My Sis: Through My Eyes (11)
Chapter – 11 ( A Selfless, Sacrificing Sister)
Right after Assembly, I found myself walking side by side with Madam Yeshi, our Librarian. I asked her if she would be there in the library in the fourth period. I’d like to return two books and take two other books instead. On entering the library, I asked her if she could suggest any book as I had some other things to tend to ( I remembered Ms.Kezang, our ex-librarian at that time). Dear lady that she is, Madam Yeshi personally went to the rack at the extreme corner and handed me a copy of “The Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini, informing me at the same time that this book is one of the three books written by the author and our library has all three of them. Of course, I knew not a thing about this Afgan-born-American author.
A while ago, after coming back from school, I just looked at the blurb and the introductory note. It’s about a boy called Amir, a seventh-grader and how the kite flying contest found him headed towards the U.S. A. There is something about how on his return to Afghanistan at the age of 36 as a physician, married man, he became emotional on finding his old, arched house after a search for three days.
He must have been nostalgic then as I am being right now.
Just by glancing through those lines, I was taken back to my childhood days at 41. The mere thought of my childhood brings memories of Ma and who else but my Sis. I know some of you may be loath to ask me if the novel is not turning out to be autobiographical in nature with more of ‘Yours forever’ than my sister. Let me tell you, reader, that though this book is not meant to be an autobiography but when someone is writing about a favourite sister, some autobiographical elements are bound to crop up in the novel.
I don’t know how much you know about me, dear reader, but the fact is I am a peace-loving man to the core by nature. The mere sight of blood sickens me. Other than the times when the good triumphs over the out and out evils in a gory, bloodied way, that too mostly in films, I have detested always any manner of bloodshed. I like people who are gentle, kind, compassionate and loving. Who just like me, are more prone to saving lives than destroying them. If I ever ill-treated anyone in my entire life, especially in my childhood, it was my Sis and Sis alone.
I feel extremely ashamed of it while writing this piece. She is two and a half years my elder. I can’t recollect a single occasion when I found her fighting with anyone physically, in spite of being very courageous, spirited and yes, even pugnacious at times. Whenever I didn’t have my way with her, whenever I didn’t get the lion’s share of anything, which I thought to be my birth right, being the youngest member of the family, I’d start throwing my hands and legs at her. I had a strong pair of hands even during my childhood, and I always knew how to make the best use of them on and against my sister. I’d blame my late father, desirous of having a hearty laugh at the slightest as he was, for the way he would frighten Sis whenever she failed to respond to father’s call by saying,” Should I call your younger brother? Swagata, hi Swagata, can you come down for a minute?”
And I would get so inspired by my father’s call that I’d start chasing my Sis around 41 and finally cornering her in one of those steps leading up to the second floor of our house, on the way to my Kaka’s (Uncle’s) room. I’d throw fists at her right and left to my heart’s content and feel like a Superman. ( Superman was yet to make its mark at that time though and must have emerged on the international scenario, feeling pity for my sister!)
How ashamed I feel of myself right now. It was only when I had two daughters of my own that I realized how patient my Sis has been with me all through, that she received all those fisticuffs and blows patiently never ever thinking for a moment to hurt her youngest brother under the pretentious act of fighting back with me! That’s why, when my eldest daughter, Akanksha, would take it from her younger sister, Anushka, standing still without raising her hand like my sister used to do with me, I’d shout at her to give a nice slap to Anushka. Sometimes, all it takes is a highhanded, heavy SMACK I told her time and again, to assert her authority over her sister, instead of being the forgiving type. My Sis, who has been my hero always for the way she had raised her slipper against the goon, who had made a lewd remark at her friend; for pointing out a leader of the Naxalite Movement in the late 60s, who was hiding from the police on the enclosed roof of the building next to ours, not having realized, most probably, what a blunder this innocuous act on her part was – an act that led to the leader’s subsequent arrest, something that would keep my other siblings fretting and fuming for the next so many months – has always been a great votary of Truth and Justice. She preferred to fight against the outside, crooked world rather than fighting against her younger brother, who prided being the paper tiger just like the Indian Cricket team, at home!
Through this writing of mine, my Sister, I want to extend my shameful apologies to you for all the wrongs I have done to you, for you being nothing sort of a blessing in my life and for treating this rascal of a younger bro of yours with so much of motherly love, care, protection and guidance. May God bless every brother in the world with a selfless, sacrificing sister like you.
