FranKophone

So it is here ! Sixth birthday of this place I own(That adds power,doesn't it ? ). There is not much you can do to prolong the life of a dying person, can you ? Except of course, using an artificial life support system). Maybe you wonder why I write about death and other ugly things on a birthday (The blog's birthday, in case you've forgotten). I'll tell you why. Because I'm scared. Scared because this blog might die. I do not write anymore, and even if I do, it is redundantly moron-ish.Like, I've lost it forever. Before the final death knell, I would like to enumerate the good things that this place gave me( This sounds so rude and text-book-ish). Number one, it gave me an outlet to speak in turbulent times.It is not that I suffered huge heartbreaks but I had other 'serious' issues growing up. Now I don't even recall why I was so morose at times. Number two, it improved my language skills. I wrote absolute crap when I started and graduall...

There is no such thing as a "broken family." Family is family, and is not determined by marriage certificates, divorce papers, and adoption documents. Families are made in the heart. The only time family becomes null is when those ties in the heart are cut. If you cut those ties, those people are not your family. If you make those ties, those people are your family. And if you hate those ties, those people will still be your family because whatever you hate will always be with you.  ― C. JoyBell C. He sighed. Why was he here ? To witness her wedding ? To simply watch the woman he loved marry another person ? No. That is not fair. He certainly deserved her. He had never felt so alive before meeting her. At that instant, she showed up. He remembered everything in a flash. He needed to smile. It was his sister's wedding after all.

She could not remember where she was. The memory of the crash was still fresh. She felt her head throbbing and arms tingling. She tried to shout but no sound emitted from her throat. She felt gagged. Outside the emergency ward, her mother was crying inconsolably. Her father was praying secretly. But the boy who drove her that evening was nowhere to be found.

I : Do you know what is the greatest punishment on earth ? Me : Yes. When you are good, but not good enough.

It was planted in the center of the garden. Everything seemed to revolve around it. The flurry of activities in the day and the soothing breezes of the night. It had a knack to being stern yet kind, social yet solitary, cheery yet comforting, pushy yet supportive. Since it was everyone's favorite place to be, a small mud platform was raised around it. It found a place in the family photographs. Kids scribbled their first letter under the mango tree. It witnessed many unions and partings. It bore mangoes every summer. (Of course, it was a mango tree ! )   One not-so-fine day, the garden was reduced to half. No longer was the mango tree at the center of  life. It was spared but looked morose. The mud platform had long been demolished. It was past its prime. No fruits were borne. No one cared to water it. But it refused death. It knew its task was not over yet. It had to provide shade to the gardener who lay underneath it.  Courtesy : Google

An oppressed woman looks beautiful to the eyes of its predator. She has the most perfect face one can ever imagine. In her eyes, she wears fear. She masks it with kohl. Her nose is held high, lest someone suspects. Her mouth is gagged. She never wails or attracts attention. Her body is marked, ridiculed and trampled upon. In the most remote corner of her heart, she has buried all her dreams and desires. She has lost hope, faith and soul.

No longer do I look forward To wearing my new birthday dress. Impeccably wrapped gifts no longer excite me. I do not cut cakes with numeric candles glowing on it. I ignore most messages, pings and tweets, That remind me of my birthday. With each passing festival I see new trends in the market. Playing with colors or fire is not "my thing" now. I wish no one comes home with a box of sweets in hand. I wish not to be wished at all. I loathe parties thrown by friends, Their birthdays and their weddings. Their house-warming and their baby-showers and their successes. Sipping a drink in hand and Thinking. Reminiscing about chances I had but did not take. Wondering about how lost I am. Where did I lose it ? At fifteen - when I was blissfully unaware ? Or at seventeen ? When I did not know how to do it. Or at twenty one ? When I failed to realize what exactly to do. Sadly I stopped counting after that.