Right now, preparations for Diwali are going on in India, and I am missing home badly. The cleaning for Diwali was such a headache! When I think of home during Diwali, it’s not just one thing that comes to mind; everything does—the blankets and mattresses pulled out for the winter, the fans covered in dust, and the old, dirty containers in the kitchen.
I remember how my brother and I used to play by making a cinema hall out of the quilts on the roof. When Mom and Dad would recite the Diwali prayers, we would dance like crazy, and Mom would give us angry looks, while singing the prayer.
With these thoughts, a question arises in my mind: “Apart from my family, how many people will truly stay in my life?” And staying doesn’t just mean being there for weddings or festivals like Holi and Diwali; it means genuinely being a part of my life. During my childhood, many people were in my life—my uncle’s and aunt’s kids, the neighbors’ children, relatives, and so many others. When we are young, we think they will always be around. Who is going anywhere? But then we slowly grow up. We get busy with our lives, move to other cities, and then the question arises: How many of these people really stay?
With this question, an image comes to mind—a little girl, all dressed up in her own quirky style (which she believes is fabulous), pushing open a heavy iron gate with all her power. This 10-year-old girl is my cousin sister, my Mosi’s daughter. Actually, my mom, brother, and I had just moved to Jaipur for a short time for our studies, staying in a rented house. We had barely been there a week or two, and she had already traveled from another city just to meet us because she missed me. She is the only person I have truly known as a sister.
She is ten years younger than me. For almost 18 years, I have watched her grow up right in front of me. I remember the days when she first learned to make greeting cards. Whether it was Friendship Day, Independence Day, Sister’s Day, Brother’s Day, Father’s Day, or any day you could think of, one of her handmade cards would always find its way to me. There were times when we were really far apart, going weeks without talking because we were busy in our own lives, but she’d somehow always make her presence felt. When I was doing my PhD in Roorkee, she came to visit. During my convocation, even when the guest list was small, she was right there. There were moments when I felt we were growing apart as we got older, yet she always reminded me she was there, no matter what. When it was time for my wedding, I was just managing to finish the preparations somehow, but she was excited about it on an entirely different level. I still remember that amidst all the chaos of my unorganized wedding, the most beautiful and perfectly arranged thing was—the ring tray she had decorated herself. As time passes, I realize that no matter what, she will always find a way to stay connected. Same goes for one of my childhood friends; even after about two decades of knowing each other, she always finds a way to stay connected.
It doesn’t matter how far apart you are or how much you change over time; what truly matters is the desire to be a part of each other’s lives. All you need is the simple desire to stay.
Now that I am approaching 35 and living away from home, I realize that it’s important for us to understand who will always be there for us and who won’t. My conclusion is that many different kinds of people come into our lives. Some impress us with their looks, some are incredibly smart, and others make us laugh a lot. But what she has taught me is why some people stay forever while others don’t. You don’t need any special skills to remain in someone’s life; all you need is a simple desire—to stay. It doesn’t matter how far apart you are or how much you change over time; what truly matters is the desire to be a part of each other’s lives. All you need is the simple desire to stay.
