soul sisters

March 15, 1994, 2.30 pm,,,
Town Ambala. was born a girl white as milk, chubby and rosy like an apple. She just looked a baby angel. I saw her in amazement and couldn't get my eyes off her. I gently touched her fingers and she held my index finger like she didn't wanted to leave them. She is my lil sister whom we named Disha practically because it rhymed with my name Isha.
I remember praying for a baby sister before she was born as I always wanted someone who could play with me and yes I got it. I am five years elder to her but she never called me 'didi' except in cases of crisis!!
We grew up and went to the same school and soon I became the protective elder sis who took care of her even in school and during recess. But yes we did fight like an friends and me y other siblings. She sometimes to express her anger locked me inside the room .(Yes she locked me!) Most of the times she always jumped in between my friends and me to play with us. Then came the study phase when I used to help her giving her English lessons. ( She thought I explained them well) and also the quiet lessons on friends and boys when she was growing up. Some of our best memories were when we out on annual holidays and had loads of fun playing badminton and fighting also. She turned 17 this March and has grown up to be a tall chick . Ya she is 5  feet, six inches, that does make me feel envious at times. You might find her shy and reserved but once she knows you she won't leave any stone unturned to make you happy.  Even though  we are apart the bond has become stronger and love her even the more. Thanks Dish!!!! you are sweetest lil sis I could have asked for.

The holiest holi

Holi came and went yesterday. My memories of holi go back to my childhood which meant Family,food and fun. the day previous to Holi, we all used to gather in what we call the 'mohalla'. A round place with houses on all sides and a well in between. There used to be a fire lit and everybody had to pray and take rounds around the fire. I as a kid went every year with Daddy and do the pooja. After the pooja was over everybody wished each other and put some 'gulaal' and leave. The next day we all woke up early in the morning and put oil all over from head to toe so that the color came off easily. We then went out and put colors on each other.Sometimes my sister and me filled balloons with water and threw on the people from our terrace. Exhausted after a wild array of colors there was food to indulge in . Sometimes dahi vadaa or rajma chaval, gujiya, samosa.
This year I there is no Holi celebration as there are assignments lined up to submit. No one here would lend his/her precious time to play with me.No good food, all that there is work and a vacuum. But I am happy for my family which played like always. Amidst the assignments and cooking, there is a desperate soul who misses every holi spent at home.There is a smile on my face while I wish everyone on phone and a longliness to be with them once again, to eat with them again , to feel their presence.That was the holiest Holi. Its been one hour since I stood on the terrace watching kids play. I soon gathered composure and went back to the assignments.

Ghar ka Khana

A red bag lay on the sofa of my Delhi home. It was a big one and i was told that it had things for me, it had come from my home. Apart from the things for me,it has food also. Exciting I thought, travelling in the metro I couldn't keep off my mind from the thoughts of'ghar ka khana' which is not just immensely missed but also has the potential of emotional charging. My metro ride took me around 45 minutes to take me home and these minutes were just a reminder of my grandma who has cared for me more than my mum. I reached home and rushed to the kitchen to see what has been sent. There were pranthas, subzi and achhar. Not a big meal really.
the moment I opened the foil and saw six pranthas. I'll have just one, my mind said that. my heart said two is fine sometimes. Picking one of them reminded me how my grandma must have got up at 5 in the morning to make them and pack it up herself .She is 65, agile and caring, she has a big black mole on her right cheek and I remember been fascinated by it when I was a toddler. Since my infancy she has been the central point of my life. There was one instance when I was infected with measles in class eight. She made me sleep with her for ten days and every night, she stayed awake to stroke my back with neem leaves. I use to sleep but not she, never got irritated or tired of me. She cooked for me separately and made sure nobody disturbed me. My exam time was a big treat. she cooked whatever I said and her endless milk sessions and advice to study more and exam tips. She gave me love, time and care. Even now whenever I am home she makes sure she cooks my farewell meals and also pack some for Delhi. I never said this but i love her to death and she means the world to me. Thats what Delhi has done to me. Taught me the value of  the valuable. Thanks Delhi.
And ya I ate 3 pranthas that day!!!!!!!!!!

That town called Ambala

Sometime back I overheard a group of people in my college talking about a town called Ambala and procurement of explosives from the railway station there. She said, "you know that place Ambala, police found explosives in the car there near the railway station." Hearing this my whiskers got alert. Ambala railway station is not just 'that' place for me.
Its my hometown. A place where I have been nurtured and the railway station there apart from being northern India's main junction was also a landmark junction in my life.
It was the place where I met 'him' first time and shared first glances with him. Its the place where
I get down now when I reach Ambala and still look around to create the same nuances. Though not a very
happening place, it has usual places that a station or a bus stand will have, recharge shops, eating joints and dhabas,  beggars going around for alms, a bus stand adjoining it and hence constant cocophony of horns and traffic.
A few steps away is the public library and you enter the cantonment area where there is an army station.A little distance away from the cantt area is the Staff Road where there is a red building that was my school and also a central point of my life, fourteen years there and thousands of lessons learnt and forgotten . Peeping inside from the iron gates, one can see a statue of mother Mary and a chapel. Left from the school gate a lonely road takes you to a small lane from where only one vehicle can cross at a time. There stands a small little house where a family of five live. Welcome to my friend Abhi's home.
Ambala has only one main market place and in the midst of that stands a four storey house painted in light yellow, its my home. Seeing that building even from a distance gives me joy.
As my state of trance ended, I realised myself being in Delhi, which can boast of metro and many many more but nothing gives me more joy than the Haryana Roadways bus which takes me to  'that' town. Thinking these nostalgic thoughts I walk down to the metro station listening Jagjit Singh's ghazal 'Hum to hai pardes mein , des mein nikla hoga chand.'