I expected to be born in the confines of a quiet, peaceful room, with my mother safe beside me, glowing with happiness and singing to me.
Instead, I was born in a golden cage. From the very moment my round eyes fluttered open, there were beaming servants all around. Relatives with fake, plastered smiles. Golden bowls with kheer and silver spoons. But I cherished the peaceful fact that I wasn't the focus of all that suffocating attention, but the reason why I was always fed the second bite from the bowl of kheer, was.
He was the one who lay right beside me, eyes firmly shut, with creases around the corners, lips in a thin line, one chubby finger curled protectively around mine. Born just a mere minute before.
Instead, I was born in a golden cage. From the very moment my round eyes fluttered open, there were beaming servants all around. Relatives with fake, plastered smiles. Golden bowls with kheer and silver spoons. But I cherished the peaceful fact that I wasn't the focus of all that suffocating attention, but the reason why I was always fed the second bite from the bowl of kheer, was.
He was the one who lay right beside me, eyes firmly shut, with creases around the corners, lips in a thin line, one chubby finger curled protectively around mine. Born just a mere minute before.
He was fair, while I was dark. His eyes were a conserved shade of grey, while mine were a bubbly, eager brown. He was born a boy, with the expectation of carrying the family name far, heavy like a mountain on his tender shoulders. I was just that other twin. The one which would be a pride to some other family in the future. The girl.
It was always as if we were molded from two different kinds of soil, fed with contradicting souls but gently laid in the same womb. His tender shoulders, now lean and athletic, always got a proud pat from Baba every evening. It was his fair hands that got all the first kisses, the prime blessings. Some would be resentful of all the attention he got, but I preferred this seclusion. With the limelight rarely around me, I spent most of my time in my own little oblivion. Imagining spy agents and insane adventures with vigilantes, always to return back at night with new memories shining from my eyes, just like all my favorite endings. Reckless to an extent, but just safe enough.
It was always as if we were molded from two different kinds of soil, fed with contradicting souls but gently laid in the same womb. His tender shoulders, now lean and athletic, always got a proud pat from Baba every evening. It was his fair hands that got all the first kisses, the prime blessings. Some would be resentful of all the attention he got, but I preferred this seclusion. With the limelight rarely around me, I spent most of my time in my own little oblivion. Imagining spy agents and insane adventures with vigilantes, always to return back at night with new memories shining from my eyes, just like all my favorite endings. Reckless to an extent, but just safe enough.
Each time a cloud of unrest overtook my mind, I found my feet reflexively climbing up the cool mud stairway that led to the terrace, which I never entered. A barrier of superiority always held me back, as I stared from a tiny window space near the door, built in a corner of the wall, at him. Studying from all those books Baba got him from premier bookstores. Living up to our dreams.
So I sat there. On the landing, on the other side of the door. Wondered if sometimes my concern and my love ever reached him. If someday, he'd come to accept me and love me more than those books of his, if it would extend beyond leaving the last bite of my favorite dish for me, more out of impatience than affection. If someday, I'd get my brother back in the same train of thought, in the same cradle.
The day he got into Baba's favorite college was also the day my mother found a groom for me. For the very first time, the giving away of sweets from our family was a two way street. As people shook my outstretched hand congratulating a very dazed and bewildered me, a feeling of envy towards him and his eternal, retained freedom began to rise.
I still can't forget my haldi. He came to me and bent over gently, kissing my forehead. Then taking my painted hands in his, he handed me a small, velvety box. My wedding ring, which I would give to the groom's family, which he had personally picked.
That night, I went to the landing for presumably the last time. Leaning against the door, I no longer heard the familiar rustle of the pages turning. On peering in, I found him simply lying there. Gazing up at the sky, one leg on his knee, deep in thought.
I was greatly puzzled when he looked elated on my big day. He gave me a hug. Told me he loved me more than anything else in the world. It's as if a cold hand gripped my insides. Was he happy to be getting rid of me? Was that expression obligatory instead of affectionate?
It was in my new home, I got the call. He had left the very night of my reception, wordlessly, slipping away in the celebrating crowd. He hadn't met anyone, had he met me? Told me where he was going?
It was under my pillow, in the room I never returned, they found the letters a little while later. Mentioning failed hints at expressing his own ideas of what he wanted to do with his life. Mentioning pressure and frustration over being ridiculed and rejected. The same sentences, looped. Leaving just a flicker of hope behind. No one ever found him, but every one, in their heart of hearts, assumed where he had gone. My brother, didn't even speak his mind freely in his last letter.
Maybe, I wasn't the caged bird. Maybe, my freedom was always the envy.
I closed my eyes, and I prayed. I prayed to find him, wherever he was. With a jolt, I remembered the tiny little moments of his love, his protection, which I had always overlooked in my despair of his ignorance.
We were finally in the same train of thought.
Polar. Equal opposites.
Yet, one.
The day he got into Baba's favorite college was also the day my mother found a groom for me. For the very first time, the giving away of sweets from our family was a two way street. As people shook my outstretched hand congratulating a very dazed and bewildered me, a feeling of envy towards him and his eternal, retained freedom began to rise.
I still can't forget my haldi. He came to me and bent over gently, kissing my forehead. Then taking my painted hands in his, he handed me a small, velvety box. My wedding ring, which I would give to the groom's family, which he had personally picked.
That night, I went to the landing for presumably the last time. Leaning against the door, I no longer heard the familiar rustle of the pages turning. On peering in, I found him simply lying there. Gazing up at the sky, one leg on his knee, deep in thought.
I was greatly puzzled when he looked elated on my big day. He gave me a hug. Told me he loved me more than anything else in the world. It's as if a cold hand gripped my insides. Was he happy to be getting rid of me? Was that expression obligatory instead of affectionate?
It was in my new home, I got the call. He had left the very night of my reception, wordlessly, slipping away in the celebrating crowd. He hadn't met anyone, had he met me? Told me where he was going?
It was under my pillow, in the room I never returned, they found the letters a little while later. Mentioning failed hints at expressing his own ideas of what he wanted to do with his life. Mentioning pressure and frustration over being ridiculed and rejected. The same sentences, looped. Leaving just a flicker of hope behind. No one ever found him, but every one, in their heart of hearts, assumed where he had gone. My brother, didn't even speak his mind freely in his last letter.
Maybe, I wasn't the caged bird. Maybe, my freedom was always the envy.
I closed my eyes, and I prayed. I prayed to find him, wherever he was. With a jolt, I remembered the tiny little moments of his love, his protection, which I had always overlooked in my despair of his ignorance.
We were finally in the same train of thought.
Polar. Equal opposites.
Yet, one.
