There was a soft knock on the door, almost inaudible. However, it warranted answering. When I opened the door, I looked down to see two small hands clutching a small box of Mithai sweets, with a bright, elaborately made Rakhi placed on top of the box. There was a tentative smile and an uncertain look on the face of the little boy holding this treasure with a questioning tenderness, and a hope that he put into words, saying,
“Didi, will you tie this Rakhi on my wrist?”
Thus began our relationship. One that would endure over time, distance, silences, and the vagaries of life’s ups and downs, expected and unexpected travels and turns.
This became a ritual that continued over the years, and with each passing year, as he grew older and I gained maturity, a steadfastness in our bond resonated, which did not require constancy of proximity.
Sanjay Dhir and I were ‘neighbors’ who lived diagonally across from each other, as our homes in a block of flats, (were separated by/) lay on opposite sides of the two rows of Central government dwellings, separated by well-maintained lawns between the two rows of government dwellings in the very desirable Pandara Road.
Sanjay Dhir and I were ‘neighbors’ who lived diagonally across from each other, our homes in a block of flats were on opposite sides of the two rows of Central government dwellings, separated by common well-maintained lawns, playgrounds for the children, in this very desirable enclave called Pandara Road. Many of the allottees, such as my mother, arrived in the late 1950s when the housing was constructed and stayed on until retirement, so deep bonds were forged among residents, and festivals were celebrated together despite regional and cultural differences.
Sanjay’s family came about a decade later, so he was initially an outsider and subject to some banter and bullying. He was a well-behaved and calm child who did not exhibit these tendencies. Sanjay was also of a gentle disposition and prone to cold and respiratory illness, which prompted his mother to keep his head and ears covered with a scarf. He was the only child with the scarf tied under his chin, like girls do. My mother called him her “little girlfriend.”
Sanjay often fought off sniffles that were easily triggered by the Delhi winters. That set the scene for him to be quietly introspective, though not without the boyish nuances which he indulged in a restrained and balanced manner. His personality, therefore, developed differently from the other boys of his age. As he grew older, this became increasingly evident. He was the kind you could depend upon, trust, and know that, above all, he would be respectful, lacking all vindictiveness. He knew a lot more than he let on, and I was to discover later that he kept the adolescent secrets of the girls and boys of his age group.
By now, his mother had acknowledged me as “Sanjay’s didi,” and our relationship had an unspoken promise of commitment, without any expectations. Our paths would soon diverge as we headed towards our futures.
Sanjay came to me one day with the good news of his success in being selected for the National Defence Academy (NDA). I had no idea that was in his plans, and I was happy for him. We discussed it, and the patriotism and flamboyance of the Defence Services uniform had influenced his excitement. He asked me which branch of the Services he should choose. I don’t know if that was a serious question, and if my answer really had anything to do with the choice he would make. It was just one of those things that Sanjay reserved for our conversations. Never frivolity, just a sincere deference to life’s defining moments as we traversed the coming of age. I truly felt the “Didi” in our relationship. Our closeness was on an as-needed basis, devoid of regularity or expectation.
When Sanjay retired as a Wing Commander from the Indian Air Force (IAF) and later joined Air India as a commercial pilot, it seemed the plan had panned out as envisioned when we had discussed it. By now, we had gone our separate ways, but Pandara Road still kept us tethered together.
Another thing we had in common was the discovery of Shirdi Sai Baba’s temple that had opened up in the Lodi Road area around the early 1970s. It was in the same Lodi Institutional Area, near the DTEA (Delhi Tamil Education Association) Senior Secondary School, where many of the “Madrasi” children (a common name given to all Indians from the Southern Part of the country) lived. Many Tamilians began to frequent it.
True to the camaraderie of the residents of Pandara Road, the Panjabis and other diverse communities were also initiated into the temple, including my mother. She devoutly observed Holy Thursday by making and sharing the prasad of Chana dal khichdi and rice kheer. This became a tradition for life.
Sanjay’s mother, Mrs Dhir, also became a Shirdi Sai Baba devotee, and so did Sanjay. We all were children of the Colony, in ways both comforting and inspiring, influenced as we were by the activities of the various communities. One of my friends, Vijaya, a Tamilian who lived diagonally downstairs from us, sang Bhajans there every Thursday, which was Sai Baba’s day, and we frequently went with her to pray in front of the framed photo of Shirdi Sai Baba.
I have clear memories of when the temple installed the white marble statue, and the Pran Pratishtha of Sai Baba’s Statue was celebrated. Vijaya was singing in the front row as I, along with just a couple of others, diligently swept the continuous flow of milk and water, mixed with Haldi and fragrant pastes, which was being generously applied and washed down several times with milk and water, poured continuously over the Holy Statue. The fragrances and chanting surrounded us, and I often reflect on the fortuitous moments that allowed us to proactively be a part of that great day—another opportunity to unite all of us neighbors in that ceremonial moment.
