Epitaph..ish

She was a girl. An ordinary girl. There is nothing much that one can say about her and there isnt much that one can write about her. She was not exceptional at anything particularly and she was nothing extraordinary. She was just another mortal and she never learned to appreciate the gift of life. Although she tried, and once, she even thought that she had learnt to appreciate the gift of life, but that was just an illusion .. like the million other illusions her world was made up of.

She was not perfect, far from it actually and she never could really decipher what perfection meant. She was never a good student and there isnt much to speak of her achievements. She didnt have too many friends and she couldnt keep any if she made any. She liked to be with people elder to her and she found the conversation of her fellow people mundane. Her parents disapproved of her and her Ma never had the chance to call up relatives and tell them about how she had scored so well in her exams. Her teachers thought she was stubborn, arrogant and rude and her school mates whispered amongst themselves about what a witch she was.She was not someone who was very strong-willed and she was not ambitious.

She was not always honest and she didnt always have a clear conscience. She did things she was ashamed of and she said things that rued later on. She hated studying and whiled her time away. She ran away from home a few times, and she spoke words so hurtful at times, that they would slash through your skins like swords. She was disrespectful to her Ma and Da and sometimes in a rage, she would tell them that she didnt love them and so could they please disappear.

But she loved her Ma and Da. She loved her friends and she would give her life to a girl named guddu. She loved reading and she loved books. She had always thought that she should have been a character in a book or a pebble on the road, but not human. She loved Eliot, Frost, Auden, and Wilde and she thought that Godfather was the only kind of reality she could ever understand. She loved music. She loved the way music flowed through her veins and she would get high listening to Pink Floyd. The only time she was true and honest was when she was singing. She believed that the only thing that would truly remain hers even when she died was her music. She was passionate and her soul burned with an unknown fire at all times. She loved Ireland, colors, literature, blues, writing, smoking, pencil sketches, art, films, jazz, rain, Cal, wind chimes, snow, Calvin n Hobbes and the dark among many, many other ordinary, uninteresting things. She was a dreamer and she dreamed her life away. She lived in world of imperfection and vagueness and dreams and illusions. She liked to make people happy and she liked to help people. She never learnt to forgive but she never bore a grudge against anyone. She loved to eat and she loved chicken and palak paneer.

She was an agnostic but it wasnt because she didnt believe in God. It was because she could not bring herself to believe in God, no matter how much she tried. She loved kajal and disliked make-up. She was melodramatic and she used to say that what's life without a li'l exaggeration and spice. She liked babies and she liked the way men's cologne smells. She fell in love and she wanted to fall in love again, because she knew that it was one of the best feelings in the world, but it was alright if she didnt- she had fallen in love once and she was surprised at the amount of love she was capable of. And there were million other things for her to love.

She would always smile a happy smile and if she was unhappy, she could not disguise it. In a very strange way, she was honest. She had tried never to lie to herself. She wanted to become a writer and she found solace in writing. She wanted to go to England but at times she thought that it would be betraying her country. Dont ask me why, she was absurd. She wanted to do something in life so as to contribute towards something noble, even if in a very minuscule way. She was always scared that she would not be remembered with fondness when she died, but she always hoped she would be. She was always one to hope a lot. She had always hoped to achieve happiness, to make her parents proud, to be successful in her own small way. She had hoped that she would one day become a writer, sing for a good band, teach children English Literature, live in Ireland and die a painless death.

She wasnt much, but she was all that she could be. Perhaps you wont remember her, but if you are one who at some point of time, had made any difference to her life then think of her with tenderness because at the end of the day, she was not so bad and she loved you. Even if for a very short while, she loved you. And if she didnt love you, then she must have felt something else for you. But she did, for certain, feel something for you. And she always thought of the people that made her feel something because it reminded her that she was human.