Itrat for Purity?
She was really ve
ry bossy. But that's not the first thing I want you to know about her. But now that it is the first thing you already know about her, I'll tell the other first thing you should know about her. She's very much like me. And that's not of much consequence either. I guess you don't know me either.
The girl in the picture is not who i'm talking about. In fact, this photo reminded me of myself, and not her. I was nervous and shifty at that age, not her. She could have been the camera and I could have been her. Feet in nervous togetherness and gaze in distant indifference. Hate being watched.
Actually, she should know I'm talking of her, because she knows me well. We grew up together, acting out names, guessing the parts we played. It was always a fight for the story books we both wanted to read. The ones she sneaked into the toilet, and the ones I could never get myself to read again. Toilet vapours and dirty hands, what interesing book were you talking about?
She had this horrible habit of taking on too much work and subsequently deligating it to us. And of course still getting the credit for it. But that's all kid stuff.
I remember our fake "fatty's shed" in Pappa's coaching room. The letter box, hand made painstakingly in the June summer afternoon during a certain school summer break. No letters were ever posted to any family member, but I remember we opened it on every thursday for a long, till the rains came pouring on our creative unoriginal efforts.
And many years later in Delhi, North campus. Flavoured milk and maggie. Hair cuts in grayeyards. Guest nights and boyfriends. Selections and some rejections. I could go on and on about this stuff. But just in short, I do miss you a lot. Sometimes!
I don't have to remind you of all this, but I do feel the need to say it. Many things are not written here, but many things you know.
ry bossy. But that's not the first thing I want you to know about her. But now that it is the first thing you already know about her, I'll tell the other first thing you should know about her. She's very much like me. And that's not of much consequence either. I guess you don't know me either.The girl in the picture is not who i'm talking about. In fact, this photo reminded me of myself, and not her. I was nervous and shifty at that age, not her. She could have been the camera and I could have been her. Feet in nervous togetherness and gaze in distant indifference. Hate being watched.
Actually, she should know I'm talking of her, because she knows me well. We grew up together, acting out names, guessing the parts we played. It was always a fight for the story books we both wanted to read. The ones she sneaked into the toilet, and the ones I could never get myself to read again. Toilet vapours and dirty hands, what interesing book were you talking about?
She had this horrible habit of taking on too much work and subsequently deligating it to us. And of course still getting the credit for it. But that's all kid stuff.
I remember our fake "fatty's shed" in Pappa's coaching room. The letter box, hand made painstakingly in the June summer afternoon during a certain school summer break. No letters were ever posted to any family member, but I remember we opened it on every thursday for a long, till the rains came pouring on our creative unoriginal efforts.
And many years later in Delhi, North campus. Flavoured milk and maggie. Hair cuts in grayeyards. Guest nights and boyfriends. Selections and some rejections. I could go on and on about this stuff. But just in short, I do miss you a lot. Sometimes!
I don't have to remind you of all this, but I do feel the need to say it. Many things are not written here, but many things you know.
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