I am constantly in love with the softness of the women here.
I don’t mean this in a sexual way but I do mean it, I think, in a sensual way; the women of India are so delightfully womanly, so wonderfully soft, so beautifully curved and delicately plump, that they seem to me the epitome of what it means to be female. And I am drawn to that. I want that.
I want that for my own femininity.
My femininity is in legs hastily shaved smooth, eyebrows plucked within an inch of their life, fake tan and moisturisers… I am made soft by what I do to my body, but these women just naturally are soft, because of their bodies.
Their hair is somehow heavier than most. It lies down their backs in a gorgeous waterfall of black rope, lush and thick, and irrespective of whether it’s curly or straight it is forever tamed and sleek with coconut oiled delicacy.
Their smell is earthy and natural, a mix of sweet sweat and turmeric, and it floats gently in the air around their person.
‘Earthy’ is the perfect description actually. They are the earth, and the sun, and the plants that grow in that earth. They work the earth, cook from the earth, or walk over the earth, and they seem to grow from it like so many delightful flowers waving in the hot, sultry Indian sun.
Their curves are ripened and spicy, like the rich, hot food they love to eat.
You can almost see the gee moistening their skin, and when said skin plumps out from beneath their skin tight saris and suit tops, ‘skin tight’ is not ‘too tight’ but becomingly close. It accentuates their softness.
Besides, Indian women have such a wonderful propensity for having fat but being thin, for bearing curves but maintaining a wonderful petite-ness, that their rolls and love handles become as flattering as the delicate ankle chains and strings of gold and silver jewellery they bedeck their bodies with.
Their teeth are whitened by god knows what, and their eyes are always huge. Always! There is nothing more beautiful than beautiful eyes and teeth. Beauty is in those features.
Beauty is to eyes as wet is to water; forever linked and somewhat interchangeable. Beauty is to teeth as crops are to soil; present and plentiful if they are regularly watered.
The women here stare out from behind those soulful cavities, speaking with a smile as much as with words.
They glint their colourful orbs from beneath long, luscious lashes, and speak a thousand novels of feeling and experience all in one touch of a life-lived-lady’s gaze.
Their hair is somehow heavier than most.
And when they speak, no matter which of the hundreds of Indian dialects and languages they choose to use, their tongues seem to ripple with the words.
Their voices soft, husky, quiet; their laughter tickling and genuine; their scolding hearty and their gossip so hushed and intense that even if you have no clue who or what they are discussing you find yourself gasping and exclaiming with equal intrigue as the colourful bodies beside you.
Their bodies seem to embody their words, they move their sentences, their gestures speak their words, and their eyes tell their stories.
Indian women are what I aspire to be. I am aware that the phrase ‘Indian women’ is in itself a varied and somewhat vague thing; women in India are as culturally, physically, attitudinally, educationally, etc diverse as the birds of the sky.
But irrespective of their background all the women I met in India were beautiful, and to me it is that natural, earthy beauty which defines what it is to be a womanly, feminine woman!
Why do so many Indian people laugh so beautifully?
They were Born That Way >