To Varun, with Love

Dear Varun,

It’s amazing how we take everything for granted. I thought it was obvious that there would be another time when I would meet you. I was sure that there would be a day when we’d catch up on each other’s lives as grown ups who don’t quarrel like we used to. I told myself that there will be several opportunities to make fun of your new hair-do, I need not do it on the day you’ve come home for Christmas and on the day when I’m meeting you after a gazillion years.

I’m going to try and not take ‘time’ as granted anymore, because believe it or not, there were so many things I’d wanted to say to you after our last meeting and I can’t believe that they’re going to remain unsaid. (The only other person whom I still want to say things to and I can’t is my grandpa - Babaji. I want to know if there is at least one thing I do that makes him proud.) I’d written a mail to you in my head and I never typed it. It said that Christmas 2007 was special because you were the last person I’d expected to hug that day and that it was just lovely to have a conversation with you that did not contain sarcastic remarks from either of us. It told you about how I’d told everyone that ‘the guy who punched me on my birthday (I’m not even sure if you did)’ came home for Christmas and how thrilled I was. It asked you to take good care of yourself and to keep in touch, because I’d love to spend some time with you if and when I come to the U.S. to study. The mail was supposed to have an attachment – this historic photo that we took that day – in which I am sitting next to you and not crying.

Like we told you, you taught me how to handle bullies (and now I’m thinking if you’re the reason why I say so many sarcastic things. If you are, I’m grateful, because I thoroughly enjoy saying them). If I’m strong in any way now, you’ve certainly made a contribution and it’ll never be forgotten. You will never be forgotten. You will be sorely missed – for being, what in my dictionary is truly, “cool”. Chemistry ma’am used to adore you, I hope you know that. She always referred to your batch as “Varun Sinha’s batch”.

I will think of Babubhai’s van often. This is extremely silly, but you convinced me beyond doubt that my specs won’t break if they’re kept in their case. I’ll tell you why – I got specs in 6th std and I never used to wear them outside class. I’d keep them in my bag. On the way home, you threw my bag to the top of the van to make space inside and I started whining that my specs would break. You said, “Uska dabba kya khaane ke liye hota hai?” and my whining was totally ignored by you and Babubhai. Sure enough my specs were intact when I got home and I felt grateful to you for helping me rid that tiny fear.

We took an interview of Asha Bhonsle together, remember? You were in 9th std and I was in 7th. Hey! We have a newspaper cutting of that. So we have two pictures of me sitting next to you and not crying. Yay! I’m going to fish out the audio recording of the interview the next time I get home and keep it safe.

I cried because of you as a ten-year old and I cried for you as a 21-year old yesterday. Clearly, we have many scores to settle. I look forward to settling them. I never did, but today I want to believe in the book “Many Lives, Many Masters”. I want to believe that I will meet you again in some other time. If I do, I promise to leave nothing unsaid.

With much love,

Angika.