SAFFRON ISSUE 02: COMMUNE

COMMUNE issue 2

staff Editor in Chief Jayashree Ganesan Managing Editor Anna Ranabijuli Creative Director Yousuf Khan Styling Director Yousuf Khan Assistant Styling Director Avani Sunkireddy Co Writing Safa Michigan Co Writing Kushal Vajrala Co HMUA Director Riya Mandalapu Co HMUA Director Payson Elise Co Multimedia Director Riya Vardhachary Co Multimedia Director Neha Kondaveeti Co Photography Director Ren Breach Co Photography Director Jessie Curneal Modeling Director Tasmuna Omar Co Events Director Shreya Chari Co Events Director Sanjana Pinapala Co Marketing Director Alija Koirala Co Marketing Director Shreya Chintala Co Finance Director Pranjal Shelly Co Finance Director Ila Singh Social Media Director Divya Lohar Assistant Writing Nidhi Chanchlani Assistant HMUA Khushi Puri Assistant Photography Director Shreya Ayelasomayajula Assistant Modeling Director Kani Manickavasakam

Alisha Gupta, Amani Ahmad Anagha Rao, Ananya Sampathkumar, Aneesha Dandekar, Angeline Ajit, Anirudh Karunakaran, Annahita Escher, Anoushka Sharma, Asha Kalapatapu, Avani Sunkireddy, Avha Mohanty, Ayla Musharrif, Deeya Chakrabarti, Divya Nagarajan, Divya Konkimalla, Esha Bajaj, Harsha Ketavarapu, Ila Kamath, Irene Sibi, Ishani Purohit, Ishita Singh, Jannel Hayden, Laurence Nguyen-Thai, Manalie Barot, Manisha Reddy, Maryam Khan, Mateo Ontiveros, Maya Patel, Morgan Cheng, Mullika Pandit, Najia Sherwani, Nishika Datla, Noor Khan, Noura Abdi, Pahul Ghumman, Pavitra Kumar, Peyton Sims, Pria Gokhale, Priyanka Ahmed, Rafia Basheer, Raj Patel, Riya Patel, Ria Sood, Sachi Sooda, Sadhvika, Challa, Safiyya Haider, Sannidhi Koganti, Sarika Nana, Shikha Annem, Shilpika Pandey, Shivani Purohit, Sora Ahmad, Srikha Chaganti, Sriya Katanguru, Sruthi Morusupalli, Tanya Shiramagond, Tamanna Sonthalia, Tarsus Rao, Tim Chacko, Vaishnavi Kothakonda, Vani Shah, Varsha Hari, Vennela Vattikuti, Via Ceaser, Vikram Banga, Vy Truong, Zak Kadir

To those that believe this is the end for us, There are a lot of instances in a person’s life where time languishes and drones, but the duration of this issue was definitely not one of those occasions. Swiftly, through the relentless work of a wonderful staff and leadership Issue 02 can finally be held by loved ones, a privilege that I am so very grateful for.

Issue 02’s ‘Commune’, comes from a place of optimism, founded fear, and hazy conviction in nature for a fate unwritten. Humans and nature have been in conflict with one another in a power struggle that is not quantifiable by a measure of who is winning. We, as humans, seek prowess and advancement even at the expense of destroying the means that has given us the tools to build. Nature on the other hand functions in equilibrium, always trying to maintain harmony within its systems. The result of their collision has never been starkly pleasant or terrible, as when one grows greater, it weakens the other. Within these pages, we explore a state of camaraderie between both parties, with nature at the helm. Whether it be through understanding by humans of nature’s beauty or by sheer force, ‘Commune’ is a world in which nature will prevail.

I write this while on a river, trying to commune with nature myself. Pretending to be Thoreau at Walden pond has been a peculiar benefit of this issue and has provided me with a lot of clarity on how I would like to interact with the environment myself. So to the banyan trees and flourishing waters of the river, you have won me over again with your whims.

As you read through this edition, I encourage you to think about the way that you interact with nature: not just in a physical sense, but also emotionally. Does it rejuvenate you and make you feel seen? Does it amaze when you? Or does it scare you with its creatures and beings? Regardless of how you feel, its existence in and of itself is phenomenal and we should definitely be frightened of that.

