Sunday, 13 September 2015

Story Time

Though I drew this pic, the idea was borrowed from a painting I saw.

It reminds me of something I always wanted to have for all my life and age has taken away from me. Stories told by my mother. She used to sit with me with a cartoon book. She would show me the pics, tell me the story of those pics and feed me at the same time. I would usually try to keep up but, by the time she finishes the story, I would be asleep.
It went on like this. Stories of Mohd. Nabi (the prophet), Jesus Christ, Lenin, Phantom, Mandrake, Vikramaditya and... I don't remember how many more.
It was later at the age of 12, when I could read and comprehend the English language, that I realised most of the comic books she used to read to me were in Russian! And she doesn't know even the alphabet of Russian.

Love is as unpredictable as the birth of a child.


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