Siblings

My younger brother is probably my worst nightmare come true. He troubles me endlessly and angers me like no one else. Despite all that, he is the Ying to my Yang, and possibly the best friend I could have ever asked for.

Born just a few years after I was, my earliest memories of him are causing the trolley he was sitting in to topple over and my parents fussing over the injuries he didn't have. I was always the apple of everyone's eyes, being the first daughter born into the family; but my brother stole the limelight as a baby. I must say, I don't recall being too fond of him, but early photos suggest that I loved him dearly. There are pictures of me holding him in that baby blanket of his and us sharing toys. Sometimes I think my parents staged those pictures, but at other times I think perhaps I truly did love my brother even then. We were barely in the same circles growing up. My brother had his set of friends and I had mine. My best friend adored him and she still does. His friends look up to me occasionally.

As we grew up, we realized we had to have each others' back. We shared secrets, told each other about almost everything that happened. A transparency formed between us and I started understanding my brother better.  He was no longer the little brat of the family, but a boy on the cusp of adulthood trying to deal with a lot of things. I was trying to figure out how to help him best and possibly get my own life together. We helped each other grow back together and that strengthened our bond.

 Despite our love for each other, there always was a sense of sibling rivalry, which I believe is essential in every relationship. The need to outdo the other in different fields is what has kept me and my brother from falling into total madness. The counterweight to the love we have for each other is the amount we fight and argue with each other. To an outsider, our fights might seem too serious and proof of how much we hate each other, but we reconcile almost immediately. Eventually, we've both found our niche, things we are good at that the other isn't. He can cook, whilst I can write. He can sing, whilst I can dance.

We may be different people, but in the end we are siblings. No matter what arguments we have, or what disagreements we may have; we will always have each other and that's what counts. 

Monkey Bars

Possibly one of the few things many of us remember from our childhood is playing in an open garden or a park. When I was a child, we had two parks in our neighborhood. Each had its own unique design and its own different swing set collection and a jungle gym which was difficult to maneuver. What they both had in common were the monkey bars. In both parks, there were always kids who would be hanging from these bars, either trying to get taller at the insistence of their parents or just showing off to their friends that they could cross over to the other end.

Me and my friends would compete to go across the monkey bars. In fact, we would all have a race to see who could get to the other side the fastest.s Unlike many of my friends, I would never be able to complete it. Despite being able to get across every other obstacle in the complicated jungle gym, the monkey bars always stumped me. I would always fall off somewhere around the middle and then try my best to get across it again. But eventually I would give up and be teased by my friends for my inability to go across. As we grew up, different things took priority, like who'd get the best grades or who'd end up with the best looking boyfriend/girlfriend and the monkey bar slowly slipped into the background.

This summer, I'm back in the playground watching kids of varied age groups trying to cross that monkey bar. One particular child caught my attention. Although I'm uncertain for how long she's been trying, she kept her varied attempts at scrambling across the monkey bars trying to make her way across, but she kept falling. This child's determination to actually make it past these treacherous bars was shocking. She kept at it for almost half an hour, not focusing on anything else and finally after repeated falls, she picked herself up and made it across to the other side. She laughed and repeated the act a couple more times before she left the playground. It surprised me that she picked herself up despite falling over and over again and was so determined to make it across. What happens to us as we grow up? Why does that determination to go across that monkey bar fade away? Why is it that we give up so easily when by repeatedly going at it, we can actually succeed. I know there are people in this world who strive to get what they want, but there is still a majority of people who give up without even a second try.

What I've recalled from these monkey bars- never take no for an answer and don't give up. No matter what obstacle you face, no matter how dire, try a different angle and keep working on it. Eventually, the obstacle won't seem as big as it did initially. 

Memoirs of an Army Wife

Memories are fascinating treasures which . They  shape us, change us, make us who we are and even drive us towards goals. But what makes them so special is that they are ours and ours alone.  But memories fade. They can be changed by a slight loss or gain of knowledge, an accidental loss of consciousness or a disease which causes people to forget who they are. Dementia is a commonly faced problem by a large population of the aged. The effects of this condition range from short term memory loss to a complete loss of memory.

This post is dedicated to the woman who gave birth to and raised my mother. The woman who made sacrifices for her family and a woman who always prioritized her family. My grandmother.

