Call Me Ginger, I dare you

Pencil and Red Ink 

Original Vs Painting- Robert Downey Jr.

Raining Rainbows...

Mortality

As years go by 

Desperately moving ahead towards

Each wrinkle I collect

Each scar the world paints on me

Memories Linger

Each night gets harder to live through

Dreams become more vivid

Nightmares come true more often

Death is no longer a stranger

Births are no longer astonishing

I have attained wisdom

Blended with confusion

And regret

A weakened mind

From the effort of pushing memories away

I am still young

But as I look upon the days that have past

I wonder, for how long?

Latest sketchwork.

What do you think?

Silly Musings Of Silly Life issues.

It's been a while since I've really written and it's a dilemma i'm facing on quantity over quality. I know most do think quantity goes a long way, and while it may give you a dozen readers, none of them are going to make it past the first paragraph.

If gold was found readily , and everywhere, would it still be precious?

I need to be inspired, I need to have that rare moment of brilliance before I can write again.

Till then, I won't bore you with random musings about heartbreak, silly girl issues, complicated words with no meaning and essays on boring perspectives that no one cares about .

To all the people that do care? I love you guys. I don't need hundreds of comments, keep the private messages of inspiration coming, this is between me and you... no one else.

Life and Its Mistakes

Each day, I spend one more day of my life, wondering whats the best thing I've ever done and whats my biggest mistake.
My biggest fear, is that I might still be in the process of making that mistake, and the end result is going to kill myself, only I am not smart enough to stop.
Career, Life, Everything in between, what is the better choice and what isn't?
Did I make the right decision in eating that slice of pizza or will it kill me with food poisoning?
Was the trip across the country a smart choice, or will I meet with an accident and be paralyzed?
Could I have gone to a better college, where I would be studying Medicine or Law, or is this the best I could ever be?

There's a thin line between the right decision and the wrong, where is my life headed?
Where is yours?

Manchester United !

                                                                              Manchester United.

Those cocky, arrogant ********. Need I say more?

Evra, Nani, Ferguson, I could just wring their necks with the jealousy breeding in my veins.

You know that popular girl in school, the one who just has it all? Money, popularity, friends, that car you've always dreamed of? That girl who could break the rules, and have it all... yet chooses to spend her awesome life just throwing it in your miserable face. Yes I know you're picturing that one girl in your mind, and yes I'm talking about her. That bitch, who always gets away with the worst of offenses, she is Manchester United, and I hate her. I hate her more than a jealous girlfriend hates that one hot girl who always flirts with her man. I refer to  United as her, because no man could get away with the shit that the players of Manchester United have, and no man could get someone into as much trouble as a woman could.

You remember Eve? Yes, that slut who tempted Adam? That is Manchester United...

And Jezebel? Definitely Manchester United.

Damn You Manchester United.

You Have It All.

Except Humility and Honesty.

You wicked witch, one so wicked even Disney wouldn't have you in one of their fairy tales!

A Message...

I'm not the biggest Lady Gaga fan , I'll admit... But... she does have a message to all those who aren't really satisfied with themselves, or have been brought down by others in life. If you weren't meant to be that way, then you wouldn't be. It's time we all start learning to live with how we are created, or we will die unhappy, unsatisfied and ugly on the inside.

Don't let anyone else make you feel like you aren't perfect. Don't let the insecurities of other people drag you down ~ You were meant to be.  Some of us will always remember you to be the spark of happiness, a little bit of perfection bought to our life... Thank God you were "born this way"


"I'm beautiful in my way
Cause God makes no mistake
I'm on the right track, baby
I was born this way

Don't hide yourself in regret

Just love yourself and you're set

I'm on the right track, baby 

I was born this way"

The World Unplugged ~ A Day Without Social Networking

      “If I won a Nobel Prize, and no one facebook status’d it, Did it really happen?”

