Who am I?

My name is Anchal

 

I was born as Archana

The ancient word for prayer 

My memories of my childhood envelop my being,

Just as the intoxicating insence of worship filled the days of my youth

 

My name changed to Anchal

The scarf of my mother, 

The duppata of my ancestors

 

The scarf’s strength lies in each stitch

My childhood scarf endured,

But I never removed my scarf

In a world of bare necks, the scarf became a noose

It was tugged upon, yanked, and punctured

But my scarf remained on my neck

 

The stitches were worn down,

The color faded,

And the fabric deteriorated

Yet the warmth, protection, and history ceased to relinquish its grip from neck

The scarf carried the story of my people 

From birth, my scarf held me in its soft embrace

Now, it holds the love, assurance, and struggle in each stitch that cradles my being

 

Now, who am I?

My name is Anchal

As beautiful as the anchals worn by women around the globe

The statement piece

Unwaveringly fragile yet stronger than rope

I wrap myself in my name

The scarf is me

I am Anchal