a.

the faces they make whenever taking painkillers during periods is mentioned < 
            like, girlie! i'm proud of you. 
            but, you don't do that. 
            majboori hai, hospital jaana pard gaya tha, 
            dubaarah nahi jaana chahte.

can't stand a kid struggling ── motherly instincts kick in! was bullied at the age of four, and a friend of mine as well. he used to be the scared one of us to. i didn't say something either, accepted whatever hassle they threw our way, the seniors. again, what would have a four year old done? but it did stayed back in episodic memory. 
            thankfully, maa papa came to know.

har waqt dari dari yun kuchh, aur kyu? bewajah.

it's okay to be physically weak, have poor eyesight, not tall enough, average in studies. ( no, it's not )

never sneezing and laughing infront of someone unknown, once i start ─ there's no going back.

rubbish.

might as well get ' handle with care ' tattooed over forehead.

tough nut to crack.

fragile as a paper flower.

might feel good. but no

tiny fists snailing around neck, face nestled on the curve of shoulder, legs draped around waist

the simulation of him, fluttering around 

memories─dry fluttering leaves, are peeled off and swept away with time. nothing stays forever. the spring is to reminisce their vague existence with everything new.

things become bearable with right people around.

even slightest pain of any kind might start to strike something deep within because of something that had happened to someone close.

children, letting go of their grandparents. 

the mother losing her life during child birth.