Examining the topic in its very literal
sense, let me just share what all went into my growing up. The
very notion of being the youngest fellow at home is not always cuddling, and I sure
would have loved to prove, had one got a choice. Irrespective of the
innumerable tiny tots who then addressed me as Didi in school, at home, I was
always found chasing my brother for every little thing. From learning to signalling
an out in the game of cricket, to dripping my first ink pens, it is him; I have
always looked up to. Each day we drooled back from school, I always had him to
fascinate me with his school talks, for he is a boy, one thing, and two years
elder, another. With not much difficulty, I can gather we were supposed to be
studying in one room, with the door open, for the simple reason of surprise
raids by our parents. And without much amazement, their doubt never deceived
them. Till the fifth grade, my mother hardly remembers me doing anything other
than the Cursive writing, that too
erasing most of the time, and the gentleman on the other table would be found examining
the nibs of his pens. With time and over arguments of the type
was-just-going-to-start stopped hitting her ears, for her nagging had stopped
hitting ours.
Even after drinking water 7 times and
going to washroom over 3, that one hour bit us both like anything. The only
promising thought that kept me erasing was the play time thereafter. Again,
until the teens, I had no one to look up to except my brother to have me along
with him. Apart from the tiny eyes filled with innocence and legs fitted with
shoes promising to run miles to pick up his ball, he always needed my dad’s
strict recommendation or rather pressurisation to take me along, or entertain
me alone, had he to make a choice between his friends and me for he was way too
ashamed of his not-so-talented sister playing within a group of six to seven
boys. But orders were orders. Grumbling, he had to stay back at times, but
that’s just the way things were then. Reflecting back today, it is tough to say
if I had done the same or anything even comparable to that and foreseeing at
the same time, it is tougher for him to make the same statement today. Back
then, choices made with so little thought also never charged, and today
decisions made after years of ponder also lead us nowhere. What has changed so
much?
Now, one can’t deny that the younger child
is always the more pampered one, and so was I, maybe a little more. And one
can’t beat the elders when you talk of teaching the skills of escaping parents’
signatures on class tests and the fact that Youngers do it more cleanly and
furtively, is another point you all got to agree with. To me the story was too
short stretched. On getting two out ten (Mind you, I am talking of second
class, when getting even half a mark less than full was something that called on
for more labour), I could think of no better an idea of surviving than copying my
mother's signature. After practicing it at the back page of almost every copy,
chanting God’s name I finally rubbed my pen on the final page too. It somehow
resembled the original. And I was more than halfway through the plan until my
brother recognised the fake sign, one fine day while going through my test
copies. Obviously, within a minute my entire ancestral family was well-informed
of their extra-ordinarily smart girl. Too cool of my Mom, for her only concern
was why her signature and not daddy’s! I wanted to shout out at my brother, for
he was no outstanding a student, and that I too had helped him hide his copies
in the travel bags, not once, not twice but many times for one has to agree
that no matter what, half a mark out of 5, or maybe 4 out of ten are equally
bad. But the only reaction which left me speechless was that of my father's. He
kept silent till my mother was done with her growling and brother with his
had-I-not-checked-her-copy expression, and spoke serenely after that- My scolding or not will not make any difference.
She is a grown up girl now. Till she thinks she is right, I am quiet.
Though his eyes sprinkled with that joy
of being blessed with a talent that could copy her mother's signature at such a
tender age, I knew deep down somewhere his heart questioned the values he had
imparted to us or if he really had any, for that matter. His silence that day
said it all, while my mother's furious words solely added to my rage.
That day I learnt about the deception of
smiles and tears and maybe got the very first indication of growing up.
As time passed by, I stepped into my
teens, where the first thing I realised was that everything I wanted to do and
eventually refrained myself from doing, did not have the fear of my mom’s
scolding anymore. The reasons for holding back had changed and maybe some
priorities too.
Then, at some abrupt point of time you
realise that life has ceased itself to answer any question of yours. True. Go
ahead. And you shall learn that more often than not the only consoling tap is
that of Happens. One should never
expect his needs to be catered to at his one ring of a bell. But, who desists to
expect? I myself am pondering over this, but someone had once said, not expecting
anything in lieu of your good deeds is also an expectation.
I don’t remember lying much to my
brother, and I predict he doesn’t remember not doing so. With chocolates in
hand, while both the siblings decide to have it right then, it is only the younger
one who naively signs the treaty and after consuming his share, realises an
hour later that the elder one still has his, waiting to dance on his tongue. That
feeling of being betrayed is worse than being ditched by your lover on the day
of your marriage, trust me. As some more years passed, I incurred no harm in concluding
that two levels in this world are unattainable, one, the level to which a
sister entrusts her brother and the other, the level to which a brother doubts
his sister.
No matter how much I grow up, how much
ever mature I may seem to the outside world, this single world ‘youngest’ is
always going to overrule all my maturity. While my brother has constantly been instilled
with a sense of responsibility, maybe because both my parents are working, I
wonder if in his L.K.G. also he thought of himself as anyone minor to the
President.
One never ceases to grow, on
should not, in fact. But let me just say, in this process, is there anything
that we are leaving behind? Are we, today, aware of how heavily we are paying
for growing up? Think. Well, chuck, for want or not, this is the need of the
hour. Grow up.
