One of my favourite ones. A relook, a revisit
We lived in a small one bedroom-hall-kitchen government flat in south Delhi. They were our neighbours who belonged to West Bengal. Bengalis, as Indians would call them. We Indians have a way of tagging people. Instead of simply calling them as Indians we give them tags. So they were Bengalis, while we were Punjabis. The lady’s mother, a 5 feet tall lady in her early 70s, was called Dida (grandma) by her two daughters. I too called her that.
Such a pretty word : dee-da. Like a song. Deeda.
I used to come back from school at 2pm sharp and my brother, whose classes ended a little later, would reach around 2:30 pm. My mother and father both worked, so Dida used to help out us kids with after-school meals. Everyday, she would come to our place in her signature blue-bordered white sari, keys tied at one end of her…
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