By Isha Purohit
Cool kids or that perfect dress,
I never fit in.
“You’re so boring,” they would laugh,
“Sorry, the zipper is too tight.”
Choose either, it was always one of the above.
School cafeterias or that Shaadi ka lehenga,
I never fit in.
“Maybe if you weren’t so different,” they said, “people would want you.”
“Lose some weight, then you’d look pretty.”
Like that question in NEET exam,
with far too many options
but only one correct answer.
I always chose the wrong ones.
The games of truth or dare or your end of the year instagram reels.
“You’ve reached the limit,” warning always sprang up when the bottle spun towards me.
So, what if there was no question?
And silence danced the air
making the drop of pin louder the winds.
At least the bottle pointed towards you.
Next time, you’ll fit in.
“Maybe it’s you,”
“Yes, of course, I know it’s me,”
“You’re not confident enough,”
“Oh… okay, I’ll try-”
“Hold on! Slow down, you’re arrogant now.”
“Really? But I didn’t-”
“Now you’re too annoying,”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”
“Ugh, why must you always apologise for everything?”
“Because your eye rolls never go unnoticed,” I thought, biting my lip, “just cause,” I faked a smile.
Conversations I was never a part off or your weekend plans,
I never fit in.
“You live so far away, sorry we forgot to call you.”
“I’ll tell you what we’re talking about later,”
Saturation point was something I learned about in chemistry,
this was my first applying it in reality.
When you get tired of begging for the context of a conversation,
and receiving calls beginning with, “Isha, what is the answer to this question?”
You make siting alone in the cafeterias your religion.
And when I say I have no friends,
look how they come back imploring emphasising the ways in which I fit in
I wish I was different.
If only I was like them,
mean, lean and thin
they’d want me.
“But we do want you,”
They why do I get tired of watching the ambers through the looking glass?
You sit inside, your hearts warmed by the dirt, the tea, and the lowdown.
While I stand as a spectator, alone in my forlorn.
“Why don’t you come in then?” They ask from inside.
“How?” I ask myself, “door is too small, I’ll never fit in.”
I watched you from afar
learning, acting, and mimicking.
Kept forgiving as they tore pages from my book.
“It’s alright,” I say, “Happens to the best,”
Stood there smiling as I faked apologies.
Knowing that I played too nice
for you to forget my name when the cards where dealt.
I’m like an Alice who never fit in my wonderland.
“Why don’t you leave?”
Oh, but they look outside once in a while.
Those sweet and fake voices keep me tethered to the window.
Desperately making me hope that one day, I’ll fit in the door.
I get tired of asking the same question.
I never fit in,
And God knows, I really tried too.
By Isha Purohit
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