With all my heart, Jaya Editor in Chief

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contents

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The Basis of Beauty The Preservation of Immortality Mycelium The Sitayana To Call Forth Fire Cast Away, We Cast Hexes Synthetic Naturalism Inflicted Potency Strophes on Desire Dark Night of the Soul

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by ANNA RANABIJULI photographer PEYTON SIMS model NEHAL SHAH layout SRIYA KATANGURU hmua JAYASHREE GANESAN stylist AVANI SUNKIREDDY & ESHA BAJAJ

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With beauty comes the beholder, borne to pass judgment and deem worthiness based on norms pre-established. Those who hold the helm of beauty trends and media are given the choice of either aligning with traditional standards of beauty or creating a new narrative for artists to explore. Trailblazing entrepreneur Nehal Shah, founder and CEO of Nehal & Co., is paving the way for minority representation in the beauty industry through creating makeup for a vast array of skin tones and types. Nehal & Co. ‘s diverse range of foundation shades aims to make space for people of color when it comes to luxury makeup. We spoke with Nehal one morning about her journey as an innovator in the beauty industry.

“I kept coming back to entrepreneurship at the end of the day, no matter what. It was like I was fighting it.”

Growing up in a family of entrepreneurs, Nehal took the leap to create a brand that represented the unrepresented. Despite coming from a family of pioneers, however, Nehal had yet to see a woman in her family also delve into the realm of entrepreneurship: so she decided to be the first.

“I wish growing up, I had other female entrepreneurs around me. I grew up with my dad, my uncles, who are all entrepreneurs but not any females[…] creating this brand, I want to also be that person that people can be like, okay, I can look up to her. I can ask her any questions, things like that.”

Initially a Sports Management student at NYU, Nehal’s interest in business was evident early on. Still drawn to the sciences, however, Nehal decided to pursue a pre-medical post baccalaureate (postbacc) program at John Hopkins following her undergraduate degree. While in the post-bacc program, Nehal simultaneously discovered her love for scientific R&D, and her lack of interest in patient care. She recognized that she wanted to impact the communities that she cared about from an entrepreneurial, productfocused direction rather than a clinical one. “...honestly, I love medicine. I worked at a dermatology lab and did a lot of research there on different products for the skin. [When there], I realized that I enjoy creating products more than being with patients. And I think that was when I truly realized that I was fighting off my natural instincts of being an entrepreneur.”

With the opportunity to intern at a dermatology lab in college, Nehal’s interest in cosmetic science was sparked. After juggling her pursuit of medicine and her interest in product development for a while, Nehal went full force into her entrepreneurial venture. “[I was] putting so much energy into what I would now call my plan B. It just didn’t make sense… you should be putting more effort into your plan A. Yes, it’s more risky, but it’s what I actually want to do.”

With the support of her mom and other strong figures in her life, Nehal took bold steps to step away from the premedical track and pursue something that she was passionate about: representation in the luxury makeup scene.

She spoke to us about her deviation from her parent’s need for stability when they moved to the United States to now one where she can be less risk averse and build new norms for women in the South Asian creator space to 7

flourish.

“Just because something doesn’t work out now, doesn’t mean you can’t pivot and take it into a new direction. We are given the privilege of that. I am also in the process of getting my private flying license, which is something I have always wanted to do. I put that on pause because there were days where I was working 20 hours, but now I am able to make changes to the brand so I can pursue things that I love outside of the brand too.”

Speaking through the journey of Nehal, we discovered how Nehal uses her personal identity to reimplify purpose in her brand, Nehal & Co. When building Nehal & Co. Nehal spoke about how her health and complexion were key elements in inspiring her business.

ucts for people of color and the lack of equal opportunity to wear makeup that suites skin tones and types without compromise. From experiences in her own childhood of wearing ill-fitting dance makeup shades on stage to now, Nehal and her team take extra care in creating a platform to represent the unrepresented starting from the base up.

“Most makeup products function on the Fitzpatrick Scale based on skin tone. The lower range of the scale, lighter skin tones, are what people usually start testing on.

We try to start from the higher end of the spectrum and go down so we know for sure our products work for darker skin tones.”

“When starting Nehal & In the future, Co., I was actually going Nehal & Co. through something with plans on movmy health, and I think it was ing forward in like two years before that I establishing hair was diagnosed with a chronic care and skin care condition. There was a time lines that explore the where my symptoms got much wide range of hair types and worse, so it became difficult for skin types to provide better care me to feel confident and to go out, for people of color. Creating a brand hang out with my friends, simple things that enables the ease of luxury to a wide like that. That’s when I turned to makeup. audience has been the vision for Nehal.

