The first time i saw you,i was 8,i think. We met at some book fair,fleetingly. I got a whiff of your smell for the first time. I remember bits of that day. A flash of white and khaki,a green patch over the bridge,some painted railings.
I didn't know why but you came over for visits to my place,always the bearer of chocolates. I didn't tell anyone but i secretly always looked forward to your visits,for fresh supply of Cadbury Temptations,for some hours of the day when my kiddishness was glorified and my splotched frocks,not frowned upon.
I recall my first burst of temper at you. You had been saying something about being my father's daughter and i told you that you wouldn't know. You are not family. You couldn't possibly know. I remember hating you for not being angry back. For smiling at me. I hated you for never being mad at me,for never telling me mean things too.
You used to argue with me. About traditions,mothers,rules.
You used to wear nothing but panjabi. I laughed at you at age 10. I laughed at how proud you were of your Indianness. I thought you were old.
I used to see you at our new flat. You chose the furniture,the pink table that you thought i'd like. You never listened to anybody. You fought with the construction people. You made them re do the kitchen. You chose the paint. You chose the curtains. You chose our home too.
Remember that time you made me wear mum's saree and took me out on Saraswati puja? We took a picture together. We had juice. I wanted ice cream but you said no. You said fruits were best.
You framed that picture for me. You wrote behind it. "Step by step to 12",it said.
You used to ask me about him,when mom used to make you tea in the kitchen. You knew. You had guessed. You didn't judge.
I christened you 'bindi kaku'. No,you never had a sense of fashion.
You resolved my fights. The ones that went on outside,and the ones that happened in. You took me out on days when home became unbearable. You always smelled the same. A bit of dhoop,a little powder, and something else i never could put a finger on. Your hands had veins that showed. I liked to trace them with mine.
As i began to grow up,you needed me more than i did you. You brought me bhutta back from your first trip to the hospital,remember? Secretly,so she wouldn't know. And that piece of red cloth you gave me? I've kept that. I always will.
We never quite stopped fighting. I waged war against you when we discussed politics and college. You didn't want me to go here.
I hated you for judging the university. I hated you for telling me what you hoped i'd do with my life. I hated how your ambitions for me were far greater than mine were for myself.
I also loved you for it.
I loved how you gave me a corsage on the day of my farewell. And how you always treated me like a grownup. You always asked me for my opinions. You came to me for answers as i came to you.
Our relationship spanned 10years. Your smell was in my home for 10 years.
The last time i saw you,you asked me if you'd be able to visit me in January. You were holding my hand. I remember tracing my fingers on your veins that hadn't changed much. It was habit,i now realise. We always sat like that.
I had promised you,you would. I told you i'll see you in January.
You didn't look at me when i left. You sat there with your head buried in the papers. You wouldn't look up. Mum wondered at that.
But i knew. And i hope you know,i did not mind.
Wish you good meet,you said.
Yes. Good meet.
Now,and always.
I didn't know why but you came over for visits to my place,always the bearer of chocolates. I didn't tell anyone but i secretly always looked forward to your visits,for fresh supply of Cadbury Temptations,for some hours of the day when my kiddishness was glorified and my splotched frocks,not frowned upon.
I recall my first burst of temper at you. You had been saying something about being my father's daughter and i told you that you wouldn't know. You are not family. You couldn't possibly know. I remember hating you for not being angry back. For smiling at me. I hated you for never being mad at me,for never telling me mean things too.
You used to argue with me. About traditions,mothers,rules.
You used to wear nothing but panjabi. I laughed at you at age 10. I laughed at how proud you were of your Indianness. I thought you were old.
I used to see you at our new flat. You chose the furniture,the pink table that you thought i'd like. You never listened to anybody. You fought with the construction people. You made them re do the kitchen. You chose the paint. You chose the curtains. You chose our home too.
Remember that time you made me wear mum's saree and took me out on Saraswati puja? We took a picture together. We had juice. I wanted ice cream but you said no. You said fruits were best.
You framed that picture for me. You wrote behind it. "Step by step to 12",it said.
You used to ask me about him,when mom used to make you tea in the kitchen. You knew. You had guessed. You didn't judge.
I christened you 'bindi kaku'. No,you never had a sense of fashion.
You resolved my fights. The ones that went on outside,and the ones that happened in. You took me out on days when home became unbearable. You always smelled the same. A bit of dhoop,a little powder, and something else i never could put a finger on. Your hands had veins that showed. I liked to trace them with mine.
As i began to grow up,you needed me more than i did you. You brought me bhutta back from your first trip to the hospital,remember? Secretly,so she wouldn't know. And that piece of red cloth you gave me? I've kept that. I always will.
We never quite stopped fighting. I waged war against you when we discussed politics and college. You didn't want me to go here.
I hated you for judging the university. I hated you for telling me what you hoped i'd do with my life. I hated how your ambitions for me were far greater than mine were for myself.
I also loved you for it.
I loved how you gave me a corsage on the day of my farewell. And how you always treated me like a grownup. You always asked me for my opinions. You came to me for answers as i came to you.
Our relationship spanned 10years. Your smell was in my home for 10 years.
The last time i saw you,you asked me if you'd be able to visit me in January. You were holding my hand. I remember tracing my fingers on your veins that hadn't changed much. It was habit,i now realise. We always sat like that.
I had promised you,you would. I told you i'll see you in January.
You didn't look at me when i left. You sat there with your head buried in the papers. You wouldn't look up. Mum wondered at that.
But i knew. And i hope you know,i did not mind.
Wish you good meet,you said.
Yes. Good meet.
Now,and always.
