Inked!

A permanent mark on the body. A constant reminder. A piece of art. A gift to myself. A worthy investment of the money I’ve worked so hard to earn.

I did not get a tattoo because it’s the cool, hip thing to do. I didn’t do it because of peer pressure or because I had too much money to spend. I took a lot of time thinking of the design, what I wanted it to represent and I spent an even longer amount finding the right artist and saving up enough money to be able to afford them.

This tattoo is going be a constant reminder of a lot of things. The Quill, that’s my writing. I’ve been a loner through school, finding solace in books and books alone. College came and brought along Blogs. Blogging gave me Shriya. Blogging gave me Avantika. Blogging gave me the Boxed Misfits. I finally felt like I belonged.

I’ve always written it down. Hurt, happiness, anger, love, envy, passion, frustration, depression have always landed in a cursive mess on the pages of my diaries, and eventually, on my blogs. I draw my strength from writing. Write it, empty the mind, and the fill it up again with the hopes of tomorrow, with the whispered affections and virtual hugs of all these supportive bunch of people I’ve met in life. My first love happened over blogs. Our idea of courtship was writing a blog together. I fell head over heels in love because words flowed between us like a river that has been running it’s course before the dawn of time. And when it eventually ended, it was simply because words didn’t flow like before. We couldn’t communicate.

The feather? Krishna with a peacock feather on his head? That was Radha’s gift to him, a symbol of all the colourful phases that a woman goes through in her life. The hues change, and change means growth. The feather is there to remind me that there are so many more colours to myself that are simply waiting to be discovered. It’s a long, graceful process of discovery as you slowly understand what you are truly capable of.

This tattoo is the end of something and the start of something new. It ends my head strong notion of holding on him, because he isn’t mine to hold on to anymore. That and he didn’t approve of tattoos. I’m inked now. I’d rather take a man who loves me, not for my tattoos or the lack of them, but loves me in spite of them. This tattoo is me telling the world that this is my body. Fat, slim, bloated, scarred, hairy, ugly, tanned, but mine. And I will get it inked, because it’s nobody’s business but mine. This tattoo is me shrugging of all your negativity. This is me pulling a black curtain over your faces because I don’t find your constant judgemental criticism worth my time or attention.

And above all, this tattoo is a reminder that when life gives me too many scars, I’ll fucking turn it into one giant piece of art.