When I went shopping for new makeup, I came home so excited to try everything on. But I quickly realized “Seeing Nehal & Co. in a Bloomingdale’s or Saks would a lot of it just did not work on my skin tone and undertone. be where we would want to go, to be a staple in the I thought that I can’t be the only one that feels this way.” luxury market scene. I want our products to be innovative and solve a problem that we are facing, especially in this In her exploration of identity and confidence, she saw how market.” colorism deeply affects communities in the way they perceive themselves and their self confidence. With a history In terms of what Nehal has in mind for her mission, she will of colonialism and Western beauty, colorism can be as not continue to think about inclusion in her product design. being able to recognize the lack of color distribution in prod- Identifying gaps in skincare and makeup and creating a 8

brand that brings innovation to life for communities of color is the forefront of Nehal & Co.’s future in the beauty industry. To Nehal, this means creating an avenue for people to feel good about themselves with ease.

As the helm of the beauty industry gets passed to the hands of innovators and trailblazers that want to solve unique problems with unique solutions, we continue to wonder what comes next for the eye of the beholder. But one thing is for sure, we have hope for a future for luxury that includes a wider definition than the status quo starting with the basis of it all: the lens we view ourselves. ■

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by KUSHAL VAJRALA

layout ASHLEY LEE photographer JESSIE CURNEAL stylists VIKRAM BANGA, MARYAM KHAN, & YOUSUF KHAN models AVHA MOHANTY & TASMUNA OMAR hmua RIYA MANDALAPU, ISHA MANJUNATH, & PAYSON KELLEY

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s the clocks loudly clanged together to signal the end of the work day, Leela let out a sigh of relief.

She mopped her brow and felt a pang of envy. Minor royal factory workers were only able to have a Mk III cooling mechanism offered in their factories. Waving to her colleagues, she prepared her belongings to leave for her meeting. The identification mechanism at the exit clicked its gears at her hastily before registering the mods on her face. She detested modding herself, but it was either to be qualified for a job or join the slums. Positions of moral superiority are reserved for the relatively wealthy.

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Leela draped the dupatta across her face as she left the factory. It would be impossible to either see or breathe otherwise. The hazy, permeating smog was the byproduct of humanity’s triumphant progress, and the kingdom made sure to remind everyone. Towers whose spires tickled the clouds’ lower halves with intermittent puffs of smoke. A vastly modded populace when measured per capita, a song of whirs and clicks. A fleet of airships passing through the skies every waking hour. It was hard to not feel at the forefront of civilization. The pioneers of innovation. And any other cliché that was thrown at her by the kingdom’s propaganda teams.

As she walked along the main road, she was distinctly reminded of the recent tsunami.

It was divine providence incarnate, as if to scoff in the face of the foolish men who dared reconstruct heaven. The utopia the kingdom wanted to be like was marred by what seemed to be a divine painter’s imperfect slashes along the cityscape on the coastline. The wave was enormous and sudden, wiping out many of her friends and

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family. Strangely enough, she did not feel anything past the first day after news of the casualties. Four years in the mech factories and years of protests during her university days had drained her of any discontent she possessed. Apathy was all she could eke out. The imported coffee beans she was prescribed in fact functioned oppositely. Rubbing her temples through the dupatta, Leela continued to walk to the temple. Best not to keep her appointment waiting.

The colorful temple was an easily recognizable monument, with its large base ornamented by thousands of mechanical sculptures that enacted their scenes from mythological stories. A Friday evening at the temple downtown would have an enormous line, but inexplicably, there was no semblance of one. No one visited in the daytime; the humid pollution that infested the city like a miasma was only manageable outdoors at night. The conditions of the factory, despite uncomfortable, were heaven, second to the temple downtown. Very strange, she thought, but her confusion was quickly dispelled by remembering who exactly had invited her. It suddenly didn’t feel right to accept the invitation, but entertaining the thought of refusing it starkly reminded her of her own mortality.

The oasis that was the temple was the only place where one could escape the pollution, and it was strange to see it not being taken advantage of. The throng of people around her undulated around the temple, and she was able to cut through them like soft ghee.

