THE MISSING PIECE

My earliest memory of my older sister Priya wasn’t one where she was present, but rather, the realisation of her absence.

- POORNA BELL

I was four or five, standing in my bedroom in our little terraced house in Maidstone, Kent, feeling that a fundamental part of me should be there but was missing.

My sister had been sent to India to live with our grandparents, ahead of my parents and I making the final move over there and leaving England behind forever. While the idea seemed to make sense to the grown-ups at the time, we didn’t join her for another four years.

DIFFERENT PATHS

It was a choice that created aftershocks in our family, even decades later. When I was seven, and knew I was about to be reunited with her, it filled my every thought. I pictured our first meeting, and decided her love would be contingent on whether she liked the carefully chosen package of sweets and stickers I’d put together for her. I don’t remember much of that moment, except for hugging her tightly and thinking, ‘Oh, here you are, the missing piece.’