Dear Brother,

2 decades ago, that cold February day when Mama and Papa got you home, I was overjoyed. Kids were not allowed to visit hospitals so your sister and I were at home for all those 3 days without Mama. Papa was doing shifts at home and at the hospital, cooking for all of us and Mama. Our grandparents could not visit us since our many cousins were on the way around the same time and there were old age problems whenever people had to travel to the hills in winter.

When we saw you for the first time, you were so tiny and fragile, almost like a doll. We thought you’d cry if we didn’t know how to cuddle you right. We often joked you’d fit in my schoolbag and could be wrapped in a big handkerchief of Papa’s. You were very fair, so fair; we would get our hands and faces close to your tiny hands and compare our fairness difference. Bunty always felt bad that she was considerably darker than you and that Mama would love you more. We all loved you so much. We still do. Do you know you are a tough guy? You never had Cerelac baby features. That summer when Granny saw you, she was so proud of you. Your second uncle, of course, placed you on the master bed and compared vital stats with your cousin and he was beaming ear to ear that his son was plumpier than you. But Granny said, you were the tiger, lean and strong – she was your nanny till you turned one. Also, all the elders who blessed you when they saw you for the first time said you are a blessing – Papa became an absolute teetotaller the moment you were born!

You always had more biscuits than all of us and of course, the TV remote. You were forgiven in all sibling fights but we never spared anyone who messed with you in the neighbourhood and in school. In winter, your cheeks went red like plums and you hated to be pinched since you had cucumber skin. Till you joined school, you had rock star long hair, unruly and wavy. You were fussy with food and clothes. I totally love the fact that you started nursery and kindergarten in a red school uniform - a red tie and red shorts with white shirts and  white socks. You came home crying that the senior girls pinched your thighs and kissed you on the cheeks in front of everyone – but you were such an adorable 3-year old. Do you remember smiling at every stranger on the road when Mama walked you to school? We used to be so worried that you are such a kidnapper-friendly child.

The growing-up years were fun! All those birthday cartoons you’d draw and the number of sketchpens and crayons your stories had. We also fought very badly at times. I remember how you broke your first G.I.Joe within hours and you made my study room stink of Dendrite in fixing it. I know you treasure all your toys till now and especially, the green Vintage Hot Wheels car I got you from my first salary.

You ran away from home two times, once for Batman comics and the second time, just like that – don’t ever do that again. I also know you saved up all your pocket money in your second year in college for a day-trip to the next nearest city and cooked up some cock and bull adventure story at home. And every time after that, Papa humored you to a family dinner at your favourite Abba/Kimfa restaurant.

I know you don’t like the Internet so much. You still watch Wrestling matches on TV, I am told.  When I began tying a rakhi on your wrist, I don’t remember. Papa always gave you two brand new crisp 5-rupee notes – one for me and one for Bunty. And I always loved getting you something on Rakhi. This Rakshabandhan, I am very happy for you, young man. You will be a graduate soon! You make me proud.

Love

Letter to Pa and Ma - 1

Dear Pa and Ma

It's been close to 3 months since i resigned. i thought i was pushed to being brave. Felt very lost and dejected at being the chosen one. i have more plans than i can execute. You allowed me to leave home. You allowed yourselves to trust me. You allowed me to trust myself. You have a fervent wish that the break from academics is temporary and that i will come home. You are also aware that i have outgrown that place but we also know that i always carry my home everywhere with me, the number of times you call me during a day and small notes and instructions, only if you were here physically.

It is not easy to say it was tough. i was a leper to some and a lost child to some. i was moving into a new house in days, all plans backfired on my face. Even tears deserted me. i go on with the backfired plans, life surrounded by cartons and bags. Wish you were there around, simply like you were there when i walked out of jobs over a difference or two. i felt a lil' alone. Before i could finish unpacking, my new companions announce they are leaving, not a difficult choice for them. The bogey is empty and it does not feel eerie. i am packing once again,finished some.

Many things happened besides the ones i tell you everyday. Did i tell you what happened when i landed in hyd? Yes,i did. The city dint feel strange. Did i also tell you, i moved out of the guest-house on the 1st of Jan, and believers laughed at me saying i'd be moving house so often? Yes, i live to tell the tale, i have moved house so many times. i made friends,hurted and reconciled so many times. i am still undiplomatic and call the kettle black. i never had to look for a job but found one. It's a humble beginning, i recall all my humble beginnings with you, Pa and Ma around. This time, wish you were here. No one was there to see me off till the gate,Ma. i remember Pa, you'd put a half-day CL to drop me to work and be with me. i dint get that extra pocket money to come and go by taxi. There are good samaritans in this city, some make me feel at home and some make me feel wanted. Some have been kind, some very nice and some loving. i hope and wish to believe that the samaritans and i become/are family.

It feels good to hear dining table stories from my senior colleagues at work, what their lil' ones do at home, warm moments of sharing a small meal. i also want to share such stories but i have none for now. i feel grounded but not rooted. i need some assurance that everything is ok and alright. It pinches me a lil' to have my meal from the canteen. i manage breakfast and i prepare dinner. i dont want to live like this. Pa, i recall how you'd beg and bug me to eat and stop me from working like a maniac. Ma, i remember how you'd coax me with those dishes you'd pile before me. i know what it feels when your labour of love is not acknowledged, i guess, i am paying for it. i dont have time to cook my lunch! i cook to eat and eat to breathe. it feels strange to cook just for myself. There is hardly anyone with whom i can sit and eat or discuss dining table tales. Few and far between. Restaurant matters are social dos and one-off meals are get-togethers. All my roomies were younger than me and rarely ate at home, if they did it was because their parents were here. If they dint, it was because there were social dos.

i am enjoying the bus-rides despite nearly losing my life. i am special and not special according to god's plan. In a week's time, i move into my new house with a new roomie. Dont know how long i will be in a room of one's own till a house of my own happens. This is to tell you how much you and your loving and caring ways are missed. Ma, i still bug you to wake me up. i miss Pa's pulling off the blanket in the morning. i miss shouting for breakfast while i am in the bathroom. i miss that 20 rupees on the dining table. i miss the shouting after i get back home to change and freshen up.

i wake up to my mobile alarm. My breakfast is on the move, sometimes i give it a miss. i come back to empty quarters hoping to reverbrate with some life and music. i read more and write somewhat. You always complained i dont read enough, i still dont but i have improved.

It feels good to know that in times of distress and those just-like-that moments, without a care i can call you anytime even in the middle of the night without having to say sorry. That is unconditional love to me, when my call is not cut with an SMS for some genuine reason. i dont tell you how broken i am but i pick up when i hear your voice.

Lots of love,Pa and Ma.

your Sana