Who's that Girl?

She grabs his hair with both hands. Holds on tight. Hey! He winces, but smiles. She's the apple of his eye. He reaches up and takes her tiny hands in his. You're not gonna fall, sweety. She trusts him implicitly. She let's him take her hands, rests her tiny head on top of his, hugs his head tight, her legs dangling from his shoulders down to his chest. He wonders how this tiny tot pulls at his heart-strings with the smallest gestures. She's innocent. She's trusting. She's sensitive. She's so small, and yet, she's woman.

She bangs his head with her note-book. He cowers, mock-begging for mercy. The string of expletives rolling off her tongue makes him laugh. Why didn't he tell her? Why was she the last to know? Isn't she his best-friend? The tortured expression on her face sobers him up. Ok. Sorry, yaar. Let's go for ice-cream? She looks at him with misgiving. If this ever happens again, he knows what he has to suffer, right? Right. Sometimes she's difficult to live with. Sometimes difficult to live without. She's spirited. She's eccentric. She's a sweet-heart. She's woman.

She walks past him purposefully, one hip at a time, her jeans bursting at the seams. His eyes follow her involuntarily, swaying with the swish of her luscious mane. All of a sudden, she turns and looks right into his eyes. He breaks out in sweat. Those sharp piercing eyes! That cocked eye-brow! That open challenge in her expression! Does he retreat? Or does he hold his ground? Helpless, he prays she doesn't withdraw a lethal weapon from her mysterious hand-bag. She's naughty. She's voluptuous. She's a killer. She's woman.

She stands in one corner of the room, hugging herself, and staring at him wide-eyed. Her eyes are puffy, the kajal spread down to her cheeks, her lip-stick almost gone. Why does she cry? What did he do (or not do?) this time? He catches her sniffing and he fights his defences down. She needs a hug, a smile, and someone to tell her she's not crazy or foolish or childish for feeling the way she does. Real or imagined, big or small, she's emotional about it. She's ridiculous. She's lovable. She's exquisite. She's woman.

She holds him against her bosom, smiling. Someone wipes the sweat off her brow. Hearing him squeal makes her laugh and cry at the same time. This small bundle, alive, breathing, kicking, crying! She's tired but she can hold him. She's weak but she can nurse him. She's waited forever to get him out of her but she never wants to be parted from him. She's frail but she'll protect him. She has little but she'll give him all of it. She's wise. She's strong. She's ready. She's woman.