The guards at the gate uncrossed their spears and allowed Leela to proceed inside. They were ones that she had never seen before. Armor with shoulders as broad as a bull’s length and nearly as tall as the gate to the monument, they did not spare a single glance at her. Shuddering, she stepped through and entered the pressure lock chamber. The stark white of the room never ceased to shock her, though it was her first time alone. Her ears popped. The sound of invisible gears whirring caught her attention, and the other side of the room opened.

The temple was aptly named one of the seven wonders of the modern world. Every royal employee was allocated at least 15 minutes of time in here per week, and the amount of time given on top of that was increased proportional to their rank. Her own allotment was 45 minutes a week, and she properly took advantage of her privileges. Hoping that the appointment didn’t cut into her quota, she made a quick prayer and stepped into the outer sanctum.

Crisp, beautiful air wrestled its way into her lungs. Leela coughed violently, each one shaking her body and expelling black phlegm. The first five minutes were always an intense assault on her senses, and this time was no different. The kingdom, despite its lavish displays of technological achievement, was ultimately monochromatic. Flora and 13

fauna of almost every variety thrived in this space, and the entirety of color theory was vividly on display.

Her senses continued to drink everything in. When satisfied, she decided to move to the inner sanctum for a quick prayer when she saw the Royal Automatons. Her Highness arrived early as well. An ephemeral pang of annoyance percolated through her.

Her old friend was adorned in golden mods, with her crown causing her to duck and move sideways through the entrance to the inner sanctum. Straightening, she fixed Leela with an uncomfortable smile, the mods somehow not piercing skin.

“Hello Leela. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

Leela bowed deeply, hiding a smirk. High status individuals and their useless gratitude.

“Your Grace.” Straightening, Leela used a foot to scrape away the phlegm that marked her transitory phase, a movement that did not go escaped by the Princess.

“Join me, let us walk.”

Adjusting their course, they made their way to the Philosopher’s Path. An ancient philosopher who frequently gave lectures at the temple was said to have walked this path everyday, ages before the first Industrial Revolution. They walked side by side on the cobblestone path, with the Automatons traveling behind them. Solid gold as well, of course. Leela marveled at the beauty of the imperfections of the path.

“I know you might have had other plans, so I really do appreciate you coming. I thought we could appreciate the air together.”

It was hard for Leela to ignore the earnestness in her friend’s voice. Although she had planned to be indifferent to her friend’s conversation, her shoulders perked up.

“It’s irresponsible to reserve the temple for private events like these. I could have come to the palace.”

“Would you have?”

“The refusal of royal requests is punishable by death, no?”

“They can be, but honestly Leela, do you think I would do so?”

Leela wore a dark expression, and the Princess kept quiet for a bit.

“You’re right. I’ll invite you to the palace next. Regardless, let me cut to the chase. Right now, the Royal Institute needs engineers on your level. I’ll get you back into our university, and you can pick up from exactly where you left off.”

“Forgive me, Your Highness. I like my position. I am content with it.”

“Oh honestly, fuck off with the titles. Do I not deserve to be called by my name?”

“Once again, I seek your forgiveness, Your Highness. I cannot do that.”

The Princess sighed, and ran a hand through the segments of her hair that weren’t covered.

“What I’m going to tell you will violate everything Father made me promise. The hydrogen experiments we ran in college? Almost nearly to perfection.”

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Leela had to remind herself to breathe properly. Any violent outbursts, and who knew how the Automatons would react.

“Wasn’t my brother enough? How many others must sacrifice themselves, for this pursuit of ‘science’?”

The Princess’ excited look quickly transitioned to one of anguish, shame, and then hardened. “Such is the price of progress. A world where a comically small bit of hydrogen is needed for everyone. No need to bother with air, food or water. All of our body’s needs met.”

The subtle eagerness in her voice twisted Leela’s stomach, and unpleasant memories rose like bile. She began speaking in the quietest tone possible, so as to not trigger the Automatons.

“Me joining the protests wasn’t enough of an answer for you? You had me removed from school, and I had to join the factories with what little experience I had. I don’t need your pity. I’m making a living.”

Her companion opened her mouth to speak, but Leela cut her off. “How many fucking people have to die?

Before your pet project with longevity can be deemed finished?”

