P was different.

And it did not take too long for us to figure that out. She would strive hard to belong, to be a part of us, to be taken seriously. Not many did though. Nobody gave any importance to what she said or how she felt. Kids can be so mean that way. I would laugh at her sometimes or discuss her when she was not around. How she was all wrong. How she had such a damned life. And it was all true.

She clung on to me. I guess somewhere she did see me trying to understand her, give her some of my precious time. I would do all this without realising. She fought back and became a part of my life. I would still smirk when P said something that was again all wrong and stupid but I started defending her.

Kids can be mean but they can accept and handle irregularities. So it became common knowledge that P was ‘like that only’ and life went on. Everybody, whether young or old, would talk to her with childish tenderness.

It was around that time that V moved in to our colony. She was a brat and we all hated her arrogance. That is till we both found our common love for books. We were avid readers and great storytellers and found our own language.

Once when we were in the midst of swapping school stories, P walked in. When asked, P hesitated and said she was in the 5th standard. I quickly added that though we were both the same age, she was studying two classes below me. P furiously tried talking about something else but the point was made. And a tone for another relationship set. That day I demoted myself to the lowest class. And P lost another battle. She kept on fighting.

It would sound clichéd if I said P was like a breath of fresh air. P would walk into anybody’s home as if she had a right on that space and the people who inhabited it. She would carelessly open any refrigerator in view and eat whatever she felt like eating. She would keep reminding people that it was her birthday in another 2 months. She was called a pile-on and plain simple greedy. Everybody liked her, all the uncles & aunties, but nobody had any patience for her. ‘How sad…’ they would say. ‘Look at Mr. & Mrs. R. Such a brilliant son but the daughter! What a pity…’ They would silently thank their stars for bearing normal kids.

Life went on in our colony. P was never a contender for anything. She just wasn’t good enough. I grew up and my priorities changed. I no more went down in the evenings to play. Days and evenings were spent over coffee and Neil Diamond. I took care to dress up now and I noticed all my admirers. I had my fourth crush. I wonder whether P had also changed the same way.

P and I entered a comfortable zone. We would meet during festivals. Laugh and update each other. Nothing more was shared. P was oblivious to everything. She was in her own little world. How could she possibly understand?

I grew up some more. We moved out of the colony. The last link was cut. I heard P had decided on commerce for her graduation. Also heard she was enjoying her course and doing well for the first time in her life. Then one day P came visiting. Her college was near my new home. She seemed peaceful. She said the right things. She had grown up, all of a sudden. I noticed for the first time that P had beautiful eyes and lustrous jet black hair. Her smile lit up the room.

She spoke to me about her ambitions. How she was very sure of her choices. How she had done well in her exams and how she was enjoying her classes. I spoke about my life. For the first time I spoke to her about my dilemmas. How I wasn’t sure at all. She didn’t seem surprised. She was only reassuring. P left, promising to keep dropping in.

One day, not many days after her visit, baba came home from office and told us that R uncle and aunty had taken P to Vellore. There was something wrong. Air was thick with speculations. We were all confused. A week later we heard P was back. She had been detected with last stage leukemia. Just when I thought she had finally conquered, her battle began all over again.

P went into chemotherapy. She kept on fighting. Another week went by. I finally mustered enough courage to go and meet her in the hospital. We met a distraught uncle and aunty. P was really sick. Nobody had yet come to terms with the situation, it was too soon. Nobody, but P. She had asked for the treatment to be stopped. She did not want to fight anymore, atleast not this way. People were hanging in there with prayers.

P was lying on the bed within a mesh of tubes and grim looking equipment. Her face had bloated up. Her beautiful eyes mere slits. I wondered whether she will lose all that lustrous jet black hair. R aunty asked P with a weak smile whether she remembered me and M, my sister. P gave an exasperated look and said ‘what a question!’ We all laughed.

Aunty told us that they were taking P home on Thursday. It was Tuesday that day. P told me that she wanted to come and spend Saturday with us. I looked forward to Saturday.

Thursday morning ma woke me up. It was still dawn. She was crying. P had passed away. I sat up in the bed staring. Ma asked me not to tell M yet as her board exams were about to begin. Ma told me P had died peacefully. I had not expected anything different.

I did not go to her home that day. I told myself that I wanted to remember P the way she was. Alive. M sensed something was wrong and broke down. I did not cry. I couldn’t. All I remember of the day is that I got dressed. Put on make-up and went to attend my friend’s wedding which had coincided with P’s death.

I had written this sometime back. Never really wanted to post it. Oh well...