He was the second youngest in the hostel. When we went for a run early in the morning, when even the birds didn’t chirp, he was smiling when we came back sweaty. He was the always first to tell me on misty winter mornings – “Bhaiya, chai mil rahi hai, Mess khul gaya hai”.
There were times in the night when we all used to switch on the lights, and play a completely made up game of foot-volleyball. He used to wait his turn patiently. There were times when I asked him to go away because I was not in the mood to see a smile early in the morning. There were times when I could have spoken to him, and did not quite find a common topic.
There were times when I wanted to sleep and couldn’t because the guys were making a helluva racket – and I got out and yellled at them.
I miss the “muh bola” younger brother I never quite did have, whose elder brother called me Bhaiya. I miss the smile, and that silly guy who used to sit on the hostel mess’ steps every morning, with that goofy smile. I miss the friend I never had.
Is that smile the only thing that should remain in my memory? Is life really so cruel?
Happy flying my brother. “If” is a very cruel word.
Dedicated to Flight Lieutenant Manu Akhouri – a MAN who realized his dreams. To a friend I never quite knew. A younger brother who became the role model for me – a much older one.
