butterfly. babies. love.

My mama has always been beautiful. It is a beauty that is natural and effortless and is the type of beauty that filled my heart with longing when I was a child. I can recall staring at how flawless the even color of her skin was, how adorable the few freckles were on her cheeks, how symmetrical her nose was. I remember thinking how absolutely perfect she looked in a sari, her pleats folded so pristinely, and the tuck of material into her waist seamless and smooth.   I would often feel the softness of my mother’s hands. Hands that had delicate fingers that moved with precision and purpose. Hands that kneaded chapati dough and even held tight to a lawn mower. No matter what she did, her hands were always soft, always welcoming, always beautiful. But she never liked to focus on her own physical beauty. My mother’s true beauty comes from within.  I understood certain aspects of this inner beauty when I was a child. The beauty that comes from her servant’s heart and her work ethic -