A black scar?

The temperature was scorching, probably one of the hottest day in England. People out and about in Kilburn High Street were wearing minimal clothes, to beat the heat. World cup was happening. England game was two hours away, and people were wearing t-shirts of different nations playing in the world cup. Amidst all this, I was happily striding towards the train station, when a sight made me stop on my tracks. I just had to look at her and, frankly, marvel.

The woman was clad in full Muslim attire. She was covered from head to toe in a black dress. Only her eyes were visible. From her two children, who were walking along with her, you could see she was a black woman. It was such a contrast, the dress, from what others were wearing that I just couldn't ignore her. She felt like a patch of crimson desert inside a green forest.

Alright, people might think she's got every rights to wear the dress. Who are we to comment? She's a Muslim woman and her tradition dictates her to wear such a dress. Ignore her, leave her alone. But I couldn't. What I saw wasn't right.

She looked like a prisoner behind bars, inside those clothes. I pitied her. Why can't she wear what we're wearing? Maybe not so flauntinly, but people can dress up conservatively for summer weather. Not a black dress, and definitely not something that covers your whole body.

She didn't mind my stare. In fact, I doubt she even noticed it. She's used to it. Confidently, she strode along. I kept turning back, as I too walked away from her. Later, from the distance, her figure felt an eyesore.

As I got on a trian and headed towards central London, the memory of what I'd seen refused to leave my mind. This wasn't the first time I'd seen a fully clad Muslim woman, and won't be the last, but there, in Kilburn High Street, on a hot day like that, I just couldn't believe people would wear that. And completely ignore others, their stares, and walk on. Beats me.