To laugh a little bit harder....
To dream a little more wilder...
To live with a lot more spirit and
To die with a lot more content
Is my untold story, nobody ever listened to.
She was a 21 year old woman, raised to live with humility. To not think about beauty as though she possessed it. Marriage to her was not about an adrenaline gush. It was to hold hands and patronize each other. Her mind involuntarily decided what was suave, responsible and right. She grew up in humid Madras where Mohammed Rafi and Kishore Kumar soared in the air and the discussion of mathematical patterns of music was as rampant as the monsoon, manga bathai and filter kapi. She grew up amidst cousins who let her feel intelligent and responsible. She entered trusting; willing and malleable. She entered with no skepticism. She lacked the skill of looking at life with it.
After decades of being happily married she still held her childhood memories tight and close; MS, Mohammed Rafi and the smell of nithyamalli on the porch and her story unfurling in her heart.
