A letter to my brother

It was the 30^th of September 1997; I was still in class 4. The excitement of the India-Pakistan match was on, and what a match it was!. The thrill was building up and the land-line phone rings.  My dad answers the call and without uttering a word he drops the call. But I, my brother, and two of my cousins were so lost in the excitement of the match that we didn't realize when the remote was taken from my hand, and when the TV was put off. Dad immediately asked us to get ready to go to my grandma’s house. We instantly sensed that something was wrong. I looked into my parents eyes just to see if I could get answers to the questions piling up in my mind, but both of them refused to maintain any eye contact with me. 

We were to almost reach the gate of my grandma’s house, that we heard the neighbors scream out of joy.. Yeah, we had won; India had won the match against Pak.  It was no small thing and I wanted to celebrate the win along with them. But I couldn't,  for I knew there was something wrong. We went into the house, only to see that my uncle and aunt were all ready to go along with my parents. I could see my grandma who was totally clueless of what was happening, sitting on the sofa and asking if someone could tell her what was going on. The land-line at my aunts’ place was ringing without taking a break; calls were made and received one after other in no time. Amidst all the conversations then went over the phone calls, I could only sense that, indeed there was something wrong. Something seriously wrong at Surathkal and it was something about Chandu Anna. My mom then called my brother and me aside and said, “take care of your grandma and the two cousins. We may be a little late.”

We along with my grandma were just the four of us left at my grandma’s place. I had to take care of my grandma and the two cousins. It was difficult for me since throughout the night, my cousin only kept asking what had happened to Chandu Anna. I wiped his tears and tried consoling him telling that nothing has happened and nothing will happen to him. I gave him a tight hug only to hide my tears from him.

Chandu Anna, was my mischievous cousin who was more attached to me and to my family than to his own family members. Every weekend he used to come home and when the vacations were on, hours after his last exam, he would be with us back at Mangalore. 30^th September was no different. It was the last day of our exams and his exams too. After writing his exam he came outside his school to catch a bus to Mangalore. But his wait went for long and when he made inquiries he realized that due to some strike, there were no buses plying from Surathkal to Mangalore. He walked back home in despair.

But he had some good news for him at home and chicken Kebab was the good news. Yes, just like me, he was a complete non-veg freak and having chicken at home was no lesser than good news for him.  But before he could reach home, his neighbor and his best friend called out for him and said “anyway you aren't going to Mangalore, come, let’s quickly go to beach and come”.  My cousin promptly agreed and even before his mom screamed out “don’t go son, I have prepared chicken kebab for you”, he unheard the call and went, for, the gods call was far greater than hers. He went with the call and never came back.

I was completely upset and shattered because it was more than impossible for me to believe that he was gone.  No more he would come home on weekends. No more, would he pinch me or beat me. No more would he irritate me. No more would he make me laugh. It was all over.! It was hard for me to digest the fact that he was no more. I couldn't think of not remaining in touch with him, so I decided to continue to stay in touch with him. Yes, I decided to write letters to him. I had a diary and I tore out a page from the diary and wrote letters to him every week. I used to tell him everything that had happened in the week, the good and the bad and if there was nothing to say at all, I would just ask if he was alright.  I wrote special letters to him wishing on his birthdays and also on the day he left me. Sometimes, even sorry letters if I did anything wrong or just for the fact that I couldn't write to him the previous week. All these letters were put away in a green color plastic container which was safe in the drawer and this went for weeks together, for months and eventually for over years.

Years went by, and my letter box was almost full when one late afternoon, my mom walked towards me and hugged me tightly. I had absolutely no clue for why she was doing it. I looked at her wondering what made her hug me and then she showed me the green box and also the diary! I didn't know what to say and I broke down. She hugged me yet again and said, “The letters won’t reach him”. I then realized that it was the time for me to grow up. I understood that my efforts to actually create memories was a mere fantasy. I had to grow up and live with the memories rather than trying to create more. I had to discard it all. Gone with the wind were the letters I had written to my brother...