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There was a subtle restlessness in the skies today morning. As I parked my old bike on the gate in the park the tempo carrying the supplies to the temple was reversing and had a caption written at the back saying “Sonu- Monu di gadddi “ along with a routine TA-TA ….OK….Bye…Phir Milenge!!
The name rang a bell. SONU
He was just 2 months younger to me. My first x first cousin who was both my mausera and chachera Bhai. A strong bond right from birth by virtue of relationships. The only son and an apple of his parent’s eyes. His demands to drink milk while standing on the narrow ledge of the small grilled window could never be denied and he knew how to exercise his rights right from childhood. Pampered and loved by all. He was blessed with such fair complexion and beautiful features that everybody felt Sona- sona looking at him ….so he got named Sonu .
I was already nicknamed Monu earlier in short for Mona ….so we became Sonu –Monu .
I believe that was a popular name combination those days!
Our most favorite aunt from Dehradoon would cuddle us both equally while handing us the goodies she brought along. She was so loved because of her contagious laughter that we often fought on the subject of “Whose house she would sleep at? “ Sonu used to stay along with my combined family in the Parla ghar (that house) and I belonged to urla ghar (this house). My grandmother like the big queen bee was paid ritualistic compulsory visits by all our ancient and modern relatives in the big ancestral house and half the good relatives would be sweet talked by Sonu and other cousins into spending the night over there. I would sulk as I would be missing all the fun and laughter. We had a better & more comfortable house preferred by some who believed themselves to be of the elite clan who didn’t like mundane inconveniences and loud noise. Sonu used to tease me saying “Dekh Buaji hamare ghar soyi thee “ . I hated the glee on his face so next day I would pledge to defeat him in the 100 m race which was a daily ritual before retiring for the night. We ran that race every day, same competitors, different winners (either him or me) missing victory by the skin of our teeth. The winner had to be rewarded at a suitable time depending on the pocket money available in our earthen Gullaks(piggybank) .He would tug at my rubber band from my nicely pleated hair and I would pull the chair behind his back while he sat just to see him fall. The pranks were endless on the long inter-connected rooftops of the entire neighborhood which used to be our playground.
He would sneak me in to show the newborn rabbits by lifting me up so that I could peep into the neighbor’s ventilator who hated us for the sheer noise we used to make. We used to shout loudly “Ram naam satya hain” right at his doorstep while we kids took the funeral procession of a small abandoned baby squirrel that died despite our expert care. His hernia scar and a small blue swelling on his right eyebrow were the only two congenital flaws he was born with. I told him that I would take it out when I became a big Dr. and he agreed to be my patient. If people liked his complexion and physique I was born intelligent and I would flaunt my brains often in chess and studies alike. Still there was never any comparison or jealousy.
His birthday on 4’th May used to be an yearly affair organized by my aunt for a ladies get together in the Parla ghar where Dholak, ghunghroo and dance used to mark the holy occasion of his birth and Halwa-puri was distributed in the entire neighborhood . As he grew up he used to be quiet embarrassed that his mother still celebrated him like that. Mothers always celebrate their sons no matter how old they are!
He was a part of everything in our parties and picnics which were more private. We had to always blackmail Chachaji in permitting him to accompany us thanks to my dad playing the big brother always. Chacha was strict and we all were scared of his volatile temper. Whenever I discovered Sonu hiding and glued to the small TV in the video game parlor I would often play the spoilt sport by informing about his whereabouts to his father and he would often get thrashed for his addiction .I enjoyed the sadistic pleasure in seeing him getting beaten because many times he raised his hands on me and he was undoubtedly stronger than me which made me feel helpless. I would cherish the “Badla” for days and make fun of him. Those days one rupee would fetch us 20 toffees or a goli wali soda bottle which we loved. In fact we both loved the same Mewe-wali meethi goli from Pappu’s shop. The pleasure in sucking them one after the other was so great that I once convinced him to steal from a guava vendor .While I distracted him haggling about the price he was trained into slyly picking up the corner of the gunny sack underneath which all the loose change would lay. All we wanted was one rupee and idiot as he was he picked one more. We were loaded with so many toffees that we ended up distributing some to his most untrustworthy elder sister who spilled the beans behind our sudden prosperity. The thrashing that we both received in the hands of our merciless Chacha straightened us so much that till today if I need something I always ask and learnt not to steal or cheat.
He would get me my favorite comics and newly released videotapes on hire since I was forbidden to visit such places. Whenever I needed a favor I would be sweet and whenever he needed money he would be extra sweet. I used to instill God fear into him not to part with our secret or else “Uski Maa mar jayegi “and he used to believe it all. We would read those books lying leisurely in our Hauj (artificial small pool) in our factory used for our “Tie and die work”. He would bribe the servant with a Bidi bundle so as to get both the tanks filled where we would hold competition underneath the water searching for the metallic stopcock of the tube well. Many times the pressure of the water would make his underwear fall and I was forced to see his beaming rear natal cleft white as ever and hated him even more. How I wished I had that complexion. Whenever special egg curry was made in our house I had to inform his mother that he was doing combined studies just to avoid her throwing a fit that he was eating eggs. Panditji had forbidden him not to eat eggs and he loved eggs. He would often be brought crying late at night at our clinic faking stomach pain while he relished the street food in day just to avoid eating homemade food. I knew his drama.
Studies and Sonu didn’t get well not because he was not intelligent but probably did not receive the right push into right opportunities at right time .He just lost interest along the way. While I entered MBBS he was still struggling to finish high school so at our grandmother’s plea we decided to coach him into getting him past his 10’th std. He passed in the 3rd attempt and I was so elated feeling like a professor whose fellow had just received his PhD. He taught me how to vroom on a bike because no one else thought a girl should learn to ride a bike. He would scare onlookers with his young shapely biceps to onlookers and no one was allowed to pass a lewd comment on any of his sisters leave alone a gaze. His elder sister’s late marriage delayed his marriage and he was so overjoyed when it was finally finalized. He started dancing just at the thought of his own wedding procession “the grand Baarat”. He was so excited that just few days before his wedding he banged his bike and had a swollen blue face, black eye, and limping gait and bruised all over. The medico that I had become by then had to treat him with icepacks so that he would be a presentable bridegroom on his own wedding. Our handsome Sonu …Moron ! He got married finally to the most beautiful doe eyed girl and they made the best “Teri rab ne bana di Jodi” in the locality. He had a boy who was named Raj another prince in making a year later.
The conventional familial dramas hovering around petty issues marred our households as well in time resulting in over inflated egos amongst elders and we all moved to different cities , myself in pursuit of education and his family for a better future.
With a basic education, I knew Sonu struggled to get an identity, recognition and acceptance for what was termed as an achievement in the societal norms. We met rarely after that and last I heard was that he wanted to do business. We lost touch but we ached to see each other. The final blow came 12 yrs. ago with the news of his sudden mysterious death one night which rocked our families alike and I just choked and cried silently. He may not have made it big but he deserved a soni soni life as well. He still holds such a special place in my beautiful childhood memories.
I haven’t seen his sons in years and I believe they are grown up. I managed to see Sonu’s glimpse in Raj his elder son but this time he was staring at me with those doe shaped eyes. While I sun gazed today the rumble in the sky announced his forgotten birthday probably the same gana bajana going on there and I tears welled up in my eyes and rolled on cheeks .
For just today how I wish to have that 100 meter race with him for one last time and I know I will allow him to win for sure ,then we will climb at the open back of “Sonu-Monu di gaddi “ just to shake hands and say
