Mere Paas Bhai Hai

Actually, I have eight of them! Rakhi is all about sister-brother love — I send them rakhis' (rather Udit does), they get me wine.

The nine of us.

I have 8 brothers. One of my own and the rest, my cousins on my mum’s side. Nine of us belong to the three daughters and one son who belong to my grandparents (nana-nani). I am the oldest and the only granddaughter. This, as you have understood by now, is a fact that I love to rub in, on every possible occasion.

Today is Rakhi. And here are my brothers:-

Brother 1. My first Mausi’s first.

I was three when he was born. The first time Nani cradled him in her arms in front of me, I lost it. I burst out crying. How could she. Nani handed him over to Nana, cuddled me, sat me on her lap and said “Wo toh naati hai, par tum toh natni ho”. (he is the grandson, but YOU are the granddaughter). And I shot back, “only one, natni”. That’s it. I remained the only one thereon. My golden streak was finally broken when he had a daughter, a year ago. It just felt fair.

Brother 2. My first Mausi’s second.

I was in sixth and he must have been in KG or 1. We decided to play a game. In the drawing room. Surrounded by sharp edged table, sofas, and divan. We had to hold each other’s arms and go round and round. But we decided to up the difficulty level. So we turned our backs on each other, then held the hands, and started spinning. We were mid-spin when our hands slipped, he being the smaller, lighter one made a safe landing on the divan next to his brother while I flew like a discus, and landed philtrum (the little groove between the nose and the upper lip) first, on the edge of the sofa. I bled. A little bump remains nestled between the two nostrils even today, a reminder of our little adventure. I was certain I would bleed to death. “Sara khoon nikal jayega, hum marr jayenge” (I will lose all my blood and die). I remember Mausi and Mum laughing their uncontrollable laugh, while nursing me and promising me that I will live through this.

Brother 3. Bhai. My Mum’s second.

We are nine years apart. When he was just three days old, I made his tiny, listless body sit up against a pillow, so that he could watch tv. During the first year of his life, he peed on my face, shat on my hand, and bit me on my thigh while he was teething. I threw a rubber ball at him while playing catch but it hit his eye; no permanent damage done but I remember pledging my eye to him (in my head). He loved The Rock; now that did some permanent damage to his face! He hit me on the head with a hockey stick during a fight; I didn’t complain but used that as leverage for a really long time. We have almost grown up as single child—me in my first nine years, he after his first nine years.

Brother 4. My second Mausi’s first.

A year younger than my brother, he is the quietest one. He talks less, so he comes across as paavam. Barely, four or five he was found surrounded by reels upon reels of the shiny black magnetic tapes, which he had been pulling apart for almost a couple of hours, quietly. He is also very focussed. Once at a wedding, which was turning out to be a huge disappointment, he recce’d the food stalls and brought in some more bad news —“Idhar chicken chaawal toh hai hi nahi” (there is no chicken and rice here). For him chicken chaawal was THE food. And it continues to be so.

Brothers 5 & 6. My second Mausi’s younger ones.

They are twins, a year younger than the older one. They talk a lot. A LOT. It is like they compensated for number 4. Computer was new back then and so were video games. They wanted to teach my mum Prince. Mum asked a question, so one of them said, “acha mausi, shuru se batate hai” (Ok mausi, will start from the beginning) and they did. Second time, she asked something else, once again “acha mausi, shuru se batate hai” and once again they did. Having had revised the game twice already, mum decided to not ask any more questions. Interrupting them in the middle of a conversation was a rookie mistake, we now know better.

Brother 7. Mama’s first.

We are 16 years apart but we are most similar. We both love to eat. Once on our way to a wedding in Gurgaon, I called him up for directions. Udit was driving and wanted to know the exit road that we needed to take. I called brother 7 and this is how the conversation went — “hello, food is bad” “what do you mean bad?” “just like the last time” “I wasn’t here the last time” “oh, so you are in for a surprise” “what is the exit number” “ok, what’s the exit number” “10. The mutton is bad” “10. starters?” “hardly there” “did you guys just say 10?” "Yes” “Yes”. Udit still finds this conversation surreal. We reached. After mains and desserts, we realised we had skipped the “Tawa Fry” section. So we went for a plate of Bhindi, and Arbi after having gorged on gulab jamun and ice cream! I have always been very fond of him and now that he is a doctor, he is going to be my favourite till the end of my life.

Brother 8. Mama’s second.

20 years younger. Nani was hoping this one would be a granddaughter. I reminded her “only one, nani”. She said, “But she will be a poti”. No luck. He is the loyal younger one to number 7. Very pragmatic. Very straight forward. Very observant. He is a man of very few words unless it is about Rohit Sharma, Mumbai Indians, Lewis Hamilton, Spanish football team, Ronaldo…you get the drift. He is the tech guy who very patiently can walk you through an app or an operating system or explain why your bluetooth mouse has probably stopped working. Give him coffee and he will be happy!

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Rakhi is all about sister-brother love — I send them rakhis’ (rather Udit does), they get me wine.

My love for them is of varying degrees (certainly not endless or boundless) and in different forms and circumstances, and I definitely don’t ascribe to them being my protector either. If anything I am older and I am bigger!