Chubby as she is, she is also sharp. She can tackle all the Sarojini vendors together and come out victorious. In shady street lights, she beats up boys and calls them girl-y names. When uncles ask, ‘what is going on?’ she blames it on them. ‘Domestic Abuse ho raha tha, uncle.’ She sweet-talks me into eating Dominoes when we are both low on cash. And then, we are so high on Tang, that we celebrate the future withdrawals from our ATMs. She can cut your sentences with humour as well as the meanders of Delhi streets. She walks and talks but she cannot cross roads. She dances and sings some more on ashleel songs and reminds me every time that sing, I cannot. At three-am, you can find us under clouded skies on mossy lawns – flaunting and mocking my creative efforts. She reminds me that I want everything always and she flouts me in front of her friends as if I am a piece of an idiot.
To her now I say,’I know I am not Ambani’s daughter but I wish you are there when the world’s a piece of and I have everything of it’. 😉