Winter afternoon, phone call, and setting off, down one road and up another.
And finally, in the greyish shadows of a grey building, he would be waiting- skinny, with a toothy grin and bright eyes.
And we would run around and around the sunlight-spotted building, very fast. He was faster, but I was older.
Around the paved driveway, and leaved side-paths, and the dry pond-space at the back with the pebbled circles in it which were the only way you could cross- step out and you're out.
And we'd play.
Enacting future scenes of video-games, and each part of the place would be a different land, or a different level.
Same thing, actually.
And the pesky little brother, who wailed a lot and nasally, and complained he was being left out, was always the villain- or the victim to be rescued, whom we'd conveniently forget to rescue.
And there would be different rules for each part of the outdoors, which we'd follow because the competitor could be watching from the side-door, to joyfully yell- 'Cheater!' And then we'd have to start all over again.
And sometimes Pineapple Punnappa would join us. And he'd pronounce the name deliberately, with a huge grin on his face. Neverfailing joke.
And once, with a grin even wider, and with eyes maybe brighter, he told me that one day he was going to be Rich. And I grinned too.
We ice-skated, round and round a rink, coolly swooshing past all the others who were huffily hobbling along and falling a lot. And raced go-karts.
And played Sonic and Knuckles, laughing at Tails, Sonic's fox- sidekick who flew clumsily by revolving his tail (the clumsiness was me, while he got Sonic to Hyper-Sonic stage, where the hair goes all silver, and you have hyper-speed and can fly without eating those coin things.)
I, on more than one occasion, suspended the little brother by his ankles for being extra annoying, while we both laughed because it was so cartoony, and the little guy wailed some more.
He tried teaching me how to skateboard, but I couldn't, and so he took the skateboard and I got the scooty and we tried going down the ramp on them, but weren't very good, so we just ran.
And when he, and his cousin brothers, and I were showing off our special fight positions in a mirror, I heard aunty say- 'She gets along with the boys so well, ya, they usually don't like girls', and I glowed with pride.
And he never fibbed, and looked faintly puzzled when the adults asked him one of those questions that they wink to. And shrugged, and came back to where the three of us were watching Jungle Book 3.
And, later, we watched 300 together and thought it was cool. The fight scenes, the fight scenes. Some of it was gross, but still.
And at the senti bits, we looked at each other and grinned uneasily.
He couldn't do hindi either, and we made fun of hindi sir together.
And jumped and kicked and yowled and gave chase and wrestled, even when we were in classes eleven and nine, and pretty big.
Once, we walked right round the second floor of the house, on the outside ledge, when everyone was sleeping, even though someone might have seen us. And we might have fallen off.
And though I don't remember what we talked about, there always was enough.


'Bright boy at the carriage window,
Waving to me calling,
But I've loved you all these years and looked for you everywhere,
...Returning always to the forest's silence,
To watch the windows of some passing train... '


But now a deep voice, and few words.
But still a rough statement that he’s not the kind to lie.
But he’s a guy now. Gone away and grown.