A sacred bond of togetherness, compassion and love.
Completed with the symbols of their love.
Likin kaha jata hain na bura waqt rehta hain... Na achha waqt
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Shivaay and Anika had 2 kids, were married 8 years... and divorced for 7.
What caused...
Yes, I choose to write Dear Reader because Dear Diary is, no offence, a little stupid. And the fact you're reading this is violation of everything diary writing goes for but I've come to believe diaries are meant to be read. So here it goes.
Since I dozed off in Diary Writing lecture and had this epiphany to begin writing at age 14, I don't know the Do's and Don'ts of diary writing so please bear with me.
Let me start by introducing myself
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I'm the oldest daughter of my family. I like coffee, aloo poori, dancing and maths without letters in it. I play cricket, skating and have a respectable height of 5'4" (though I hope to gain just a couple inches more before my height ceases to increase). I live in constant identity crisis, thanks to my mom saying I'm "exactly like my dad" while dad says I'm "just like my mom". 8 times out of 10, I'm a good girl, but the rest 2 times... Let's just say Bhavya chachi had to almost bail me out.
Now, let me introduce my family. (Pay attention, this one's complicated.)
There's my Par-Dadi, Late Mrs Kalyani Singh Oberoi. She passed away when I was 5. I don't remember much but I do remember sitting on her lad as she told me stories of Ramayan, Mahabharat and Panchatantra while feeding me cut fruits.
Little Me thought that's what all Grandmothers are like. But I was quickly proven wrong.
My grandmother, Mrs Pinky Singh Oberoi isn't particularly fond of me, assuming because of my gender. It became evident when she would take my little brother in her lap and feed him apples cut microscopically small while I... Was handed the whole fruit. NGL I do look badass biting the apple whole while my spoilt siblings complain about the skin getting stuck in the teeth. So... Thanks Dadi.
The fact that makes Dadi not so fond of me is probably the very fact that makes my Bade Dadaji, The Mr Tej Singh Oberoi fond of me. The "The" is important in addressing him because... Well the world does so, so it must be important. He looks very intimidating but is lowkey nice, at least to us kids. He tried to teach me Abacus and Piano in my childhood. Excelled in the first one, horribly failed at the second. Psst! He seems to have some unsaid beef with my father while my Om Chachu has some beef with him. Sigh! Adults.
My favourite people from the Grandparents generation are my Badi Dadi, Mrs Jhanvi Singh Oberoi and my Dadu, Mr Shakti Singh Oberoi. But one thing I fail to understand is why do the best people suffer the most.
My Dadu, like my Par-Dadi, tells me stories of Ramayan and Mahabharat. The days he is on dialysis, I sit next to him listening to the stories over and over. It amazes me how he doesn't lose faith despite being in so much pain when most people I know curse God at the most minor inconveniences. Dadu is very sweet... so the fact that he has diabetes is ironic or befitting is difficult to say.
My Badi Dadi is... enigmatic. She's always warm and loving and giving but kinda distant at the same time. Almost like the sun. And again I don't know whether to call it irony or befitting, but her complexion is yellowish like the sun as a result of liver failure. On good days, she'd walk in garden with us. On bad days... Let's not talk about it right now.