As a child, my parent’s always told me about their years of socializing, where the youth went out for dances and parties with friends, spoke about their college days and had dinner in a huge group. If my father wanted to discuss a match with his friend he had to walk all the way to his house, and if my mother wanted to ask her cousin what dress looked better she had to carry it to her home and in order to find out the answer. “None of this tweeting non-sense” they’d say.  Nowadays , the world is built to our convenience. We are a lazy generation who have everything at our finger tips. If we want to know how a dress looks, we just take a photograph of ourselves in it and if we want to discuss a sport all we have to do is send a text. SMS, MMS, Facebook, Twitter, and Flickr means we can have a social life without even changing out of our pyjama’s.  

We sit there, in our oldest clothes, hair uncombed, pizza sauce dripping on our shirts, yet our profile pictures make us feel beautiful, almost as if all decked up for a party. We are smart and witty when we comment on a status or a photograph. If in real life we stammer or are extremely awkward, online we are models and studs. That is the power of social networking.

Today, as an experiment I have decided to take a break from all sorts of social networking sites and stay off the web. That meant, no Facebook, no Youtube, no twitter, no text messages, no television.. . A sort of rehab that only lasts a day, because even before I started I was sure I wouldn’t last too long.  

Ive never been an alcoholic, nor a smoker or a druggie, so I never experienced what withdrawal symptoms felt like till this January 2012. Let me tell you one thing, It isn’t fun. It is nothing short of torture to be so isolated.

From a young age, I’ve taken up the habit of checking up on the world via web as soon as I wake up. So habituated to that, as soon as I woke up I switched on my computer, only to remember the technology “bandh” I decided to take up.  Almost immediately I changed my mind, what harm was there to just sign into Facebook for a minute? Who would know, other than the 30-40 people who would be online on my profile at that time?  Before I could ruin the experiment I decided to head back to bed and sleep a little while longer and it was then that it hit me how bad of an obsession the online world had become. “Web” couldn’t be a better name for it, bringing to mind a picture of a huge entangled spider web and me, the helpless little fly caught in it.

As I drifted off to sleep I began to dream. In my dream all I could see was a chat window and a conversation I was having with all my friends. Each person was just a name typed on the screen... no faces, no bodies...just words. I woke up panicking, and itching to turn on the computer.

Nothing is more certain than the fact that a day without social media truly makes you feel isolated.

I decided to go make myself a snack to distract myself and had a very interesting conversation with the microwave oven, who told me I should text some of my friends to keep me company. At first , it made a very convincing argument, but then the dishwasher told me I should stick to the experiment.

I was losing my mind.

After a while, I sat down to finish up an English assignment... With a pen and paper, and as if that wasn’t hard enough, I realised I couldn’t use Wikipedia or online Websters Dictionary!! Now what was I going to do?  I decided to leave it for the next day ... My mind just wouldn’t seem to work without the prodding of the online world.

As I lay on my bed, in deafening silence, I realised that there was  an important football match that evening.  I knew that everyone would be talking about it, and predicting outcomes. What a day to pick a social black out! This was my breaking point.  I felt like it was 2000 all over again, except the older more mature me was taking it much harder than me in my lack of social life back then.

Never have I ever wanted to take up alcoholism more. Anything would be better than this media-less torture.

I was waiting for the hallucination phase where I would start seeing the twitter bird flying around the house and having conversations with my iPhone.

At 4:30pm I could take it no longer. I just had to check into Facebook. I gave in to temptation and signed in ... only to notice 12 likes on my status “Taking a break from Social Networking For Day, See You All Tomorrow,” and one comment from my cousin saying “1000 bucks says you won’t last past 5 in the evening.”

Not only did I fail the experiment, but I just lost myself 1000 rupees.  I could go on about how disappointed I am in myself for giving in to temptation, but I’m going to go tweet about instead.

The End.

Rihanna!

Rihanna... random rough sketch to test my new derwent ink tense colors. What amazing pencils... so vibrant! I enjoyed working with them!

Adriana Lima

The Miracle

There was a fire burning in the house that night. At first a small one, that started in the attic. With everyone distracted by a popular reality show, the fire began to spread... one by one destroying the life that dwelled within each object around the house. 

