Ordinarily for the younger lot a birthday is an occasion to celebrate. For older people,it is an opportunity to be grateful to the Almighty for having afforded a journey this far. It hurts and is painful to learn that you share your birthday with someone who is a part of history besides being a victim of some atrocity. The same feeling crossed my mind yesterday as I thought of Anne Frank , a young girl born exactly 25 years before me who became a writer when she started writing a diary in a note book gifted to her on her 13th birthday. She became a chronicler of her times. Her family became a victim of the Holocaust that befell the Jewish race of the times during the Second World War . She died of Typhus while living in captivity in a Nazi concentration camp aged 15. The diary was published posthumously in the shape of a book.