The disdain flowed hot from the Princess. “You’re fortunate enough to have the luxury of saying that. Every single technological advancement has benefited our kingdom’s people. They lead much easier lives than before. And when you come to help me finish our project, they can live better than ever.” Now, it was her turn to cut Leela off.

“You have mods that help you carry heavy weights and ensure that your belongings aren’t stolen. They help you access every public amenity we have to offer. They convenience your life in every way, shape, and form possible.”

“Sure, Your Highness, but you are killing us in an effort to save us.” A sudden cough shook Leela, and she punctuated her point with another glob of black phlegm at the Princess’ feet. The Automatons perked up, and they stood down with a wave from their master. A slight grimace, and a few quiet moments passed before the Princess spoke again.

“This isn’t my fault! When will you understand? I didn’t start using oil, but my father did. I didn’t popularize this pollution, my father did. I hate it. I am trying to save us, but why are you so intent on not helping me?”

“First, it was my brother. Then, it was the tsunami.” Leela knew she had the upper hand from her partner’s expression. “Yes, people talk. The explosion that rocked the hydrogen plant you had installed in the ocean is why almost ten percent of our population died. This is you saving us, right?”

“A rogue random error, that surprisingly, taught us more about the applications of hydrogen that five years of research wouldn’t have done.”

Disgust and shame filled both Leela and the Princess, respectively. She waited, but neither of them seemed likely to budge.

“I take it you’re not going to accept the offer?”

“No, Your Highness.”

They departed silently. Leela pondered on her brother and the tsunami.

She wondered how they would be punished next. ■

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photographer PEYTON SIMS | stylists ESHA BAJAJ, MARYAM KHAN | model DIVYA NAGARAJAN hmua VARSHA HARI, SHIKHA ANNEM | layout KAUSHIK KALIDINDI

The Sitayana

By Pria Gokhale

The Ramayana is an ancient Sanskrit epic which tells the story of its titular hero, Rama, as he embarks on a quest to rescue his wife Sita from the clutches of a demon king, Ravana. Found in a furrow as an abandoned child, Sita is popularly referred to as the daughter of Bhumi, or Mother Earth. The Sitayana retells the epic from Sita’s perspective, giving voice to one of the many women who populate the world of the Ramayana with a rich, worthy story of their own. In this version, we experience the story’s fabled tribulations through the only character who endures kidnapping and imprisonment at the hands of the villain, but also Agni Pariksha, a test of purity by fire, at the hands of our beloved hero. In her fight against Ravana and Rama, Sita’s inner nature and relationship with the earth are both fundamentally altered. In spite of all she is forced to endure, she removes herself from the unrelenting subjection by blossoming into a bolder woman and capitalising on her communion with the natural world.

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I close my eyes and let the land hold me I revel in the ways my body fits this earth a nose curved like the root of a banyan a lifeline carrying oxygen to its source each hue of brown a blessing from the sun and his careful love

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For me, the sky erupts with monsoon In the forest you will find me For me, each cricket sings an ancient song rooted For me, Jayatu waits where the canopy threads perched on the edge of the heavens every rock, stream, and being to carry seeds and safe into one and the same

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Yet here they trample Under the guise of promise Each blessing unrooted wrestled from my furrow Plant gardens of hurt that will not unseed And while pain rivers through me relentlessly I ask you Have I not given enough?

My transformation borne in this crucible of suffering You will extol me for all I have sacrificed I have become of sanctity and strength

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In smoke and shroud I singe my story and speak with the voices of she who has been silenced Like the soft earth from which I came I mold myself anew timeless and unburdened I return to the place of all that I am This forest holds its people so its people may hold each other Sita to those who hold the plow of their destiny

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layout LAURENCE NGUYỄN-THÁI photographer JESSIE CURNEAL stylist SORA AHMAD & SACHI SOODA hmua KHUSHI PURI & SRIKHA CHAGANTI models NOOR KHAN & ALISHA GUPTA

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Cast Away, We Cas

st Hexes

by SAFIYYA HAIDER layout JULEANNA CULILAP hmua SADHVIKA CHALLA, PAYSON KELLEY, ARIA MAKAN, ISHANI PUROHIT photographer ANNAHITA ESCHER stylists VENNELA VATTIKUTI, NAJIA SHERWANI, ESHA BAJAJ models MARYAM KHAN, SANNIDHI KOGANTI, J HAYDEN, ZAK KADIR

In limestone shadows I’m lost I find a child MY GIRL SELF coated in clotted blood 10 years underground Hazel eyes yellowed into a cat’s glow

earth’s leper They say I can’t feel pain.