The scrawny dog, who was  tied in the attic caught a whiff of it, but before he could panic, a plank over him burst into flames, and as it fell, the ghostly smoke engulfed him, cutting off his oxygen supply as he burned to his death.

From the attic, the flames moved towards the next room, where a baby lay asleep. The calm sounds of breathing was taken over by the cracking of the flames...which began to surround her slowly, creeping closer by the minute, when the family finally noticed the stench of upcoming disaster... They ran towards the direction of the smoke and saw the baby who was just about to start crying. The smoke was getting thicker and the flames were moving faster, but nobody took a step forward. Nobody attempted to save the child that was about to be reduced to ashes. Nobody yelled or shouted for attention.

Frozen, they stood there... letting the flames and smoke muffle the babies tears. As the flames drew closer to them they ran out of the house, and dialled 911. There was a baby, but they forgot to mention it...

Soon the fire brigade, with tons of water, ready to save what was left a families home.

The breeze scattered scarred memories, burned clothes and the leftover ashes of a smiling photograph.

With all the noise and frantic behaviour... No one heard about the little baby girl in the house...

“My clothes,”

“My Money”

“My computer”

“My dog”...Were the shouts heard full of greed and selfishness...

Till one brave fireman walked into a room, full of burned down diapers and flaming bibs... He heard a crying noise amidst the flames and searched for the figure behind it.

And amidst a crib ablaze and smouldering, he found the little baby girl, scarred by her past but untouched by the flames. He said a quick prayer to God and wrapped her in a blanket... as he ran past the flames he hoped she would survive through it all.

Not stopping by the family that neglected her, the fireman furiously took her to an awaiting ambulance, where they checked the baby for burns and scars.... Scars that they found but burns were missing... Scars that were days old, which told a story more frightening than the fire.

Angered and enraged the fireman took the girl with him that day, refusing to let her family near her.

“Have your money and inanimate things, but you won’t touch her again,” he said

He fought her battles and saved her from hell... he made sure she was never hurt again he watched her grow each day... He watched her in a way her family never did and tried to make up for all the neglect she once faced/

And when he finally won the war... he took her home for the first time, as her father and not caretaker and prayed in thanks. He was thankful for that warm summer afternoon, where a man who was told he could never conceived, met his daughter, a child who should never have survived...

He was thankful for the day; two people found their miracle...a miracle in each other.

,

Let me tell you a story...

                                        Let Me Tell You A Story

Let me tell you a story.

A story full of emotion, full of passion, full of devotion.

It is a love story larger than life, larger than any love story you have ever heard of and will ever hear.

Let me tell you the story, like no other.

It is not your average boy meets girl, if you were looking for that please turn away now. This is for those who fall in love, not with a person but a notion.

Once upon a time, there a few men, passionate about their sport... they played for the love of it, they played for life itself. These men grew from nothing...to something. They found a home, they found someone to love them... and then they became a part of something bigger.

These 11 men became 22, 44... 66.. Generations of men, who started off the same way, became something, found shelter in the same house, the same academy.

Generations of men who were successful, who then became famous. And we fell in love.

Today, I’ll tell you the love story of a Liverpool supporter.

It all starts with one game.

One game that makes you fall in love. One player, one ball hitting the back of the net and you are captivated.

Success draws you in, you begin to grow passion. You laugh with them, you cry with them. You are infatuated.

And then things go wrong.

The success disappears, that one moment of glory never comes... the tears are real, the pain is real. People desert you... people mock you. You cry out in despair but that feeling of devotion goes no where...

This is a story where infatuation turns to love... not in one glorious moment but all the little moments of pain where you didn’t care. You promise you would stick by them forever.

This is true love.

You felt the frustration, you felt the anguish... but you never turn your back on them. Tell me people, isn;t this true love? You’ll Never Walk Alone...

Through thick and thin, in sickness and health.

See that storm ahead? We’ll walk with you through it...

 It doesn’t matter how many year’s things didn’t go right. We’ll walk with you.

And you’ll NEVER walk alone, remember that.

