text: SUSHILA AUNTY She had no relationship with our family but we called her auntie, Sushila Auntie. Our father was a dear elder brother to her. She once said to me, ‘what your father has done for me, only a true elder brother would do to his sister...he is my dear Bhai Jee.' Sushila Auntie was a victim of India's partition and creation of Islamic Pakistan. She was from a town, known as a ‘city of wrestlers’ and famous for its food. She had built a one-room apartment in Himalayan town and named it ' Sushila Nivas'. It had only one room but was almost the size of a small hall. She also built a well adjutant to her house. It provided drinking water not only to her but to the entire locality. Once while playing, my small ball fell into the well. I was sad for many days for losing my favourite ball. Sushila Auntie was living with her younger sister Vimla who was a mental case and known in the area as a madwoman. People in the locality believed that Vimla lost her mental balance due to tortures she got during the turmoil on the division of the country. Vimla was married and her in-laws were rumored to be settled in another nearby town. There was no news about her husband. Was he a victim of Muslim rioters? Sushila Auntie’s husband deserted her as she didn’t agree to him to leave her mad sister. Her husband said that Vimla was the responsibility of her in-laws. For every need Sushila auntie would call on my father for support. She always used to wear white Indian dress and a muslin long scarf around her chest and head. She was a strong believer of Hindu rituals. She liked absolute cleanliness in and around her house. We used to call her 'Chuchi Mai' as she was a crazy lady for purity and cleanliness. She had different clothing’s and slippers for the toilet. Inside the room and kitchen she would wear wooden slippers. Whenever we visited her she would insist we wash our hands and feet first before entering. For this a bucket of water and a small metal pot were kept at the door. She would then give us a sugar candy. Sometimes with one cardamom or two almonds. On my father's death, she cried and felt like an orphan. She would visit my mother almost every day. Though she was not in a position to help us financially, would inquire about our well-being and encourage us with kind words. She sometimes would give me some coins. As events turned, we were forced to sell out our house. Suddenly we were without a shelter. On hearing this Sushila Auntie was first to reach out to us. She told us to come to her house. My mother was hesitant as she knew her life in one room apartment. As a true Hindu Barahmani, she was a strict follower of daily rituals. But she was angry at my mother, ‘Oh! My brother's children have no shelter and you are asking me about my rituals? I have already taken permission from my Lord and made space for Him in one corner of the room... don’t worry... my Lord will be happy to see you there and help me to support you.’ She shifted us to her house. It was a big relief for us at that difficult time. We were there for around a year till we arranged another house. Such was our Sushila Auntie. Unknown people come into our lives, do great things towards us and go away silently. They leave behind nothing except memories and painful feelings of debt towards them. Some years later Sushila Auntie's sister Vimla’s in-laws came realizing their duty towards her and took back their daughter-in-law. Sushila Auntie's son who was with his father and got a government job in Delhi also came. Sushila Auntie sold her house and went with son. I never met my auntie again. But she had a permanent space in my memories. I tried to find a photo of her but no luck. Once while surfing on my mobile, I suddenly saw a picture on Facebook, paused for few seconds. Looked at it again and once again. It was not Sushila Auntie but resembled to her. People say social media is bad. But, I realized, it's a wonderful tool to keep you connected to your past and help you live with memories. . This story would have ended here. But time was changing. India was set to be a huge economy. People were desperate to grab new opportunities. A mad rush to win. Emotions were getting defeated to profits and accumulations. I went to that locality after many years. It was changed and unrecognizable. New buildings came up. The locality of my childhood was not there but I recognized Sushila Auntie's house. The big main room was intact but the space around it was filled with construction of additional two rooms. The metal gate was changed to a large wooden gate. The stone with SUSHILA BHAWAN was still there on the wall. The owner of the house had built some commercial space there. A small grocery shop also came up. The cycle repair shop on the corner was now known as a motorcycle workshop. TV antennas were there on every roof. I looked for the library complex which was popular among elderly residents of the town. Library was confined to one room and other space was filled with a commercial institute. Time was changing so was the attitude of people. After roaming for two hours and looking for some known faces, I could only find that big Mango tree whose surrounding was our playground. I sat on a broken bench there. It was a hot summer day. I was thirsty. I remembered this mango tree was a few yards away from Sushila Auntie's Well which was the only source of drinking water for the people of the locality. Well was filled up and a building had come up there. I purchased a bottle of water from the grocery shop, gulped water and realised I was standing on Sushila Auntie's Well. The water bottle was in my hand. Looking at it I felt my Sushila Auntie was around smiling. She said, ' Look at your water bottle...your ball is still floating...' Suddenly there was laughter. Mango tree was laughing with Sushila Auntie. I was hesitant for a moment. Looked around and then joined them in laughter.