The temple tied our families together spiritually, and the Bhakti to Sai Baba became another commonality, strengthening the foundations of our community with our neighbors. Those were magical times, when diversity was celebrated.
Sanjay had a spiritual commitment, and he was not shy of flaunting his devotion. Around the time Sanjay went to the NDA, he also visited Shirdi for the Darshan of Shirdi Sai Baba. He brought back a gift for me from Shirdi, which I have traveled with me over continents.
Sanjay had a reserve and discreet maturity that was uncommon for his age. Just yesterday, I found out from my friend Neelam, who lived diagonally below our house on the other side of Vijaya’s, that Sanjay studied Mathematics with her and Jyoti, her elder sister. That Sanjay’s mother credited, “Neelam and Jyoti for his acceleration in academics, especially Maths,” and “Veenu for his increased confidence.” It was heart-warming to re-live those transitional years on the periphery of adulthood.
We were not in touch for some years. While Sanjay attended my wedding and I was in Delhi to attend his, in subsequent years, our paths diverged and took us in different directions. Sanjay was a devoted son and elder brother. I met Sanjay’s mother in Atlanta where she was visiting her older son and his family. It was good to see Mrs Dhir again.
I had found out that Sanjay had become a single father to his beautiful daughter, Niharika, ‘Noni’, when she was a small child. He poured his affections into the love of his life. I met Noni for the first time in London. She was studying law at King’s College. I was in London for a week, and Sanjay facilitated a meeting. At her suggestion, we had decided to meet at the Lahore Kebab House.
We took a bus from White Chapel, where we had our Airbnb, and headed to the location. A few minutes later, two girls of Indian appearance boarded the bus chattily, and I gasped in recognition. It was Noni! She favored Sanjay in appearance, and I recognized her immediately.
Sanjay was the kind of person who could be a rock for others in relationships, but after we reconnected, I could feel a difference. A passing fragility brought upon by life, that all of us have moments of, had touched him too. That notwithstanding his resolute nature, his generosity of spirit and all-embracing compassion never left him. We had one conversation over the phone, during which I poured my heart out to him with as much brevity as I could muster in one of my own fragile moments, and he was present for me.
Another time, I unhesitatingly reached out to him when I needed to pay INR 200 in India for a book that an editor friend of mine, the author, wanted me to review. This, even though we hadn’t really been in touch, I knew I could ask him and feel no obligation.
So, yesterday, when Rajiv, another friend from Pandara Road, called and gave me the news about Sanjay, I was deeply shocked. It was the first thing I saw when I opened Facebook, and I knew Rajiv was right. I was not yet ready to offer my condolences to his family because it could not be true, but what could it be? Perhaps I expected a follow-up to confirm that Noni’s and Sanjay’s Facebook pages had been hacked, and that this news was not trustworthy. I called Neelam, and she was just as shocked.
My heart has been restless since yesterday. I did not feel like cooking or eating. Sleep did not come easy. I told a few people close to me, still in disbelief. Woke up at 4 am and 5 am, and restless thoughts returned to all the moments shared with Sanjay, seeing him in my mind's eye, as a child, then a teenager, and now, reflecting on the family photo of Wg Cdr/Capt. Sanjay Dhir. On September 8, 2025, he posted pictures from San Francisco.
Captain Sanjay Dhir. Wing Commander, Sanjay Dhir, IAF. Captain Sanjay Dhir, Air India. From a cherished resident of Pandara Road to a beloved and revered resident of Nirmal Vihar, which embraced and honored this hero, a gem of a man. This was the man who raised the flag at all the community National festivities functions at Nirman Vihar. On Independence day there he was in the Facebook photos saluting the flag as the neighbors cheered him and honored his Service.
Today is Dussehra day, and the flames at the Lodhi Road crematorium must have hungrily fed on the mortal remains of a pure soul, the likes of who don’t come easily anymore. Fly away, free bird, fly, Sanjay, fly! Touch the sky on your way out to Heaven.
Heaven has gained a new Angel. What we have discovered is that goodness lives on. I have personally come to understand that some love never truly dies. Love evolves with us. Some relationships are so cherished and so worthy that they cannot be tainted by sorrow and are to be celebrated. Sanjay was such a personality, such a life. In all his mortality, his love, compassion and dignity survive. An extraordinary human being who was one of us, as I speak for all of those who were privileged to be a part of his life on Pandara Road.
Veenu Banga
October 2, 2025
3.39 pm.