This is  love that speaks volumes in its silence... 

This is a story of a club called Liverpool.

This is a story of the fans.

This is my love story.

And I know, we’ll never walk alone.

Let me tell you a story.

A story full of emotion, full of passion, full of devotion.

It is a love story larger than life, larger than any love story you have ever heard of and will ever hear.

Let me tell you the story, like no other.

It is not your average boy meets girl, if you were looking for that please turn away now. This is for those who fall in love, not with a person but a notion.

Once upon a time, there a few men, passionate about their sport... they played for the love of it, they played for life itself. These men grew from nothing...to something. They found a home, they found someone to love them... and then they became a part of something bigger.

These 11 men became 22, 44... 66.. Generations of men, who started off the same way, became something, found shelter in the same house, the same academy.

Generations of men who were successful, who then became famous. And we fell in love.

Today, I’ll tell you the love story of a Liverpool supporter.

It all starts with one game.

One game that makes you fall in love. One player, one ball hitting the back of the net and you are captivated.

Success draws you in, you begin to grow passion. You laugh with them, you cry with them. You are infatuated.

And then things go wrong.

The success disappears, that one moment of glory never comes... the tears are real, the pain is real. People desert you... people mock you. You cry out in despair but that feeling of devotion goes no where...

This is a story where infatuation turns to love... not in one glorious moment but all the little moments of pain where you didn’t care. You promise you would stick by them forever.

This is true love.

You felt the frustration, you felt the anguish... but you never turn your back on them. Tell me people, isn;t this true love? You’ll Never Walk Alone...

Through thick and thin, in sickness and health.

See that storm ahead? We’ll walk with you through it...

 It doesn’t matter how many year’s things didn’t go right. We’ll walk with you.

And you’ll NEVER walk alone, remember that.

This is  love that speaks volumes in its silence... 

This is a story of a club called Liverpool.

This is a story of the fans.

This is my love story.

And I know, we’ll never walk alone.

A Tribute To Our Diyafites (Re-Edited)

As we grow older, life gets harder. Things aren't as easy anymore...

But when we were younger, life seemed full of complications... That age of insecurity, those lessons in betrayed and all that defined the years that shaped who we were to become ..Things could have gone so very wrong. Today I see students much younger than we were, who are more concerned about appearance, popularity and reputation and I am so grateful for the upbringing I had. 

Sometimes, its not all down to the parents, even though credit goes to them too. Half my day with mum and half my day with a group of special people has made me who I am today.  

Those special ones whoI have to thank for happiness are a few people who made me the person I should be. Some people who were always there for me, and still are. I know today, if I give any one of them a call, anytime of the day...they'll be there to help me.

I remember, that no matter how funny I looked, how stupid I acted, how not popular I was...they never judged me. They made me feel part of the group... and how rare is that nowadays? 

This is my written tribute to those special ones, I grew up with. I will never ever forget the lesson in humility, compassion and friendship they taught me. :

 I remember every single moment I spent.  I remember 2nd Grade, a really tall girl hiding my dolls and inviting me over all the time. In 4th Grade , another girl, with Angelina like lips trying to make me laugh and in 7th Grade, playing basketball with a really pretty Arab/Asian , I remember 9th Grade, meeting a girl who was named after a flower, 10th grade, physics class full of drawings with a loud, hilarious friend. I remember Chemistry Class with a fellow Goan who was more interested in pigeons than experiments. I remember the days before our IGCSE's where none of us came to class to study... but instead just to have crazy fun.

I can’t stop thinking of love affairs between classmates, and  remaking classics like Macbeth, where less work was done and more laughter was found. I often have flashbacks of horribly uncoordinated cricket matches, or getting trashed 26-6 in basketball. 

I was shy, quiet, and reserved.... till these girls washed all of that away, be it with sarcasm, water fights, beating, or just being lazy, they changed me for life. Some might have broken classroom locker doors or many test-tubes in the chem lab...but the most important lesson we learned, was how to get out of trouble!

