These
hazel coloured sockets can scare even a werewolf in pitch dark, that
sun-kissed skin seems as if hiding many burns within, and greasy-hair
that wants to shine even if the light cancels itself... she is like any other
aspiring girl which in many ways she isn't. And what she isn't is what
defines and defies her.
Her last name is Gandhi. Alas! Her traits are all antithetical. On any given day, she can run behind a dog, match its pace, fight with it, scare it, and steal its bone without breaking into much sweat; and the very next day, she narrates you that story in such an animated way… as if she is Didi and you are meant to be her Dexter. With so much passion she narrates her stories that sometimes you just sit and wonder… what her life would be without stories... and if... stories had any life without her! Stories are so much a part of her life… such… that together they seem like a pair of conjoined twins, and might forever bury the ‘art of story-telling’ with her demise.
She may not have given a thought to the purpose of her life… but may be… just may be… it is her destiny to transcribe stories of nature, sing songs of a perishable yet fruitful life, dance on the face of despair or a fair, and gather all the scattered happiness and throw it in air without any wrinkle on her brow.
She has a unique gift of switching between talking sense and nonsense; with such effortless ease that at times it is tricky to distinguish in which state she is in. And the real trick is not to guess it. Rather just flow with it.
But all said and done… she’s the girl-next-door for one and all… however… sometimes people love to negate her. Assuming she didn't have a vocal chord... she might have as well come across as an animal. Such is her Mowglish connect with these creatures sometimes… that she can any time demonstrate the audacity of lifting up a piglet sucking its mother’s nipple; put her finger into a yawning Alsatian’s mouth, bite a kitten’s earlobe and even sit on a crocodile and demand a ride.
Phewwwww… it’s hard to close-end her personality type… and this piece is getting boring anyways. But then you know whom to put the blame on.
Her last name is Gandhi. Alas! Her traits are all antithetical. On any given day, she can run behind a dog, match its pace, fight with it, scare it, and steal its bone without breaking into much sweat; and the very next day, she narrates you that story in such an animated way… as if she is Didi and you are meant to be her Dexter. With so much passion she narrates her stories that sometimes you just sit and wonder… what her life would be without stories... and if... stories had any life without her! Stories are so much a part of her life… such… that together they seem like a pair of conjoined twins, and might forever bury the ‘art of story-telling’ with her demise.
She may not have given a thought to the purpose of her life… but may be… just may be… it is her destiny to transcribe stories of nature, sing songs of a perishable yet fruitful life, dance on the face of despair or a fair, and gather all the scattered happiness and throw it in air without any wrinkle on her brow.
She has a unique gift of switching between talking sense and nonsense; with such effortless ease that at times it is tricky to distinguish in which state she is in. And the real trick is not to guess it. Rather just flow with it.
But all said and done… she’s the girl-next-door for one and all… however… sometimes people love to negate her. Assuming she didn't have a vocal chord... she might have as well come across as an animal. Such is her Mowglish connect with these creatures sometimes… that she can any time demonstrate the audacity of lifting up a piglet sucking its mother’s nipple; put her finger into a yawning Alsatian’s mouth, bite a kitten’s earlobe and even sit on a crocodile and demand a ride.
Phewwwww… it’s hard to close-end her personality type… and this piece is getting boring anyways. But then you know whom to put the blame on.
