.... a story was born.
A little girl destined to lead a simple life. Born in a big family and secured in love, she foresaw a normal future like a straight line. Till 19 years of life, there was nothing to give her even an iota of doubt that the line would break, pause for an endless moment and then spiral into a curving roller coaster. Up and Down.
The first twist took her family away like autumn sheds off all leaves dear to a tree; all in a matter of a short time spam.
Stranded and deserted and dry she stood barren hoping for spring to spring up soon, but you never get anything before time now do you? So she braved it, shuddered in the cold winds, her naked spirit withered, her brittle branches threatened to snap. She held on.
The new leaves sprouted when her baby was born. Aha! those sunshine smiles, the dewy dimples, the thundering laughs, the breezy touch of those tiny fingers nestled in her arms stroking her breast as they fed on her, made her complete. Made her alive; yet again. But seasons come in cycles. Un avoidable, unbearable.
The new family fell apart. Dry leaves of memories of a tumultuous married life rustle by her roots. Shook her foundation. Bend her to rock bottom. But her baby was a part of her and stayed with her. Safe in one of her tree hollow, like the ones in the Enid Blyton stories; The Secret Mountain, where they stored stock of food and utilities for a future day.
She stored her strength, her faith, her desire to live, to prove she isn't dead as yet.
"It's just another winter", she set out to prove.
The autumns of illness and bankruptcy and anxiety were yet to come, she had no clue, but she held on each time and spring did return.
Today she has made paper out of herself. She writes her stories on it. She has seen the world and now the world speaks back to her.
No boundaries of religion she feels, no bondage of profession she adheres by, no fear of judgment hold back her opinions, no spring is more dear to her than her rich-in-their-teachings autumns and winters.
Once upon a time, a girl was born, to become a storyteller.
That girl is me, Mehak Mirza Prabhu. Now grown up, but rooted deeper.
And I am here to tell you stories. Do come back again and again, like seasons, to hear them and love them or hate them. I have reserved a swing for you under my shade.
**I give love. I crave it back. **
Catch Me On
My Facebook Page
My Youtube Channel
Here's My Instagram
A Tiny Audio Story
Last words : Thank you 