Once when I was growing up...

Neeti was a dear child. Soft spoken, kind and sincere. Also, a little timid. Not that she got bullied easily but she avoided the bossy types. She was never comfortable around new people, in new places and situations. Her parents prepared her time and again on how to face them but they never pressed it. "She's just a seven year old kid. Time will groom her gradually. Besides, some learnings happen on their own." They used to say this to any unasked comments that came from neighbours and relatives. "Neeti seems to be a little under confident. She looks intimidated by strangers." "Oh dear, my kids are never this shy. They mingle with anyone instantly." "Your daughter tops her class as I hear. But she needs to be street smart too." They knew all of this was true. A little boldness could help Neeti a long way. But they let her take her time. It was the last school day of the week. Mummy had told Mansukh, the cycle rickshawala who took her daughter...

Neeti loved her Science, English and History periods in class seven at school. Science and English were her inclination. But History because she loved the way her History teacher made the rather dull subject full of life. But there was one subject that terrified her every Thursday. It was bound to come in the last two periods that day every week. Needle work. "Why keep it for the last so that I have to worry about it the whole day ? Why don't they begin the day with it and simply get done with it! My class teacher Miss Mandakini is such a kind person. Why can't she be our needle work teacher?" She would mumble this every Wednesday night to Mummy as she would help Neeti pack her school bag for the next day. Neeti went to a girls' Convent school. It was compulsory for students to try their hands on needles and threads from class three to class seven. "Ha Mummy. What a relief that I only have to do this for one more year. No worries at all when I go to class eig...

Neeti had been a very bright student right since kindergarten. She had been all her teachers' favourite. Mumma and Pa took pride in that. But they never boasted about it. In fact they were glad that Neeti had always been a very humble and well mannered child with never a complaint from anyone. They always encouraged her and never missed an opportunity to appreciate her achievements even though it was full marks score in just a weekly spelling test. But they never burdened her with their expectations. And in reality, this was the part they were really proud of. Her inborn sincerity. It was Neeti's mid term exam in class five. Off late, she was finding maths a little more challenging than the other subjects. But she never gave up. It was the day of her maths paper. The last one of the exam. She was waiting outside the exam hall with her classmates, all revising their tables and formulas. Many of these girls had the habit of cross checking others' preparations rather than thei...

Neeti had started cycling to school. She went to an all girls' convent, not very far from her house. Most of the girls in her school did that once they reached class eight. She had a 'cycling group' of her batchmates. Girls staying nearby would gather at a common point and ride to school from there. Neeti was in a group of four girls. One morning, Geetika, one of the group mates informed the others that Devyani would not be coming to school that day. She had a severe stomach ache. Neeti was a reticent but polite girl. She knew that Geetika and Devyani were close friends. But did not ask about any details. Off late, quite a few girls in her class had these 'stomchaches'. During school hours, many of them had asked the teachers to let them lie down on the last bench for a while. And strangely, none of the teachers ever questioned them.  'It's probably the latest trick to get rid of boring lectures and class tests' she thought.  "Let us head to school ...

  Neeti dumped her school bag on the sofa. She raced straight to the terrace and asked her little sister, Drishti, to join her. "Hurry up Drishti. Pa's kite has won over five kites already. We need to join everyone when they cheer for him. The sound is not loud enough." "O Paaaar!" A cacophony of children's voices from Neeti's apartment and two of the neighbouring ones echoed in the sunny afternoon of one fourteenth of January this year too.  It was Makar Sankranti. Kite flying on this day was very popular where Neeti and her family lived. More so, Pa was extremely fond of it. He used to prepare for the festival days in advance. A bunch of decent kites were purchased every year in the second week of the first month. Neeti and Drishti picked the colours and designs. Pa checked the make of kites by slightly bending one and rubbing it over his head. That would show the strength of sticks used to make it. Then there was another thing to be made ready.  Manja...

    Pa’s scooter was one of Neeti’s favorite things in life. She was always able to tell when he entered their lane because of the typical sound it made. The countless scooter rides that Pa took her sister, Drishti, and her to buy their birthday cakes, to buy fire crackers from a wholesale market, to see the city’s government area lit up on Independence Day or plain joy rides on Sunday evenings, only added more and more cherishable memories to her childhood. It was during one of the ten day long Ganesh Chaturthi festival celebrations. Pa was going to take them to look at all the pandal decorations nearby. Neeti seldom bothered to peek into the scooter ‘dikki’. Pa had just opened it for a dust rag to wipe the seat. An interesting object lying inside caught her attention. It was a small, empty medicine bottle with a long string attached to its neck. She had no clue about its purpose. “Pa, what’s this funny thing?”, she asked curiously, while picking the bottle from the string an...