Did it rain today, I ask —

Dripping sindhoor tracing lines 

Across her forehead,

Trickling down the nose.

Wet pallu clings to her back —

Fusing with her face.

Raindrops trace the jasmine gajra

Tucked with pins in her hair,

Releasing its aroma,

Blending with the scent

Of wet, scorched earth — and dung.

Red glass bangles with gold paisley

Chime, transforming raindrops 

Into attar.

A matching red phuliya on her nose

Starbursts the peeping sun’s rays.

Kajal lights a raindrop 

In the inner corner of her eye —

Catching the rays,

Echoing the jingle 

Of the mirrored maang tikka.

She peels the pallu,

Wiping her face,

Releasing drips of kajal 

That trail from the edge 

Of her squinting eyes —

Smears tracing wrinkles of endurance  

Like butterfly wings.

She looks up,

Sindhoor and kajal sparkling 

On the edges of her lower eyelids,

Wet sari infusing her color.

Is it raining yet, 

In your desert, I ask.