My little sister and brother

There were times when I fought with everyone. I was angry. I was weepy. I was alone. I was in my tantrum-throwing mood.
It was the best time to clear out my cluttered drawer, crush long forgotten to-do lists, and tear to bits secretly written love letters.

So when my crappy mood simmered down. And I no longer wanted to destroy all in my path, I slammed my door shut making all the windowpanes shake (yeah, so, the crappiness can’t disappear in an instant, right?). The fury giving in to tears. I hug my pillow like my life depends on it, and wish to god, I had little sisters and brothers.

I look at myself in the mirror, little salt rivers down my cheeks. I think. For twenty years, I have been spoilt. I have been loved. But, I believed my friends were my sibling substitutes.
The person in the mirror stared back at me. Tear tracks dried. Skin stretched. Incredulous expression. I did have siblings. Annoying ones too.

A sister and a brother. My amma and appa.

I know I’m a pain in the ass. Sometimes. Always.
Some genes, huh?

I love you :D

An Egg Roll.

It was that time of the year. College fests. Lots of crazy people and yummy food. After witnessing a highly amusing session of “disco-dancers”, Shahid Kapoor and Hrithik Roshan wannabes, I made my way home.

I got into an autorickshaw, plugged in my earphones, put my bag and egg roll parcel on the seat and hoped the traffic would be kind to me. 6.30 pm, on a Friday evening. What was I doing? Hoping for a miracle?

As the tuk-tuk of the rickshaw died down and I could finally hear the music again. I waited for red to turn green.
And then a little hand grabbed my leg, pulled my jeans. I was too much of a coward to remove my earphones. I shook my head and looked straight. She tugged again and gestured toward the egg roll wrapped in foil and tissue. I think over Kelly Clarkson crooning, “I’ll take a risk, take a chance, make a change, and break away” I heard her saying, “Didi, thoda sa de do”. I gave a feeble shake and the auto sprang back to life. The wind was in my face and in my hair. I looked down at the fluttering plastic wrapping. The egg roll.

Later, in the evening as I watched television, I ate the roll. Tried to. The food was tasteless. And when I washed down the last bite with water, it was bitter.

PS: I wish I had acted differently. I hope next time I have enough courage to do what is right. But is it right?
If I had given the egg roll to her, would I have felt better? Am I not encouraging her to continue this lifestyle?
But, all this is irrelevant. She doesn’t have a choice. I wish she had.

The other side of the glass door.

Sunflowers, roses and dahlias. Squirrels scurrying around. The garden looked beautiful. And there was a tall, huge man. Of Rajput or Pathani descent, the doorkeeper. Dressed in the familiar red, blue and gold.

At 3:00 pm on New Year’s Eve we reached our hotel. Hungry and tired. Dumped our bags in the hotel room and sat down to lunch in the dining area of the lobby surrounded by glass doors.

As I started to eat the naan and the paneer butter masala I looked up. I saw the doorkeeper looking in our direction and quickly went back to my food to avoid embarrassing him. When I reached for the achar, the sun did not catch the gold in his uniform and I did not shield my eyes.
I realised he had gone and stood on the other side from we could not see him. My mother remarked about his sensitivity and said, “pavam”.

I wondered how it must feel to stand all day and night; opening and closing the door for hundreds of people who are extremely capable of doing so themselves. That is when my father said, “The darwan takes great pride in what he does. There is no reason we should feel bad for him.”

I remembered the story of Prithviraj and Samyukta.