Now i realise how easy happiness is to find. I know where it lies, where I truly belong and even in the long run, whether I’m married, single, rich, poor, I know where to find happiness.

Some moments may not have been pleasant (hint : being run over by a dune buggy), and some may not be pain free (Getting whacked in the shin while playing football) but I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

There might have been people I didn’t like back then, but as I get on in life, I look back and realise I still love them, no matter what. Now, on meeting people in the "real world" I wonder why I ever hated people in school! They were angels compared to those I know now!

As Christmas nears, I remember carolling at Marriott and as the New Year dawns; I remember all those years that began in class, meeting those people who were special, laughing our way down the corridor.

I remember all those football matches that were supposed to happen, but we ended up sitting on the grass and chatting.

I remember birthdays in school and the demands for chocolates, and the end of year class parties where the tables were overflowing with food, and we finished almost everything out there!

I think of those trips to weird factories and science places and the fun we had even though it was supposed to be terribly boring. Every time I see a school bus I remember those special people, at the back laughing, singing and dancing...sometimes getting bumped in the head when we hit a speed breaker. I remember fighting with kids and getting bullied by juniors!

I cant stop thinking of the French class trip to the Burj Al Arab, where fascination was the key word, and the assignment on the trip was never submitted.

Happiness. It’s undefinable isn’t it? It’s like those birthdays I spent with few special friends, those 4-1 games where we bought the pub down, those tequila shots and bad karaoke nights. School concerts, that might have been a drag, those should-have-been-recorded moments like a special someone falling on stage, or a dune buggy doing somersaults maybe even ruining a batch of bbq chicken!

I loved those exhibitions where we painted class walls instead of paper, and those music classes singing “Coconuts”, a certain blonde and her blonde moments, I miss our animalistic howls and being called the worst class ever. 


We might have been the worst class ever... but we were the best family we could ever have.

I guess some memories are there to stay.

And I guess some friends are what makes life worthwhile.

I miss you guys...
I miss those moments.


~ Michelle 

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The Boy Who Lived

Privet Drive was where it all began.... I was thirteen when I got on to Hogwarts express and started on a journey that would define my childhood.
As a kid, you do tend to believe in magic, in tooth fairies, in the Easter bunny and in Santa Claus. As a kid, I could believe that Harry Potter did exist. My villain was Voldemort and my best friend was Ron. I fell in love with Cedric Diggory and I hated Cho Chang. I was smart like Hermione, a red head like the Weasleys, forgetful like Neville and vicious like the Malfoys’.
And each year passed, each new book that came out... it grew with me. Harry turned a year old, as did I. From the first day of school, to the first prom...we went through it together.
Today I am 21 and its all come to an end. The day was here when I thought to myself, ‘that is it’. No more Harry Potter, just like that child who realised Santa didn’t exist or the boy who waited for the tooth fairy who never came. Should I break down and cry? Should I question the purpose of my life?
It is now that I realise, J’K Rowling has given me a gift that no one could have ever given me. The gift of childhood. I know, that when I’m 85 and in a wheelchair, I can turn open The Philosophers Stone, and be back on that train to Hogwarts... I can look for Ron and Harry and Hermione besides me. I can feel young again. I know this because at 21, if I open up any of the Harry Potter books. I feel the excitement I felt when I first read them.
I can still feel the nervousness before the Triwizard Tournament, the sadness when Fred died, the tingles when Harry kissed Ginny...I know I can feel the pain at turning to the last page of The Deathly Hallows, that I once felt, all over again... but then I remember. I can go back to the beginning... and just like the Mirror Of Erised I can be exactly where I want to at that moment.



If I ever get a chance to meet J.K Rowling, I would thank her. I would thank her for giving me something to believe in, for giving me something to have faith in... something to relive when times got tough. I would thank her for making my life a lot more exciting than it could have been.
Harry Potter, is a time-turner, the fountain of youth and the potion of happiness all in one. It is the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for.
I know that when my first child is old enough to read, I will gift him/her the first Harry Potter book and tell them, that no matter what... they’re childhood will never leave them behind. No matter what, this is one journey that will never end...
Harry Potter, the boy who lived... would forever live on, whether J.K Rowling continues to write...or not.

