Grow

Grow into the shoes that my mother couldn’t wake in, because they were only made for the Memsahib.

Grow into the trousers my father couldn’t wear because he was brown even though his complexion was closer to wheat than it was to mud.

Grow into the dress that my sister couldn’t enjoy, one that independent India found too short because her sun-deprived ankles were seen.

Grow into the job that closed its door on your father because he was too learned for an untouchable.

Grow into my courage of telling you this. Grow into me.

Grow into the Twenty-First Century with its tale and remember that your victory isn’t just yours,

You share it with a race.