Our distant grandmother used to tell us both that the festival of Rakhi will be tough when we’re away–when I won’t be able to fly back home, or you wouldn’t get the time to reach where I would stay.
Listening to this, we would look at each other, and giggle among ourselves, because somehow we knew that missing each other would only be a distant dream.
Being the brother that you were, I was always confused, thinking if an elder sister would have been any better?
Girls at school would say that of course, elder sisters were a treat to have.
Only some would say, “I think an elder brother is okay too”.
I couldn’t ever make a judgment of it – while you were definitely great at having charming boys all over our house, you lacked in helping me set-up my cupboard.
You were definitely nice when it came to cooking Maggi for both of us, but you were horribly bad when you would trick me while playing Who-Finishes-The-Maggi-First-And-Wins-The-Game.
What a fool I was, to stupidly finish it all in one go, only to see you victoriously tease me by having yours slowly – and slowly.
You didn’t collect the milk packets from Pal uncle’s shop, and I had to carry almost three litres of milk back home. I felt so exhausted – climbing the hill, with a bag full of books, and an empty water bottle.
Dear Brother, I sometimes wonder if you had second thoughts of me as a sister too- did you?
I remember having read your personal diary once. That one that had a lock and key? Its lock could be opened easily with a knife, I don’t know if you had tried that?
It was a rainy Monday afternoon – the usual afternoons in Shimla – I was still in my school dress, grey pleated skirt, and knee length socks, off white shirt loosely hanging from the waist (that was the trend those days).
I must have thrown my school shoes somewhere in the drawing room; I hated them for all the sores they caused every year – each year- new sore.