Monsoon of Memories: Sibling Revelry
I was two when my elder sister offered to tie the belt into a bow on the back of my dress. I let her, not because mum-dad couldn’t do the same for me, or because I was unhappy with the messy knot I’d make, but because each time she offered to do it, she created a princess, a castle or a candy of the belt. That’s what I was made to believe anyway as she went ooh-aahing as she folded, unfolded and admired her creations.
As I look back, I realize how I spent many days, walking around the house and neighborhood parks, believing I was carrying artwork on my back. To date, this anecdote defines both my extreme like and dislike for the relationships between siblings. Once upon a time, there were no playdates and sleepovers, we had only our brothers and sisters to play with, and irrespective of how much we fought (even loved) or ratted out each other, at the end of the day, we were a team, especially when it came to facing any consequences of what we’d been up to.
My nieces and nephews often plan playdates in the neighborhood and share with me who has what kind of toys, who owns a bunk bed, or whose home they like to visit the most and why. When they ask me to fill them up with similar details from the time gone by, I fail to provide that. My childhood was mostly limited to activities at home, most of which involved only my sister. In the middle of the school year, we borrowed mum’s duppatta to create a make-shift house on the two sides of the bed, which we shared. At the start of the school year, we played professional wrappers as we covered our books in brown paper and DIYed the labels that went on them. At the end of the school year, we sat down with a red ballpoint and pretended to correct our notebooks as teachers.
We often got upset with one another but knowing that we had nowhere else to go to or play with, we forgave easily and forgot even sooner. If we loved one another or took pride in each other’s academics or beyond, we made sure we didn’t get melodramatic about our feelings. It was, let’s say, a relationship of pure convenience and—let me admit—selfless love too.
As I flipped through my diaries, in which I had scribbled during my growing-up years, I came across details of pillow fights, nights spent making greeting cards for mum-dad’s anniversary, hiding pieces of a broken vase from them, taking turns and arguing over whose turn it was to filter water from the good ol’ Aquaguard, and even sobbing when it was the turn for the elder one amongst us to head to the hostel. I realised that we grew up sharing more than just clothes, a study table, and a bed.
We shared a childhood, and the best part of it turns out to be the shared private jokes that only we get, and nobody else does! And that I’m not willing to trade for anything. Did I love visiting the neighbors? Oh yes! Did I love returning back to my bed and sharing it with my sibling? A louder, happier and affirmative yes! Should my sister read this piece about her? Oh never, I am not giving her that pleasure.
Purva Grover is an author, journalist, poet, playwright and stage director. A postgraduate in mass communication and literature, she is the founder-editor of The Indian Trumpet, a digital magazine for Indian expats in the UAE. She can be reached at grover.purva@gmail.com. To comment on this article, please write to letters@khabar.com.
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