Do you remember…
How we used to play hide and seek in your grandmother’s living room? When she called us, we would pretend we didn’t hear and escape upstairs.
The way we used to ‘cook’ sand and leaves in coconut shell pots. At least I cooked; you would sit afar and tease me
When we sat under the maara tree and ate achcharu. You know the kind. Ambarella, with lots of chillie and pepper and just a hint of salt.
How I laughed at your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed sheet, and then went home and begged my mum for one of my own.
Our swimming lessons. When uncle Daya asked you to push me into the deep end because I refused to jump in. And you, with an apologetic look at me, did so. I haven’t been able to swim since, let alone go into the deep end.
How the simplest wounds were cured with the milk from the frangipani trees. ‘Tear the leaf like that, rub the juice onto the wound and keep it for 5 minutes’, that’s what you said.
The Christmas party we went to. We all went gleefully on the merry-go-round except for you, because you thought it ‘babyish’.
Eating candyfloss, sticky fingered and bright eyed. And once ours was finished, swiftly eating your brother’s one as well.
How you licked the icing off my birthday cake. I refused to talk to you through out the entire party.
That you were the first to see my new roller skates. And the first to see me fall with them.
How I punched you because you cheated at snake and ladders. And you went crying to your mum.
Running alone the beach. I, screaming when the frothy waves lapped at my toes. You, already up to your waist in the water.
Do you remember?
No, I don’t suppose you do.
Because you’re all grown up now.
I’m still young.