You couldn’t tell your father that you had your periods – The information was passed to him by a series of uncanny Chinese Whispers, and at the end of the day, you would see him walking into the house with a package eerily wrapped in black plastic.
I don’t care much about labels too, and I wouldn’t name the title of this blog Pen Friends, if I didn’t have anything better – More like “I-Don’t-Know-What-Kind-Of-Friend” – But, that’s too long and unromantic anyway.
She never got close to him, because at that time, boys and girls never spoke to each other like friends without inviting the stigma of being labelled boyfriend-girlfriend.
She is perfectly happy with her husband, and mind you, both of them are really attractive. They had gotten married to each other after a couple of months of whirlwind romance in college. Everything looked perfect from the outside – The customary Christmas cards from the couple, the vacations in Venetian Islands, and the adorable home they live in, where we got invited a lot to in the last year.
I lived in a huge house, in a joint family of sorts, and since in those days, I was the only child living full-time in the house, I was pampered to bits. I roamed around in nothing but a pair of shorts in the summer heat, running up and down the flight of stairs of the majestic house, the house that held years of historical enigma, and gave birth to one of the greatest writers of the time.