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13 Oct 2011

You're born. You live. You smiled. You laughed.
You run around. You play in the mud. You get scolded.
You drink milk that you hate. You get your knees scraped. You get grounded.
You tear frocks. You won prizes. You love Math. You love the rain.
You hog. You like green. You study real hard. You have a goal.
You become a teacher. You become a favorite teacher. You become a Math teacher.
You play cards and carom with your cousins. You let your 5-year-old niece practice make-up on your face.
You wear cotton sarees. You're the perfect daughter. You're a son to your father.
You like hair clips and bindis. You miss St. Teresa's. You keep in touch with your bffs long after you're parted.
You get married. You fall in love with him. You have his baby.
You raise him to be the perfect gentleman. Much like his father. Much more than his father.
You teach more. You help students pass. You are loved so much, you're like a second mother to your students.
You believe in doing everything perfectly. You believe in nibhaofying relationships.
Your mother-in-law LOVES you. You become the epicenter of all of their lives.
You leave your dear ones behind. You leave your motherland behind. You set up home somewhere far from home.
You make that home, home.
You put on weight. You eat pizza. You lose weight. You have one tiny but ecstatic family.
Your family is cozy. Your family is set for life.
You're known for the kindness that's you. Everybody loves you.
You pull yourself together in the face of disaster. You help others deal with your suffering. You console them that it'll be alright.
You hope against because there's a lot of hope. You live a substandard life hoping it'll all go away.
You hope believe that it WILL go away.
You're EVERYBODY's support system through you own sickness.

But in the end, God's will replaces all else.
Death prevails.

I never told you but you were always part of much cherished childhood memories, a major part. And you always will be.