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Date – 14th August 2006
Time – Around 10:30 PM

When I barged into my flat still glued on phone with Shikha, I saw my flat-mates in the other room trying hard to work out a party that night. It wasn’t too late to party if you are in NIFT and the next day being Independence Day. I moved to my room, as if least interested in the party, and asked Shikha to get back to me in sometime because I needed to slip into something more comfortable.

The phone rang and Coldplay’s Yellow (My ringtone then) ended too early to be Shikha’s. It was an unknown number but I wasn’t curious. Moreover I was quite enthusiastic since the number started with +91522…, Lucknow, that’s right! My mind started looking for similar phone numbers. I was just wondering that who could have called up from a landline in Lucknow other than my family members. I couldn’t even scan the complete memory and the phone rang again, the same number. And here goes the conversation:

Caller: Piyush?
I: Yeah, kaun bol raha hain? (That’s my peculiar style and accent!)
Caller: Arunima!
I: Haan…(Still trying to figure out which one she was but she clarified it before I could have asked)
Caller: Arunima, Poornima’s sis!
I recognized her immediately, for Poornima is the key. Poornima was the lady who had tremendous command over my life. She made me what I am, a major contributor to it. She was more than my real sister. It was just like that I wasn’t in touch with her for quite a long time because of professional ups and downs along with some personal turmoils. I hardly had any idea that the biggest one awaited me.
I: Haan didi, boliye, kaisi hain aap?
Caller/Arunima: Tumhe to pata hain naa Poornima ka…?
I: Kya pata hain? Mujhe nahin pata.
Caller/Arunima: She is no more.
I: Kya? Aap mazaak to nahin kar rahi hain naa?
Caller/Arunima: Tumhe kya lagta hain?
I: Kaise? Kab?
Caller/Arunima: 26th June 2006, she committed suicide (biggest shock ever) at her residence(In Noida where she was living alone).

The conversation didn’t end right there but there is no point putting up all of it here. It was strange that the lady who had been my strength and had been an example of courage could ever commit suicide. She was 8 years older to me but I always addressed her with her name without the suffix ‘didi,’ still missing. My biggest critic, biggest well wisher and when I heard this news, I felt as if some unknown hand had smashed me to the ground.

I still remember the very first letter I got from Poornima. It was about one of my very first poems published in Hindustan Times, to be more precise on 24th August 2002. I was 16 then. She was an expert at surprising me every now and then. Despite, I knew her long before the time she actually posted the letter all the way from Kanpur. Just like me, crazy, she went all the way to Kanpur and posted that letter from there. There were a couple of lines which she borrowed from a gazal and mentioned them in the very first letter:
Ban jayenge zehar peete peete
Yeh ashq jo peete ja rahe ho

Kaash yeh ashk sach mein zeher ban gaye hote Poornima. Life had changed since that day. Now I regret not talking to her when she was calling me up on 24th. I was shocked when I hung up Arunima’s call. I switched off my cell phone and stood in the verandah. Everything flashed by in front of my eyes. I made her wait at certain occasions and sometimes she had to drag green (now she must have said “dark green”) kinetic for kilometers and kilometers. She did everything for me, right from arranging psychology notes to every damn thing. I spoke to her about love, relations, poems, expressions and perhaps what all I am doing today is just a tribute to her.

She kept on craving for a treat. Every time she would call up and say “Please courier the cake”. Huh! Cake, gifts, treats, what all and what not. Your treat is still due Pornima. Please come back and I promise I’ll do whatever you say. Your treat is due naa, I' ll take you out to Aaryans, you always wanted to go there. I have so much to tell you now. You always listened to me patiently, let it be about Deepa, Sangeeta, in that case, anyone. Please come back, I want to tell you about Shikha, Aaishwari and Roli, wouldn’t you help me out now? Aren’t you going to make things easier for me to understand now? Please come back.

I hope she can hear my voice. Here I am, no one and all alone. Landed up at my home this vaccation to find the cutting of the news paper where I dedicated ‘Seasons in the Sun-Westlife’ to her on her birthday. I was still there and the sound of the party was getting higher in the next room in my flat. I tried to escape, my room all locked and I still stood there in the verandah. Somewhere around 3:30 in the morning, amidst the hells and the screams of the party, I heard some voice from far away singing –

Chitthi na koi Sandesh
Jaane who kaun sa desh
Jaha tum chale gaye….

Writing Credits: Piyush Singh
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