I had been born with a dark skin and my mother always covered me up, trying her best to hide me from the prying eyes and the snide comments. She would go to all lengths to find out the local methods to whiten up my skin. She even took me to various skin specialists and tried the many available skin whitening creams. Her efforts made no difference to me or my skin.
And I grew with that dark skin, oblivious of her trials and tribulations. For not even once did she mention it. Not even in her thoughts did she love me any less.
She kept on fighting the battle of the color so that I would not have to fight it.
When I started getting bullied in school,she put me into Karate classes.
When I became sad for want of a friend,she hooked me on to reading classics.
When I felt the need for a boyfriend,she bought me a motorbike and made me participate in all the rallies.
In the midst of all the grey clouds,I shone under her domain. She did not let me have an inkling of what she was doing. Slowly and steadily,she shaped me. Bit by bit,chisel by chisel,she sculpted me.
As every sculptor says,the beauty is present in the stone itself. One just needs an eye to see it from within and help shed the outer layers.
Today,I won the women's rally internationally and topped it with a modelling assignment.
For the dark skin was not dark for the world. The hidden beauty was out there.
Visible.
Only because my mother chose to chisel
