The picture was taken with one of those cheap aim-and-shoot cameras. It had you, your twin and my brother posing in a dimly-lit hostel mess in gaudy bermudas and faded T-shirts. It was a picture I would have forgotten, had I not come across it time and again, flipping through my brother's album. Many more pictures have followed. Smarter ones. Sharper ones. But it's that faded one which has haunted me all these painful days. For in that picture was framed the fun life spelt for you three when you were together.Today, you're a big man with many epithets. "Kargil's Sher Shah," "Tiger of Hills", "a hero of the likes of Hari Singh Nalwa." They've recommended your name for the Param Vir Chakra. You even have a whole mountain and a government college named after you. Shaheed Captain Vikram Batra.That's what everybody's been calling you. The newsreader, those charged-up boys marching behind your coffin in Palampur shouting Shaheed Captain Vikram Batra amar rahein, those thousands who had come to see you off,tearfully. But for us, you will remain Luv. Luv, who had this crazy, uncontrollable laugh. I would have a mad time trying to get you and my brother to listen once this fit of laughter hit you guys. Which was often.You'd clap your hands, throw your head forward, shake it till I'd feel dizzy. and laugh, unrestrained. Indeed, there were no half ways for you. What a team you made, you and my brother. He would play the big guy, and you would listen. He went to the NDA, you stayed on to finish college. He went to IMA. A term later, you followed. The next time you came home was as an officer of the Indian army. How proud we all were. How happy you were.The first posting: Jammu and Kashmir. "Take good care, Luv," we said. You promised you would. You'd call every now and then. Every birthday, I knew I'd hear from you. You never missed mine. I never remembered yours.Then the wedding came. I knew you'd be home, to us, no matter what. And you were. Between you and my brother, half of Dad's worries were takencare of. There was a time I was all for a wedding sans ceremony. Now I'm glad that didn't happen. For then you wouldn't have stayed around so long.I remember how we girls troubled you. Mehndi on our hands and feet, the freezing January winds, the uncomfortable quilts. You stayed up till three, propping our pillows, adjusting the blower, telling us to catch some sleep. My brother kept warning you that the more you did for us, the more we'd demand. But you just laughed.Four months later, Kargil happened. And you, a young collegian we once knew, suddenly became a hero. a hero who would be brought home in a wood case. It was a sad trip to Palampur, with a newspaper carrying news of you on my lap. I met your mother, sisters and all those relatives. And then I knew why you were the way you were. Because you came from a family that is blessed with a great power to love and give, even in tragedy.Together, we waited for you. Well into the night, we could hear cries of "Captain Vikram Batra ki jai." News ofyour death had destroyed my faith in Operation Vijay and the Army. And you, in death, were restoring it. They brought you home the next morning. Through tears and through hundreds who thronged that little room, I pushed my way to you. You used to come home to us so readily. Today, you were there, seven feet away, and inaccessible. I finally reached you. The hero. Our Luv. What had war done to you? For a moment I didn't recognise you.The next day we headed back to Chandigarh. My parents, brother, your twin (Kush) and your uncle. You were with us, lovingly held in Kush's lap. They were going to Haridwar. This would be the last trip with you. But we could smile. We even talked to you. Then the car broke down and we were stuck for hours. Sitting under the stars, as the mechanic fixed the machine, Kush hugged you closer and suddenly smiled: "Luv isn't about to say goodbye so soon." We looked at you, smiled. and then laughed. We knew you were laughing too, clapping your hands.
