ONE FINE DAY….

The smiles had as if never been there
The wall between us seemed to have always been.

Seemed like strangers meeting from alien lands
The wordless void – never before, yet seemed to have always been.

Conversations, inconclusive, disagreeable – but endless, no matter
The unfamiliar terse taciturn tempered you seemed to have always been.

Spontaneity, with no trace of diplomacy or disclaimers, had been the norm
All that – eyes meeting, then departing without greeting – seemed to have always been.

You were the last person, and time was the last thing I ever expected to run out of
The unknown unmistakable air of ‘time-table’ about you – seemed to have always been.

Nothing spoken, nothing heard; no culpable crime
Yet I could see the present wipe clean the past – which seemed to have always been.

I woke up a different girl; you woke up a different man
And it seems that’s the way it has always been.

GROWING UP…

When you first saw the maturity in his stride.
When you first felt the decision in his baritone.

When you first heard the wisdom of his travails.
When you first accepted the merit of his argument.

When you first realized that the kid had grown up.
That your little brother wasn’t quite so little any more.

That the boy had now become a man.

When did you realize that?

It wasn’t that long ago…

…that I was chasing Vidur through the house, doors slamming, chairs tumbling, as our 3feet-nothing frames weaved through the standard hurdles like the legs of our huge mahogany dinner table, the half-a-dozen foot stools, the swinging curtains, and of course, grown-ups. Inevitably to result in a tiny hand caught mercilessly between hinges, blood dripping from cracked nails even tinier – and a little boy, on the way to the hospital, weeping for his disgraced elder sister, left behind at home, who should’ve known better than to indulge in such dangerous pass-times.

…that I was mentally despising, loathing my mother for paying all her attention to that pest of a thing called Vidur. Whom I was cursing for having even existed. Sullen-faced, teary-eyed, as I tried to figure out the conspiracy that I was convinced my family, mankind and even God, was hatching against me. With Vidur as the chief beneficiary of all its proceedings.

…that I would beg for Vidur to be allowed to accompany us to wedding dinners, who would then proceed to take charge of the campaign to gather maximum delicious nutrition in the few minutes that our parents would stay on the site. Stalking waiters, tracking down the best bites on the platter, then playing a keen game, ensuring that both Vidur and I, though still ‘I and Vidur’ to some extent, would be stuffed to the brim in 10minutes flat.

…that Vidur and I fought like animals, me kicking him in the stomach, regardless of the countless warnings I received from our parents concerning the peril of the anatomical localization of such trauma. Only to find him unperturbed, and full of awe at my mastery of so vicious an art.

…that our hitherto endless squabbles seemed to melt away into inconsequentiality. As the Kriti-Vidur gang (the order of names purely chronological, and not at all egotistical) became faster, meaner and discovered a bonding quite unmatched in its emotion.

….that we indulged in those moments of senseless infancy, both of us well advanced beyond the age. Moments of such incredible humor and ridicule, that could be unleashed only by the two of us, by the two of us alone. Moments when we forgot time and age, and dived deep into those heady waters, those of sibling-hood.

…and it definitely wasn’t that long ago that I moved out of the house, and Vidur moved into his own.
As the cloak of oft-alarming innocence and dependence was discarded.

As the garb of seemingly absolute lack of worldly wisdom was shed.

As the guise of one lost, needing guidance and support, vanished.

To reveal a personality that held none of its prior gullibility, and every ounce of its independence.

Opinions, decisions, debates, advice – one revelation after the other, as I reconciled to the dispensability of my role as mentor and guide.

And then, slowly, realized the birth of another - this time, one for myself.

As I was comforted after a yelling match with our parents. As I was counseled before approaching an important assignment. As I was detailed on the merits of Heads vs Tails.

Its hard to say what exactly I felt. As I listened to Vidur over the telephone, marveling at how grown-up he now was.
Possibly, it was pride. Immense. And love changed to utter devotion. A feeling of awe began to build up inside.
And somewhere, I think, a sigh of relief. At the much awaited loss of the mantle of the elder sister. And the equally awaited arrival of the unconditional guru.