But I thirst for men’s blood

she bites fangs indigo with otherworldly rot realm of unchained jinn IBLIS IS OUR FATHER I bring her nightshade the only food she eats

from the where Jannah’s leper

death-bent

I. We dance loose-limbed—puppets-of-the-sky II. We light candles III. We pick poisonous flowers All to hex the man who separated us.

{I am tumbling through the psychological tundra of sexual trauma.

Don’t ask me for how long.}

Let’s build a sapphire home in anesthetic water and live there forever where no man can touch us where no man touched us NO MAN’S LAND

{In this negative dimension before time and space, I meet my mothers’ mothers and the men who scourged our land for diamonds and chai leaves they cannot read.}

I KEEP PULLING BODIES OUT THE INDUS RIVER spilled into the Colorado they look they look at me they look like my mother’s mothers I cup my hands for wudu but find an uprooted eye, whites kajal-blackened / crucified hands with a circle of henna and a hole impaled / singed hair flocculent / spells the bog subsumed I can’t stitch myself together I-stitch-them-together.

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We survive on wildflowers and wither, drinking bog water Only they speak my language of the dis em bo di ed float ing

be tween psychic prisons and prayer prayer for the Pleiades

to abduct us eli eli lamma sabacthani Allah, Allah, why have you forsaken me?

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{In this enchanted karst world, I sleep on cold stone floors to remind me I’m human.}

you cupped your palms like dua’a caught a firefly me I AM THE FIREFLY no one will believe that black-outs anti-fairy tales of a child

for

Look at the person you made me: mud-faced bear-breathed gargoyle-hearted greenery gnarled in my eyes I’m lost in time with only the bat migrations yoking me. {My childhood bedroom is haunted. How could you recite Allah’s poetry and desecrate me?}

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Who will pray my janazah?

This last civilization has sinned forgetting my deformed corpse expelling it to sodden forest where magical mushrooms grow out of my back roots rip from my feet lifting off the ground I AM CURSED. I want my name. I want to be pure.

If Iblis is my father the Mountain Cedar trees are my million mothers.

In the thunderstorm emptying children from puddles I ask them for their fruits, sun’s breastmilk yes. O Punjaban, Daughter of Five Waters Thank you. Salam

Lightning! I AM ELECTRIC. MY BLOOD IS BIOLUMINESCENT.

I.May all that’s black in me be upon you.

II.May you reap what you sowed. carnivorous plants III.May you be castrated inshAllah.

In the cave all my bodies and I dance barefoot in mud and geosmin. We remember when we were one, before we were born. We are past lives healed with bluebonnets and limestone grinded to salt. They lift me on their shoulders we chant entranced in the occult language of trees and fire CURSE YOU Lunatic nocturnal birds sing Qawwali and I know our suffering has an end.

{The portal out of this arboreal unreality glows. I touch its warmth. Then the trees fall.}

THEY They They

EXCAVATE OUR HOME say I’m alone and insane laugh at my whisper and three-tongued accent

But I can see visions you can’t!

I know I’m electric. They can’t alienate me from the full-mooned sky.

I hear women’s hyena laughter! The eyes in my wild Medusa hair watch the undead!

A’oodhu. I seek refuge.

I can’t seek refuge in courthouses that aren’t my home. I find refuge with my mothers!

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I’ve Lost So Much Don’t Ask Me Any More Questions

the dust on this body that isn’t mine you tried to steal is holy

I AM DIRTY AND DIVINE THE CURSE IS BROKEN.

GLOSSARY ISLAMIC jinn Iblis Jannah Salam inshaAllah A’oodhu

otherworldly beings made from fire Satan before he fell from heaven heaven peace, a Muslim greeting and farewell God willingly I seek refuge. A’oodhu Billah, “I seek refuge with Allah”, is a Muslim litany

CULTURAL Kajal traditional black eyeliner that protects from the evil eye Punjaban Punjabi girl. Punjab means “land of five waters” in Farsi.

Qawwali Punjabi Sufi devotional singing (ex. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan!)

