Ideally this diary should have appeared on Raksha Bandhan. Having missed that opportunity, I am still going ahead in the hope that it will -- well, read on. My memories of that festival go back to a sleepy neighbourhood in a small town, to a gang of noisy children. We were passing through the phase when girls fascinated us because their ponytails were very interesting to pull. Having a brother wasn't at all bad. He made a good partner for the many manly exertions we indulged in. Like fistfights, cricket, mobikes and applauding Amitabh bashing up villains. Once a year came this festival, when our wrists felt a little left out. But it was no big deal, at least not then. It was only later, as we were beginning to outgrow pulling ponytails, that I felt sad about my strikingly empty wrist. And that wonderfully smart gang of mine didn't miss a chance to rub it in. So much so that our prevailing gang rules were amended to include rakhis as yet another status symbol -- with the likes of matchbox covers, stamps, comics, sketch pens, bird feathers and vestiges of firecrackers. My parents discovered our plight the hard way during a conversation at dinner when my elder -- and supposedly wiser -- brother demanded we 'get' a sister from wherever the others had got. I don't remember the look on their faces, but it must have been quite a sight! A neat solution was conjured. One of our family friends had a didi to spare who would do the honour for a token gift. We clamoured for the biggest and most flamboyant rakhis the market offered, and thus managed to regain our social status amongst our peers. The trick worked for a couple of years. Then our didi's family relocated to some other town. As years passed by and our mental ages inched up slowly, we were blessed with some cousins who'd mail us rakhis. We kind of came to terms with the situation. I had barely hit my teens when the girl-next-door came into my life. Oops, don't get me wrong, she was still figuring out how to balance a tricycle. What a bundle of energy she was, her tiny feet pattering all over our house, jumping over sofas, hiding under beds! I suppose parents don't make good playmates beyond a certain age, and she had no one but us to play with. She spent all her waking hours with us, till her mother dragged her back when it was time to say goodnight. God knows how many glasses of milk I have downed or tons of carrots gobbled to inspire her to alter her finicky eating habits. She would arrange my bookshelf the way she thought I'd like and imitate me reading the newspaper during her meals. Sometimes she'd just quietly observe me poring over my thick books, and would get terribly upset when I banished her from the house during those tough examination days. Time finally caught up with her carefree life and she was put into kindergarten. One day as I picked her up, her 'Miss' walked up to me to complain: she never answers correctly to that mandatory proof-of-quality-education question 'How many brothers and sisters do you have?' She'd count me as her brother, and refuse to budge no matter how much the teachers or her mother tried to explain the difference. Must admit her refusal to accept the correction did me a hell of a lot proud. In that fleeting moment under the warm sun, I felt no Raksha Bandhan was ever going to leave me insecure no matter how tiny my rakhi was. Years later, a small ocean and big work deadline forced me to miss the wedding of a cousin. When I called up home for my weekly quota of gossip, my mother tearfully described the marriage. She said the bride had bawled inconsolably and held up the ceremony till she regained her composure when one of the rites mandated a brother to be present. I have not been able to forget that incident. Or forgive myself. Somewhere deep inside, my soul realises the biggest rakhi on your wrist is not enough to feel good about, you ought to deserve it.... To all the girls who plan to send Shailesh rakhis, he is now more in need of a sweetheart than a sis! Illustration: Uttam Ghosh Tell us what you think of this diary Be part of an exciting venture! Write a Diary!
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