Autobiography of a failure in India

Let me face it,life is a tragedy for multitudes in India and among those multitudes,I immerse my soul in the hope that along with oblivion,I can be reborn in a better place,at a better time,in a better situation.I was born in 1980.Looking back,the past seems so much more friendly to live in,if you choose India.My mom and dad were in very poor situations ,but when they began life,it seemed as if we had everything.So many young cousins,uncles and aunts and life was in one of those "boom" phases.I have quite a few photographs of that time,a time when I used to wear kajal and tie up my hair in a pink fluorescent ribbon as was the way for schoolgoing kids of that time.The village was fruitful and my mom was a doctor and papa was a college lecturer.I remember the odd college students of that time who couldn't even pronounce "accelerator",which I had mastered with my father's prompts in no time.Even,when I was two,I could speak with the accuracy of a six-year old,I was precocious.I used to climb the windows like an agile little monkey and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.At that time,I don't remember having much to eat.However,none of Freud's theory of the missing phallus for me.I was happy.I remember I used to cry loudly,but at least I had nothing to be depressed of.I used to play with boys and girls with unlimited freedom and none of those restrictive practices bound me.I enjoyed the gay dresses and elaborate make-up,not quite suitable for a little girl with elan.