J.

Those were the days my friend. But I had a feeling they’d end.

Featuring:

J;

Daddy Strongest;

Mother Dearest;

Sister Sweetest;

Uncle B;

Aunty B; and

Sundry Neighbours.

We moved to Daddy Strongest’s own little house in a quaint little town in Assam sometime in the year 1980.

Daddy Strongest had quit his ‘government’ job to commence his legal practice and Mother Dearest had given up her teaching job to look after Sister Sweetest and I- obviously a job in itself!

Our little house was tucked away in a quiet unpaved lane with very few other houses. Our next-door neighbor was Uncle B, Aunty B, their daughter J and J’s irksome older brother (fortunately the annoying younger brother had not yet arrived). Another neighbour, a well known thief, lived in a hut a short distance behind our little house. The brooding family that lived opposite us did not encourage much conversation. The scattered rest, I did not know very well.

I was about 7 years old and ofcourse I knew nothing of the world around me. I was happy as can be. I was fed, bathed and clothed. I was enrolled in a ‘convent’ school, made friends and every day was an adventure. But this story is not so much about me as it is about J.

J is a year younger. J was my only possible playmate at home. However, things do not always go to plan, do they?

Daddy Strongest and Uncle B detested each other. I still do not know why!

J and I went to the same school. But for some reason, we never walked to the bus stop together. We would probably spend 10 minutes together at the bus stop before the rickety school bus arrived. We would smoke Phantom cigarettes and try to unseal the milk bottles set out for delivery- that was pretty much our daily routine. We went our separate ways at school, hoping we would play long and hard once we got back home. At that time there was no television; the radio and gramophone were boring. Thus, our only entertainment was creating our own little chaotic worlds outside of our homes. Visiting each other’s homes was not particularly encouraged.

Some evenings were ‘good’; some not so- it all depended on Daddy Strongest’s and Uncle B’s moods on that particular day. On ‘good’ days, we would play games- hopscotch, chor-police (tag), run races, make and spin tops made out of litchi kernels and the like. On ‘bad’ days, we would each do our own thing- I know what I did, but J never ever told me what she did and I rarely saw her step out of her home.

Sometime, during those days, Daddy Strongest decided our little house was too little and so construction took over our lives. Uncle B followed suit not very long thereafter. Daddy Strongest, ofcourse, never stopped adding to his once upon a time little house- he wanted his home to be taller and bigger than everybody else’s, particularly Uncle B’s. The addition of built up space to our respective homes was actually a boon for J and I. We could now visit each other’s homes, as there were more places to hide and escape censure from our fathers. But also, just like that, Daddy Strongest decided and a solid brick wall came up between J’s home and ours- the wall got higher in direct proportion to the current height of our home.

We were a tad older now. With an increase in hiding places and neighbours, J and I could take more chances; we got bolder. Daddy Strongest and Uncle B were also frequently distracted by increasing work and changing neighbourhood dynamics. We would hide and play in the still under construction bits of our homes. For times when we were not together, we devised a pulley system over the wall to exchange things- that was also a game. J did not have much access to books- I would ‘pulley’ some over to her and she would, in return, send me something she had made. Uncle B was conservative about girl children that way; Daddy Strongest was not- so I had much more access to knowledge and the outside world.

We would talk over the wall quite late into the evening.

On ‘good’ days, Daddy Strongest or Mother Dearest would give us money to spend in a nearby shop; Uncle B would award me a stiff half smile; Aunty B would make us her delicious potato and cabbage cutlets. On ‘bad’ days, all we could do was wistfully look at each other from behind our respective windows, wishing we were out there trying out the new skipping rope. Sometimes, ‘bad’ days did something to J- perhaps in an act of defiance, she would dress up in her best frock, smear lipstick on her face and do a loud song and dance routine right there in the front yard for all the world (and Sister Dearest, whom she adored) to see; Sister Dearest and I would applaud from behind our windows.

The wall between our homes did serve one useful purpose though- I would practice hitting tennis balls and J would faithfully collect and return the occasional ball that flew over to their side.

And through it all we were still children, living in our childlike worlds.

Then, one awful night, tragedy struck the brooding family that lived opposite us. We listened in terror at the screaming and shouting as flames engulfed their entire house. We children were never told what happened; all we knew was that at the end of it all, the father and the toddler son perished in the fire. We peeped out in dread from behind curtains as the remains of the dead were taken away. After that day, nothing was the same. It was as if a dark cloud posted itself permanently over the neighbourhood. We were always inside our homes by dusk. Before dusk, our play was desultory at best. We hated being in the neighbourhood- I ventured out, J never left her home.

We grew still older. Both J and I went off to boarding schools. We never played together again.

I don’t know where J is now. I think I will go find her.