My Valentine

Neha. When I think of this name I feel life is very beautiful. Or life would have been very beautiful if she were mine. Almost 20 years have been past, but her memories are still vivid in my mind. And in my heart. For me there has been only one Valentine’s Day worthy of name. Fourth-standard. A Nine-year-old girl named Neha. No Valentine’s Day since has even came close to measuring up.
Her image has never left my mind and sometime around last Valentine’s Day the idea got stuck in my head: I needed to find Neha. 1987. Shimla. For two years I have been in love with Neha, an angelic creature who lives across the street. Our walk home from the bus stop each day was the highlight of my young life.
The situation was complicated. First, Neha’s older brother, Sameer, happened to be my best friend. Second, I was grotesquely bashful in Neha’s presence. In the company of friends I was a sparkling wit. With Neha I communicated chiefly in grunts. Although she was always sweet to me, Neha’s heart didn’t appear to pound to the same desperate rhythm as my own.
The whole thing came to a head on Valentine’s Day. In class, kids passed out store-bought cards, and I got a generic "Be Mine!" from Neha and the other 25 students.
On the walk home from the bus stop that day, however, Neha said, "I have something for you." I went numb. She pulled an oversized red envelope from her school bag, pressed it into my hand and took off running.
I rushed to my bedroom, carefully opened the envelope and found the most beautiful handmade card of red construction paper, with a big white doily, shiny stars and all sorts of hearts. Inside, Neha had spelled out "I love you" in white glue and covered the perfect cursive letters with glitter. After reading it 30 or 40 times, I hid the card under my pillow.
Neha and I might be married now for all I knew - if not for one extenuating factor: my older brother, Sourav, Pawing through my dresser that evening, he stumbled upon the envelope.
Then Sourav was an eight-year student, given to the sort of cruelty that earns big brothers bad reputations. He showed Neha’s card to Sameer and some other kids in the neighbourhood. The commotion that ensued mortified Neha and me, and pretty much crushed any major development in this early love.
Then my father announced that we would be moving to Mumbai. I suggested that I stay behind and live in an orphanage. But in the end there was little I could do.
At school Miss Lorean organized a good-bye party. All I could do was stare at Neha - who, for the first time since Valentine’s Day, stared back at me with great liquid eyes.
On the bus Neha sat next to me and clasped my hand the entire way home. At my door I searched for words to describe the terrific bursting in my chest.
"Well," I finally managed, "bye." Neha kissed me on the cheek and darted across the street. Just like that, she was gone. It had crossed my mind more than once that a search for a childhood sweetheart does not indicate an entirely level mind. But where there had been romance, I had faith that some feeling remained. I was determined to travel to wherever the winds of fate had taken her, and then … who knows?
Phone calls to the old school and past acquaintances turned up nothing. Then a lawyer suggested a company that locates hard-to-find individuals. Within an hour of my call, the company had located Neha.
Until then, my pursuit had been half based on whimsical fantasy, but the address was a frighteningly real piece of information. Do I really want to do this? Is it worth risking one of my most sacrosanct memories for disappointment? But it would be stupid to finally get this close to Neha and then stand on the precipice, forever wondering.
"Dear Neha," my letter began, "I hope you haven’t forgotten me." An entire afternoon was spent on that letter. I mailed it for overnight delivery.
The phone ran the next evening. "Of course I remember!" the voice began.
"Neha?"
"You had a dog named Tommy."
"Yeah."
"You wore a Tommy Hilfiger jacket to school every day, even when it was too warm for a jacket."
"Yeah."
"You slugged a kid at the bus top once for making fun of me when I had the chickenpox."
"Neha."
"Hey, stranger!"
We talked for an hour and laughed about what jerks our brothers were to us. Somewhere in the conversation she got around to her job and her husband and her two sons. I reviewed the high points of my life, and she seemed genuinely interested. She agreed to meet me at a restaurant the following week.
"You are Mr. Pravin?" asked the waiter at the restaurant. I nodded. "A message from Neha. With regret she would be one hour late." Neha’s tardiness came as something of a reprieve. My stomach had been in knots all day, and it might be good to have a few moments to collect myself.
Outside, I walked around the block inventing a hundred explanations for Neha’s delay: She had to work late. Could not find a sitter. A row with her husband, an insane rage-a-holic who has vowed to crush my spleen.
At once I was overtaken with a great epiphany: I didn’t need to go through with this to satisfy my curiosity about what might had been, I had known what I needed to know about Neha all along.
Nobody wants to find that two decades have muddied whatever connection there once might have been, not made it more heroic. That may be what life is all about, but it’s not what childhood love affairs are about.
Not far from the restaurant, I found a stationery store and bought paper, envelopes, white glue and glitter. Sitting on a stoop, I wrote:
Neha,
I'm sure we would have had a wonderful time tonight, but all I really wanted to do was say thanks for that Valentine card you gave me a long time ago. It may feel like a small gesture to you, but those are the gifts that sum up everything that is good in the world. I will never forget it.
Yours,
Pravin.
I spelled Neha’s name out in glue across the big red envelope, sprinkle gold glitter over it and waited for it to dry.
Back at the restaurant, I sealed the envelope with the most innocent kiss I could manage, placed the card on our table and walked quietly out the door.

Be there once again

Memories taught me the lessons I learned
To take in with every passing turnWith every life’s road traveled.
My eyes close as I see time flow
From time as a child,care free and wild.
My wild hair growing and scares showing
The late night games played as a child.
How I miss the care free imagination innocent and mild.
A smile grows as the past shows
Of the desires and dreams of a young boy grow.
Aging seemed to take forever
Even through the green clovers in
The field by the culver where games where played
With my parents I would persuade
Just to stay to play just a little bit longer.
The years did show as I began to grow
And these where the best times I know.
A teeny bobber and compulsive shopper
These times where the topper of them all.
With my team we won races
And drama plays with excited faces
How I wish I could be back in those places!
Late on sight my parents I would fight
So I can stay up later with every passing night.
Girls and cars gave me scares
With that I learned but for it I still urn.
Now each year goes faster with
Every day that passes here
Just wishing that the good times would stay
So I would not have to say good-bye to another passing day.
Now new memorize are to be madeWith every year that will fade.
Every now and then I see the places I have been
In hope to steal a glimpse of the time that hand been
And just maybe, one last time, be there once again.

Live a Lively Life

I look in the mirror and who do I see?

A mysterious boy, staring right back at me.

Once I was quiet, so timid, and shy

With just one cruel word, I'd tremble and cry.

I used to worry 'bout what people would say,

I forgot to live life, and treasure each day."

Nobody loves me. God, nobody cares!."

I walked through my life, unwilling to share.

Then something happened, an odd sort of thing

I started to change the way I did think.

I looked to myself, and what did I need,

And understood, I just needed to be me.

Now my life is happier, and in a way better place,

You can see it is written all over my face.

I don't need money, and I don't need fame.

I don't need possesions, nor lots of acclaim

For, all I have found is found within

It's a belief in myself, and a stiff upper chin

Pain and sorrow, no more are my chains

I refuse to go back to that life again.

Believe in yourself, be honest with all.

Try to care for others, and let down your walls.

You give what you get, you get what you give.

And to live a good life, remember to live.

Hello World