AMLA
We were celebrating our birthdays. Both our girls were running around; Jaya chased Seva, and then they started again when she caught her.
I smiled at how apt their names were for their personalities. Seva was just like Nani, with her giving heart and hugs that could melt the world, and Asya’s daughter, Jaya, was just like our mummy, winning us over with her sweet songs.
It was Asya’s idea to change their names when we finally found each other, to make it less confusing. We laughed at the stars when we told each other. What were the odds that we would both have daughters and decide to name them Amla and Asya? Back then, they were only babies, so it was easy.
Jai came back with the chocolate cake. “Didi, this is all I could find, and it was so costly!” Asya was always telling him not to worry about the expense, but he made sure to find the best one from the bakery that was not overpriced. “That hotel was charging double, and they did not even bake it fresh!” he told us with outrage.
My phone buzzed. I looked down to see Vishnu’s name: I tried to Skype, he texted. Are you girls on? I want to sing too!
I smiled and pictured him waiting by the phone in his pajamas. Five more minutes. We just got the cake, I texted back.
We had decided it was best this way—a few months in India and a few months in New York at a time. That way Vishnu could work in New York, and I could finish school part-time and continue my work as head photographer with Ladki Rights, too. After giving birth, photography was what kept me going. It was how I found my sister.
“Cake time!”
Seva was screaming now, and I reached for my phone. “Okay, yes, one more minute until cake time! Let’s call Puppa as we wait for Neela auntie to come up.”
The sun was bright. We had to find a spot where he could see us on video. The view of Juhu Beach was marvelous from Asya’s flat. Asya came over to me and said, “Remember when we looked up at this as girls?”
It’s funny the way even sisters see things differently. At that time, I was so fixated on Guhan uncle that I hadn’t even looked up at the buildings.
After Neela arrived, we all sang. Our chosen family. Jai was smiling, Neela clapping. Vishnu sang loudly from the screen.
I smiled at the photograph I held to give Asya. It was of our daughters, holding hands in their sleep, the way Asya and I did as girls. Asya had a poem she wanted to share with me.
Waves crashed
And train platforms took us
To distant places
Until
We followed
What our souls knew to do
Leading us right back
To where we always belonged
We both were wearing Nani’s bangles as we exchanged our gifts. We had had them engraved on the inside with three words: For My Sister.