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"She is the artist, she is the art,
Sajani is her own canvas."
She flaunts rich silks in colours of the blooms she puts in her freshly washed hair. She wears her hair down with hairbands in gold and silver keeping her sprawling hair in check. Sajani decks herself with jewels of the past, bringing to life a medieval romance-like picture.
With a penchant for dressing up in attire that feels like a second skin, she chooses the opulent mulberry that flows over her in tantalizing sensations.
The rustle of the fabric slipping through her fingers as she fixed it in place so that her favorite part could begin always felt exciting.
Sajani admired the trinket tray flowing with jewels and picked up the Nath she most loved.
Shooing away a few runaway strands, she tried it on.
Her mother’s Kamarband was her favorite. The way it kept the cheeky saree smoothly in place and yet flattered one’s form made her choose to wear it more than often. Running her hand over an age-old mathapatti, she placed it on her crown and felt powered by the mere idea of dressing as she felt, as she liked.
Dusk lingered over her shoulders like a lover’s caress reflecting the last of sun rays off the dainty Saharas entangled in her tresses, attached with her earrings.
Sajani pouted to rouge her lips and cheeks with the rose-tinted stain made at home.
Her eyes darted back and forth her reflection in the mirror, restless with the feeling of something amiss. The silk swished and sashed as Sajani took a detour of the room looking for something, something she knew had to be here somewhere.
Ah! There they are. She picked her gold anklets off the unmade bed from her afternoon nap and fastened those tight around the ankles.
Rubbing a few drops off ittar on her wrists, she took a final long look at her ornamented self. It was everything she had imagined her inner goddess to look like…