When this exaggerated article(in the screenshot below) was covered by Kuensel on our personal issue, we were dumbstruck to say the least. We have never reacted to any of their covers on our OAG/ACC issues so far out of respect for their role in the society but this is simply over the top.  We wonder if the paper sustains simply by covering all cock-and-bull theories on our family.
His mind wasn’t as crisp as the morning he took a brisk walk down the dusty road zigzagging amidst concrete buildings that reeked with greed and rustic owners. Once upon a time this was an open space where he slept on haystacks with his friends, when the sun seemed brighter and the winds blew without care, when people were forgiving and times merrier. Less was more then.

This is a futile attempt to remind you that I am still around, just in case you forgot unless you have stopped visiting altogether :) And as always, this is my dark imagination at work!!

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Osteoporosis

Stumbling in deep agony
Was a fracture in my being
The harbinger of pain…
Of confinement and hopelessness

It gets deeper by the day
On its journey to break my spirit
Till off my mental axis will it
Fade memories of who I used to be

It shifts the structure of existence
Not a step more, it tears the sutures
Not a step back, for with a reverse
Progress was never the end

This moment is then all that is left
To suspend..
To hang onto…
To be…

For when the bones appear, and flesh decays
With a scalpel’s care
And bitter snow befalls the lovely summer
Shallowing breaths will follow

Until the dawn of freedom in entirety
When our little spirits will
Waft through the Himalayan Mountains
Into the laps of heaven…
When words stop, music speaks. And that is how it is for me when I head home after every working day. Every now and then, I take a breather and replay the clip of my daily life and this is what I see.

The mornings are a series of rush hours – getting up about half an hour later than the set alarm, breakfast for my daughter and her pet.. the hot steaming cup of morning tea scalding my throat as I gulp it down and then snaking through the traffic on the expressway to the dusty town until we reach her school almost five to ten minutes late always as I creep through the sparse crowd to drop her bag while my girl meekly joins the last of her assembly line with slumped shoulders. The pairs of eyes of the teachers, I am pretty sure, meets the embarrassed, invisible, blinking eyes around my head.