Growing Up

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.