Exhaustion washed over, drifting her into delirium
But for those 30 sanguine minutes after 8 when silence finally veiled the walls
She bathed
She combed her hair
Then she stared at her reflection – a misty condensation of curves, cellulite and
fatigue
And half quivering in the early hours, she put on her favourite hoodie
A warm hug

………………………………………………………………

It was the senior year fete
An opportunity for everyone to peel off their grimy uniforms and wear ‘going out’ clothes
In the bathroom as she hunched awkwardly over the basin
There was talk about mini skirts and tight jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets
She shrunk further
Before her lay a confectionary of a dress
A totem of conformity, her token to social inclusion
But as she slithered into the sequinned contraption, she felt alien
She longed for the immensity of her hoodie
So she wore it
Amongst a sea of sequins
A rebel without a cause

@saranggupta