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Mummy's Home

Little Girl, Don’t You Cry.

 Mummy’s Coming Home Tonight.

 He won’t hit you, he won’t try

 He won’t be hurting you all night

Daddy’s going for ever now

 Mummy won’t ever let you down

 She’ll be back tonight from town

 And daddy’s never going to make you frown.

Close your eyes, Mummys home

She won’t ever leave you alone

Daddy now won’t break a bone

He won’t hit you on and on

Mummy’s at the door, its blocked

He goes on till 3’o Clock

She sees him hit her with a rock

Now she can’t make the bleeding stop.

She was supposed to be there

Not let him hurt a single hair

She just watched him with a glare

But never stopped him, she didn’t dare.

A Lesson In Love

Her mother used to tell her to stay away from boys. She always thought they were evil... the way they leered at her when she walked out late nights, it scared her into believing  her mother’s words. She walked quickly past the boys, and avoided talking to them men. As she grew older, her mothers words stayed with her... She was naive, she knew that but then she met him. He taught her boys could be sweet. He showed her how different the world could be, he taught her to feel, from the tingles to the butterflies... She felt safer and began to trust him. He stole her heart and gave her life, the memories of who she was washed away. She learned that she was beautiful, cute, funny and annoying at the same time... she learned that she knew how to care.  Most of all, she learned that her mother was wrong. She grew dependent on him and he told her he’d never leave. She built the walls around him and felt strong and loved. She grew dependent on his smile, on his voice and on his smell... She’d worry if she didn’t hear from him...

And then he died


Her mother was right, she should have stayed away. Today, she would be happier... The hollow in her chest that once was the resting place of her heart, felt like a slow killing cancer. She wept and wept, all broken and alone. She felt like she could live no more, every night she lay on the bed and wished God to send him back. She’d shut her eyes tight and beg in prayer, but disappointment awaited her. In the mornings she’ wake up praying he would be next to her... but she never had her way. She cried herself  all day and night, throwing up continuously and binge eating through her pain. As time went by she stayed all alone, in her house all by herself. She stopped walking past the mirrors for the sight of  herself horrified her, she was fat and ugly and all the things he told her she wasn’t...
If she could lie in the dark with his scent in the air, she would feel beautiful, she could pretend he was next to her.
As the days past, she began to get sicker... her hunger grew and waistline expanded and she began to worry. 25 Days passed till she suddenly realised....

 he was never gone. Her love , her man... he left a part of him behind and as she looked at herself in the mirror once again... She saw the change in her.She could feel him, in the centre of her belly...growing as each day passed... And She knew in less than 9 months, she’d have him in her arms once again

Once again she turned to the picture on the wall and said “Mama, you were wrong”

The Lost Old Lady

I saw her at a bus-stand on a cold evening, she was old and wrinkled. Her face showed years of frowns, smiles and tears... all leaving a trail around her eyes. I didn’t realise I was watching her... as she took tiny steps towards the bus, almost like a child. She was on the thinner side, a little frail and I wondered if the autumn breeze would carry her away. Her eyes were distant as if she were looking into her past, wondering where it all came apart, and there was a tinge of sadness surrounding her. She reached the empty bus-stand and sat on a long, rusty bench, that creaked with the weight of her world.

   I could see her from the stairs of my house where I was sitting, buses came and went but she made no attempt to move. It was getting dark when I began to get curious...Was she lost, or waiting for someone? It was too cold for an old lady to be sitting outside at that time. I walked up to her and said hi.

She looked at me, and smiled the most genuine smile I had ever seen. It was the first time someone had spoken to her. I smiled back and asked her if I could have a seat, she agreed almost gratefully. Sitting there in silence for a few minutes, I began to get impatient... There was a match on television that I needed to watch, so I asked her if she was waiting for someone.

“No,” she said, sadly.

Then I asked her if she was lost

“No,” she replied again...

Getting a bit worried, I asked her if she was going to stay there the whole night or go home...