My grandma was born in the year 1935, prior to India's independence in Thiruvarur, a district in Tamil Nadu. The second of 8 children in the family and the first born girl, my grandmother was brought up with a great deal of love and affection by her parents. Her father, was the rail master of the district and her mother a regular Brahmin housewife. Brought up in a rather large house, she would spend her free time  playing in the nearby garden with the children of the local Englishmen. She attended the All Ladies school which was a walk down the street from her and was always surrounded with friends. She excelled in her studies, especially in Hindi, a subject she would go to tuition for and ace the exams. By the time she had completed her education, she had reached a level where she could have easily been accepted into any prestigious college in the state. But, due to financial constraints and her parents having to fund the education of her younger siblings, she had to give up her education and began her own tutoring classes which attracted a great deal of students.

By the time she was 23, she was married to a high ranking officer of the Indian Army, one who had fought in the Sino Indian War. Due to her husband's involvement in the army, my grandmother along with her in laws had to move from one state to another. 3 years into the marriage, she was still not with child and there were taunts from my grandfather's family. But after a visit to one of the holy rivers, she was pregnant with her first child, a son who was born in 1966. Soon after she gave birth to two beautiful daughters, my mother being one of them. As she traveled from city to city, her children enjoyed a variety of company and she would entertain guests- wives of other army officials. They would sit down and sip on tea and talk about a range of topics. There were periods of times when my grandfather would be placed in a region where there were no family quarters. My grandmother was never afraid, she was brave and took care of her children at these times. Her son followed in the footsteps of his father and joined the Indian Army as well. Her daughters both became teachers.

As her children grew up, marriages were arranged and soon she gave away her daughters to different families and her son continued his work in the army. She lived with my grandfather who had retired from the army and led a peaceful life with her father in law and husband. However, her husband passed away in a few years time and she was left with a majority of responsibilities. Her children would drop by from time to time to help her with household chores, but she never gave up her routine. She would visit the temple every Thursday and everyday she would take care of her aged father in law. She'd cook and clean the house, but eventually, she was left alone.

Slowly yet certainly, her memory fades. There are those occasional flashes of memory, but someone needs to be with her to trigger them and remind her over and over again that she's not alone.

To be continued..... 

Grandparents

I lost both grandfathers at a very young age. I don't think I recall my paternal grandfather, save that he used to throw me beautiful birthday parties when I was a child and that he saved me from punishments when I was a child. My maternal grandfather I knew better, because he came home with us and spent several months entertaining me and my younger brother. Each time we visited India without my father, we would stay at my mother's house and my grandpa would narrate stories of his days in the army and he would take us to the temple and sing for hours at end. His loss was felt more strongly because I remember seeing my mom cry and leave the country and then not being allowed to go to the funeral.

My grandmothers, I have known better. My paternal grandmother is a disciplined woman who's been an amazing mother to my dad and his three siblings. She's been an amazing grandmother to me and my cousins too, always feeding us whatever we wanted, giving us chocolates and even fussing over my hair and the way I looked. Although sometimes I get annoyed at her, I know I'll always love her and that she'll always love me.
My maternal grandmother, on the other hand is a silent woman who has taken care of her family almost all her life. She's never said a word against her children and she's kept a majority of her feelings to herself. She lives alone in a house which has been around for several decades, she's been moved around from one city to another due to my grandfather's army placements. She seems to many like a strong and independent woman, but how old does one have to get to show the world that she isn't?

I've never really had time to interact with my grandmothers in the past, but this summer, I've had plenty of time to interact with my maternal grandmother who's come home with us. Her memory is fading, slowly and I'm here to help her remember the things she's forgetting. To make sure that she remembers who I am, who she is, what she's experienced in life. And to some extent, it's actually helping.

Never taking ones grandparents for granted is possibly one of the most important thing a grandchild can do. Even if they are a few generations older than you, they have valuable insight that you may never get from anyone else. 

Nothing else feels like home

This summer, I finally decided to take a break. After being in university for 3 years, I have been home from time to time, but I've never stayed for longer than a month. This time around, I'm home for three long months. The decision was made due to a variety of reasons, but possibly the one which tilted the balance the most, was that I missed being home.

University life is hectic and stressful! That is a fact most people would agree with me on. It provides many with the wings to explore new avenues and be independent, but frankly, I would much rather be home, be pampered and just relax rather than having to work all day to get ahead of the competitive life that one experiences in university. Yes, my social life may be reduced a bit, but I definitely wouldn't mind spending all the time with my family instead.

The past two summers have been spent at the university, so I'm very open for any change in the way I spend my summer and Home sweet home is one place that never lets me down :)