Who amazingly, still has the patience to indulge his baby sister in those historic moments of ever-innovative lunacy, to humor her with such comedy and smiles as only he can.

When did you realize all this?

Now, I am 20, going on 21. My brother Anant Vidur Puri (AVP to all, as he and ‘attitude’ fondly remind me) is 18.
And as I write this, in the final few minutes of my train journey home, I eagerly look forward to meeting my elder brother.
And my darling baby brother too!!

IDENTIFICATION MARK...

You know, I think I was always this really mad person. Everyone knows that the contemporary KP is nuttier than absolute nuts – but what if I told you that I am a marked improvement on I?
And yes, I do have a story to corroborate my claim.
It was the summer of 1992, I think. Kindergarten, Carmel Convent School, Chandigarh.
It was a hundred meters straight and a turn from my bus-stop to my house, and I was all a-jump, a-bounce, a-skip and a-frisk as I made my way down it, our family helper carrying my school bag. Nothing special about that day – I was just one of those perpetually skippy bouncy kids, who are always in their own world, and simply thrilled to be there.

Now, let me explain the situation a bit. Our house, like all other houses has a gate. The gate has two ‘wings’ (I guess you could call them that, I can think of no better word right now), that latch together in the middle. And there is a wall on the side of each wing – so it can swing a max of 90° open inwards (and a 90° open outwards too).

And the gate was (and still is) about as high as I was at that time.

I hope you get the picture.

So there I was, all spring and jump – and I guess this kind of enthusiasm is infectious.
Our helper unlatched the gate; I pushed hard at one of the ‘wings’ – and they swung open in grand style.

Struck the wall.

BOUNCED. FRISKED.

And then – just as grandly – swung back.

WHACK.

Now a disclaimer – this is what I have deduced would have happened. From our helper’s statement and some basic physics.
All I really really remember is the gate swinging open. And then our helper yelling for help. And then my father running out of the house barefoot, yelling even louder.
And then myself being instructed to not touch my forehead. And then my wound being washed and dressed.
While all this time, I was absolutely clueless as to what exactly the whole fuss over my forehead was about.
And then Papa told me to change into a dress because we had to go to a hospital.

Pay heed, this is the second-most-bonkers part of my tale.

Regardless of the fact that I had a gaping wound on my forehead, that needed 6stitches later – what to say of regard, I had no knowledge of its existence – the uppermost thought in my mind as I gleefully pulled on my favourite white frock, with coloured balloons on its frills, was – ‘Mama would kill me if she saw me wear this fancy frock to PGI – thank God she’s not home!’

Wait. Don’t react in exasperation just yet.

For the most-bonkers bit is yet to come.

I somehow contrived to tie the belt behind my back, and then stood on the bed to be able to appreciate myself full length in the mirror. And the first notion to hit me as I saw my face, framed by shoulder length hair, with a white bandage circling my head at forehead level, myself clad in a white dress??

‘Wow! I look like an angel!’

Ref: Bandage = halo.

That is how crazy I used to be. And how totally awesome at seeing the silver lining in every thing.
Never quite in the ‘world’ frame of reference. Always thinking, imagining, extrapolating – to say it in style, ‘a born thinker’.
And to be more precise – ‘supremely silly, to the extremes of being a safety hazard’.

Of course, I survived that wound with just a midline scar abutting my hairline - which I continue to cite, till date, as my identification mark in all ID documents.
And I also managed to survive twenty round trips around the Sun.
Despite the perpetual absence of my mind.

God’s too kind?

I’m living on a freaky hourglass with the last bits of sand aberrantly stuck in the narrow bit, waiting to empty any moment?

The world needs one of each type?

Whatever. I don’t know.

p.s. This was not written with any amount of regret or shame regarding such amazing points-of-view as possess all (atleast I would like to believe) children. Maybe it is just a bit of self-defence, that perhaps the reason I’m such a renowned nut is that I am still a kid.