






Meenu or Minharest Minz came to us when he was about ten years old, all the way from the great state of West Bengal. His father was a very tall and lanky man and appeared to be from tribal stock of the 24 Parganas area. Semi-literate, he was a farmer, he said, and Meenu was the older of his two children. The basic facts were: they were very poor; the mother had recently passed away; the father had remarried; the father had heard about our Children’s Home and wanted to give Meenu a better future (and presumably keep him at arm’s length from the new wife). And so, Meenu said goodbye to his father, and stayed with us. I was Didi, of course, to all the kids, and that’s what Meenu called me too.
His Bengali was soon replaced with our local UP Hindi, and like his father, he soon began to grow into a real tall boy. He was always a very good boy (never getting into trouble like the other kids!), and since he was somewhat older than most of the kids, they all called him Meenu Bhaiyya. He would take on leadership tasks, and was one of the dependable kids giving a second pair of eyes to my folks! When he got older, he had the privilege of riding my father’s bicycle into town to run small errands. (My father, BTW, took great pride in his ever-shiny Hercules bicycle, in addition to his Lambretta scooter and Fiat Padmini Premier motor car!) After Meenu finished high school, he went on to a Vocational/Technical school and got himself a decent job in town. Some years later, he married a girl from our Home (and no, there was no hanky-panky going on while they were both kids growing up together!), and today, he appears to be happily married and living in Saharanpur, and has two little boys: Aviral and Vishesh.
Meenu is a sweetheart, and over the years, has sent me numerous presents (it has come to a point where my parents don’t like to tell him that they’re coming to see me because he presses upon them some very large-sized item that they then find difficult to pack into their suitcases!), usually some exquisitely hand-carved thing like a candlestick stand or a picture frame or such. He remembers my every birthday, and I can always rest assured that there’ll be a card in the mail for me. He even calls me every now and then– just to say hello!
So, when he learnt that I was coming to India this summer, he obviously wanted me to come to Saharanpur. And I sure did want to go too, but turned out that the time was too short and I was already trying to squeeze in so much. So sweetheart that he is, Meenu offered to come down to Delhi to see me!
Here he is with his older son, Aviral who, BTW, was seeing the big city (and the nation’s capital, at that!) for the very first time. The three-hour train ride was a treat for him, as were the sights and sounds of Dilli, but (and I’m hoping this was the case!) so was meeting Simmi Didi for the first time!
And so here we are: catching up at the McDonald’s in Connaught Place. Didn’t feel like we hadn’t seen each other in ten years (which is how long it had really been since we last met b/c I couldn’t meet him on my last visit prior to this one); we laughed and talked and lived in the moment for those few hours. He brought gifts as always for everyone, and we exchanged these with glee!
Amazing– this thing called love. When it grabs you, it doesn’t let go. And it transcends time and space and generations, even.
Like James Taylor says: how sweet it is to be loved by you!