Him. The orphan.

He was born and brought up in Kerala. Actually adopted (when he was still a little baby, when his parents died...They said his biological parents were in Kerela while he was born...)

His parents now were both strict, possessive and loving ones.. (as every parents are supposed to be...)

When his original parents died, he does not remember who they were... he had never known them enough... to remember... But he surely knows for a fact that the parents he now had, were not related to him by blood...

But this never stopped him from loving them as his own... He was just so happy with them being loved, cared and even punished...

My mate...

Let my mate be soothing to my eyes, ears and to my heart exactly as said in the holy book.

Pseudos...

I don't feel like thanking any of 'em who never did a thing for me... And yet, make it known, they did.
Them. Those pseudos! Them. The crack pots!!

My gift. My lost love.

When finally I'd receive my medal, it'll be from a junk dealer... as a thoroughly rejected second hand stuff.... when it'd have had lost its lusture... be just another piece of junk..

Maybe it'll still have a place in my heart...

Maybe I'll still place it on my mentleshelf.... along with the other curios and artifacts... and antiques...

As reminder of a paradise I never gained... as remainder of a dream I once had... and as... I dont know what else... To console me, myself....that it was mine afterall... and it still meant a lot to me!!

My biological father..

My father...

With all the flaws and pluses, he is still the one I would want to call 'father'. And believe in too... I mean, if out of the blue I get to know... that my biological father isn't him, I still wouldn't want another person as my father...

I love him... and hate him ....for all that he is...and he is not....

Not because he has officially been married to my mother... Not because he is the reason why my mother got pregnant and gave birth to me... Not because I have the liberty of using his name as my surname..

But 'coz he is the one my mind believes in. And my heart recognises. To me, he is the greatest man on the earth. For all the happiness and pain that he gave me in my growing years, I can never thank him enough ... Maybe the fact, I haven't known (as probably I have known my father) my mother well enough has something to do with it...

Once a character in a film that I saw had a doubt (about the actual reason of her birth)... was it out of love or were they only fulfilling their body needs... I never had any such doubt... I don't know why but I never considered that side of the story...

I'm only thankful to him that I'm here... alive and happy kicking...!