Nancy Drew, I hated you all my life more than I hated Barbie!
My first memory of you is of when you threw a tantrum, because I spilled milk over your favorite nightgown, that was passed on to me, and mom did not say a word to you, instead dragged me out of there, put me in her room and went back to soothe you down.
Even at age 11 you looked like Barbie, way prettier than me, you looked good in every dress you wore, and all those were passed on to me. They never fit me right, but I had to pay the price of you getting bored of the dresses within few times of wearing them.
You were only 2 years older to me, yet you got your own room and I had to sleep with mom and dad. First I tried to tell myself that it was because they loved me more, but soon when I realized that mom spent most nights with you in your room, I got over my delusion. Your room, the prettiest room I had ever seen! The Princess four poster bed, books and toys everywhere, spacious wardrobe! How unfair was that? All this just because you knew to throw a fit and because you were a child prodigy when it came to painting and poetry?
You always had it your way, you actually convinced them to call you Nancy Drew instead of Sneha!
Little Neha hated you so much.
Once I realized that you were dad-momâs favorite and there was no way I could change that, I stopped complaining to them, and soon derived wicked ways to trouble you. Like hiding your paint brush, adding a stain to your beautiful head scarves, hiding the paper on which you had scribbled your latest poem; âMelting down over the sky, rain dropped into my eyeâŚâ Who even writes like that?? I hated you and loved to see you cry and howl, hoping someday mom and dad will start hating you as well.
However that did not last long. Dad figured out my wicked tactics and one hot summer day I was taken to our Auntâs place, momâs sister, remember the grumpy tiny lady with a mouse hole for a house? First I thought it was for the vacation to teach me a lesson and I decided to change. But when school started and even after 6 months mom refused to take me back, and hardly came to meet me saying, âYour didi, needs me more.â, I hated you even more.
I prayed for you to vanish someday, so I get your room, your toys, new dresses, your fortune, mom and dad.
Finally, Dad came to pick me. 20 years have passed but I remember that day like yesterday. It was your birthday.
I was confused when we drove past our house and reached hospital instead. In few sentences whatever dad tried to tell me, I could barely understand, until I saw you with my own eyes. Didi, with all the tubes, and needles in you, with all your hair gone, you still looked just as pretty.
Reality sunk into me as you held my hand tightly and said, âNeha, take care of my room, itâs yourâs after I am gone. Forgive me.â
In those few seconds, as we kept looking at each other, as the grip of your hand loosened on its own, as let out your last breathe; I fell in love with you for the first time, at this last sight.
âMelting down over the sky, rain dropped into my eyeâ