Muskaanein Jhooti - Hai

All of them.

Muskaanein jhooti hai.

It will fit too.

I have become a cartographer of false joy. I map it onto my lips every morning before the first Zoom call. I drape it over my shoulders like a designer jacket. “Good morning, team! Let’s crush the day!” My voice chirps, a digital bird made of wires and anxiety. Behind the camera, my hands are shaking. The revenue forecast is wrong. Two senior developers just resigned. My father’s medical reports came back this morning.

But the smile? It stayed put. Perfect. Plastic. Muskaanein Jhooti Hai

So I will wipe the mascara that ran an hour ago. I will start the car. I will go home and feed the cat. And tomorrow morning, I will open the closet, pick out a dress, and pick out a smile.

Tonight, in the rearview mirror, I watch my own face relax. The corners of my mouth fall. The forehead uncreases. The mask slides off and lands in my lap. And beneath it… there is nothing. No sadness, even. Just a deep, exhausted silence. The face of a soldier returning from a battle no one knew was being fought. All of them

Look at the waiter. He smiles as he hands me the bill. Hope you enjoyed everything, ma’am. His smile is a shield against rudeness, a toll he pays to keep his job. Look at the couple at the next table. She is smiling as he scrolls through his phone. Her smile says, I am fine. Her eyes say, See me.