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synthetic

naturalism

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a mimicry of self-created sculptures on human life layout VIA CEASER photographer VIA CEASER stylist AVANI SUNKIREDDY hmua KUSHI PURI RIYA MANDALAPU & models TIM CHACKO & DIVYA KONKIMALLA nails ANOUSHKA SHARMA

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I am fearful of the waters.

Not the streams nor the brooks you hear in tales of red and gold.

The ones of torment and abandon imposing rebirth amongst those that belittle its might.

Vessels of chaos that collect tarrifs at river banks next to homes unbeknownst of their faculty, the waters wait to be angered to collect their tax.

So to those that don’t know of their destruction and can reside in the privilege of peace, know that the waters bade their time before rising above the shore — striking at the cusp of mankind’s greatest acquirements.

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by ANAGHA RAO

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layout COLIN CANTWELL photographer SHREYA AYELASOMAYAJULA stylists MULLIKA PANDIT, SACHI SOODA, & IRENE SIBI hmua SHILPIKA PANDEY, PRIYANKA AHMED, & ISHANI PUROHIT models ANANYA SAMPATHAKUMAR, AYLA MUSHARRIF, & TAMANNA SONTHALIA

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they say skin glitters in the sun they pull their sleeves off expose their hearts press their flesh flush against their clothes and glitter their arms intertwine her nails rake his golden hair, and their eyes touch their smiles become one their shirts flutter open, and i freeze but they’re free

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stifle a gag. How inappropriate. I pull down my pant legs. I was raised properly. Squeezed into textbook spines.

Spit into greatness. I was here for a reason. I couldn’t let the sacrifices that built me blow in the wind. They’re a second skin, threading my veins – skeins of gold, invaluable. They had to be grounded: staked in the earth, shoved into boxes. Freedom wastes time. Shame yields success. I was raised to be hidden. From the shadows, I will emerge victorious. I couldn’t wonder about how the wind kisses my neck – how warmth caresses my shoulders. Sunlight shatters shadows.

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Threads snap under tension. I soon grow into my mother’s hips. My threads become barbed wire. For once, my clothes cut into me.

My shorts are nearly swallowed whole by my thighs. I instinctively try to hide. I promise I’m more than this! My breath cinches my throat.

I can’t breathe, but I haven’t forgotten! I pull at my shirt, but I still can’t breathe. It all feels so mechanical.

Pull.

Pull.

Pull.

I collapse, trying to shrink myself to how I was, but the barbs have tethered me to the ground. The moon is out now – an amber smile. I watch her glow deepen and rotate. Is she grimacing at me? Watching as I let myself be suffocated. I yearn to scrape my mind of myself. Discard the ash and insecurity and anxiety. There’s a nugget of light embedded – one that yearns for my freedom. Yearns to pry open the bars of this imposed cage and stretch – stretch into a new era of sensuality with my Western friends. I sink my hands into my mind, rip the skeins from my flesh and gasp: copper! My suffering was for nothing!

In hiding, I shrunk myself. I shrink from my bare shoulders. Flinch at the reflection of my refracting curves. I pore over every dip, every bump. I’ve been suffocated for so long that I forgot how breathing felt like.

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she loses herself in her pools of honey for eyes her glistening blouse catches the light and cascades an exhibit of luster her dupatta is a friend of the wind, trailing alongside it they say skin glitters in the sun, but she is the sun her nails rake through her luscious waves she smiles at her reflection for the first time her ghagra flutters up, but she pays no heed she’s finally free

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We used to be free, but somewhere along the way, we started to look down on freedom.

Freedom comes with risk – show people too much and they use it against you. Our families came from worlds where freedom invited harm. Breathing showed the breathless that you could, and they would do anything to breathe. Gropes on bus rides taught our mothers lessons. Shame yielded safety for their young girls. They couldn’t put it in as many words because their mothers couldn’t.

We were young and didn’t understand. We internalized shame that wouldn’t be due for several years for other young girls. Our bodies were merely skin suits, holding minds that would find a way out of this hell hole. But we’re not in Hell anymore. We have space to breathe. Our people have faced too much hardship to inflict more upon ourselves. We owe it to our future to be free. ■

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creative direction VY TRUONG layout MATEO ONTIVEROS photographer MATEO ONTIVEROS stylists YOUSUF KHAN & SORA AHMED hmua JAYASHREE GANESAN & ANOUSHKA SHARMA model MORGAN CHENG

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