Langar

Among clattering plates and overlapping voices,

I sit cloaked in the weight of memory—

a non-binary, transgender girl

on the women’s side,

where I once observed, silent and small,

as “male.”

Langar: a hymn of selflessness,

steam rising with the scent of dal and roti,

mingling with my own becoming.

A recipe of unspoken truths,

every spoonful a whispered prayer—

hands that serve without seeking names,

without asking who, or why.

Seva, they call it.

Here, in the Gurdwara,

gender dissolves into the haze of hot meals,

and I am no longer bound to this body.

I am a soul,

swallowing equality,

a fleeting echo

of steel on steel,

spoon against plate,

resonating in this hall where all are equal,

but I, an outlier,

feel the quiet weight of my difference.

This langar, a sanctuary where hierarchies kneel,

yet my own questions rise—

Do I belong?

Do they truly see me,

or just the outline of what I once was?

In this sacred space,

I am both the goddess and the machine,

both erased and immortalized.

A paradox cradled by communal harmony,

fed by hands that may not understand

but give all the same.

The children laugh,

the elders murmur,

pots clang like bells of devotion,

and in this rhythm,

I catch the pulse of something larger than me—

a culture that feeds souls

and asks for nothing in return.

Here, I am both another face in the crowd

and the only one of my kind.

Langar: more than sustenance,

more than tradition—

a symphony of humility,

a quiet revolution of service.

And as I eat,

the meal fills more than my body.

It feeds my fragmented self,

gathers the scattered parts,

and offers them back.

about the poet

Parvati Mehmi is a transgender and disabled multidisciplinary artist. Her art is based around themes of gender, culture and identity, through the lens of mental illness.