Kheer

Baban often heard his parents tell others, “He can’t make friends easily.”
He knew it was true. In school, he saw the other boys mingle as soon as they entered the classroom; high fives, small talk, movies and shows they watched the night before. He preferred his corner.
He was different and it wasn’t something he could change about himself. So, he chose a different set of friends, his crayons and his box of puzzles.
With these around, he felt a joy quite unmatched. Until he made his first friend.
Nine-year-old Bilal came to live next door with his mother. Fairer and taller than Baban, his big, bright eyes invited him into his world in no time. Together, they solved puzzles and filled colouring books. Baban even started spending time at the boy’s house, something his Ma had never imagined possible.
One day, he returned home and asked his Ma to make some kheer.
“Bilal’s Ammi made some. I did not ask for a second helping. Now, you make,” he said.
Happy that a rare request had come her way, Baban’s Ma went next door and asked the boy’s mother how she made the kheer. The two women soon became friends; she found out that the family had left their ancestral house and neighbourhood to move closer to a good school for their child. And that the boy’s father worked in a five-star hotel in Dubai.
A few months in, Baban felt safe enough to go to the playground with his friend. They sat on the swings or on the see-saw, smiling at each other. There were never too many words shared between them, just a beautiful sense of companionship.
On Independence Day, both the kids wore white kurtas and headed to the society’s celebration. They sat far away from the other kids because they didn’t like the chaos or noisiness of a crowd. During the national anthem, they stood up and held hands.
“You have to stand straight, not hold hands or anything,” one enthusiastic uncle told them. They ran away from him and headed to the see-saw.
In the winter, Bilal’s father left his job and returned home. On some days, he cooked up delicacies for both his son and Baban, who relished them.
On New Year’s Eve, Baban heard loud noises next door. He quietly inched his main door open to see the uncle who had asked them not to hold hands during the national anthem leave Bilal’s house in a huff.
Within a week, Bilal’s family left the society.
Next year, on Independence Day, Baban’s Ma asked him to go downstairs for the flag hoisting. He refused. Quieter since his friend had left, he just sat and watched TV.
A little later, he raised his face to take in the sweet smell of kheer as his Ma placed a bowl in front of him.
“Just the way Bilal’s Ammi made it,” she said.
Baban smiled.