“I am home,” she said.

She didn’t look homeless, I thought.  So I asked her if she was feeling cold...

“Honey, I stopped feeling ages ago...” I decided not to press her and said goodnight.

She was at the back of my mind all day, and I wondered if everything was alright. The next day there she was again, at the bus-stand... as if she didn’t move at all. I began to get used to her being there. I’d look out of my window to make sure she was alright, and sometimes even take her a cup of coffee. She’d act like I paid her rent, when I offered her the cup. As if I just did the sweetest thing in the world, but I felt horrible. Why wasn’t someone taking care of her? Why didn’t she have a home, children?

I decided to ask her after seeing her there for nearly a week, and her reply stunned me.

“I don’t remember, I don’t remember anything. I know this place, I know that I’m supposed to be here and I’m hoping I’ll remember someday. I am drawn her every moment but I have no idea why. The number on this stop, 16A keeps playing in my mind, but I don’t know why. I hate not knowing, I feel like I’m missing something when i’m not here. Like something is about to happen and I might miss it.”

“What about your family? Do you have children?” I asked her.

“Yes, two boys...16 years old. They are beautiful, they look just like my husband”

I was puzzled, if she had children why was she here all night alone. So I asked her where her children were

“I don’t remember, I saw them here last. I know that, I feel that... but I don’t know what happened.”

I asked her to go home, I told her no one is here, but she said they would come for her. I sat with her that evening, for hours trying to get her to remember.

She told me stories of her love, of her boys playing baseball, she described each feeling and at the end of the day I could picture their eyes, their smile, the feeling of being loved... but with each of that there was a heaviness in my heart.

Why was she here alone? What happened that was so traumatic she didn’t remember anything? What made her come here and wait all night...?

I always imagined my life when I grew old, to be loved and cared for, to have children and grandchildren. But how would it feel, not to remember at all?

I decided to spend time with her everyday, I was interested in her life... I began a quest to bring back her memories, but in vain. She sat in the cold everyday but could only keep recollecting the mischievious smiles of her sons as they ran around the house...she couldn’t remember their names but she sat there waiting for them. They had to be at least 30 years old now, but she waited and waited, she knew they would come.

On the day before Christmas eve, I decided to ask around the neighbourhood if anyone knew the old lady. 

Most people ignored me, and some said “She’s probably just homeless.” I finally decided to ask one last person, a librarian neighbour of mine. She looked out of the window at the lady with a sad expression on her face and told me to sit down.

“Her name is Eva. Nearly 25 years ago, she had come to pick her children up at the bus-stop. While running, a truck sped straight into them. They died in front of her eyes. Since then she’s in a state of trance, doesn’t remember anything. They say the trauma wiped out her memory.  She just sits there waiting for them, it’s sad actually.”

I agreed, it was truly devastating... looking out at Eva doze off on the bench, I couldn’t help wonder how I would cope with such a situation. Sometimes, I think I’m strong... but even I don’t know how I would handle losing someone so close to me.

I decided to do something to make a difference. I wanted to cook her a warm meal, get her a blanket and make sure she’s comfortable. She was asleep when I went downstairs with the plate, and she woke up and smiled at me as I nudged her. The smell of food and the sight of a blanket made her eyes water, whether out of delight or shock I till date do not know. She smiled at me and said, “I have a good feeling,”

“Why I asked her,” glad she was in a good mood

“I saw my sons today... while I slept. I feel them nearby”

It took all my willpower not to cry but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her... so I sat with her, stared into the stars and talked about her children.

The next evening I saw her dozed off again, covered  in my blanket so I went downstairs with some soup. It  was Christmas and I wasn’t going to leave her alone. I nudged her awake but this time she didn’t move. As the blanket fell off, I saw that she was smiling...

The wind howled and I dropped the soup in fear. I tried to move her but was met with a scary stillness that I was not ready for...

I turned around to run, but stopped when I saw her face again, that smile was so peaceful and beautiful, its when  I realised...

All those years she was waiting, she finally found her children.