Tempered by fire; will not wilt under the sun

 Mathews was watching a live India-Pakistan match on TV when the power went off. It was just him and his older sister at home and it was already past dinner time. The hall was dark and he was never fond of being in the dark alone. He walked over to the wooden cupboard in the hallway  that was a storage space for all daily paraphernalia from staplers to sketch pens. He scavenged the big box with all the house essentials from band aids to 50 paisa coins and found a thin white wax candle along with the capless Reynold and cello pens. He then made his way to the kitchen and found a match box with just one  match stick left. He realized there was no room for error here. With extreme focus and meticulous hand eye coordination he  carefully lit the match stick, cupped his left hand to protect the flame  and  flawlessly transferred the yellow flame to the black candle wick. He was quite proud of himself; he had managed to stay calm in the face of adversity and accomplished his goal. Now he needed to find a candle stand. Holding the candle in one hand; he went back to the wooden cupboard and was a bit disappointed that there was no candle stand in there. He stared ahead into the emptiness looking for answers  and saw the big black box with the blank screen that he has been entertaining him for last several hours before power went off. This was where his neurons failed him. He was exhausted lighting the candle and the molten  wax had already begun to drip down and mercilessly coat his  fingers. He congratulated himself for finding the perfect impromptu candle stand. He thrust the candle on top of the television and slouched back on the couch to relax. He felt a bit bored after a while and thought he should go upstairs to check on his sister. He went to her room upstairs and settled himself on the wooden rocking chair. As he was updating her on the latest developments in 20-20 world cup series, the power came back. He was about to head back downstairs when he saw the latest edition of Balarama on her study table. His sister had skillfully smuggled it upstairs  early morning so she could  peacefully could read it before her pesky siblings laid hands on it. Mathews returned to his rocking chair again  to devour the Balarama following the systematic order that he had developed through years-  comics first followed by short stories without pictures and finally world trivia meant to improve general knowledge. He skimmed through the pages to find his favorite comic piece; Sutran and Sheru. He then went on to read the rest of the comics Mayavi and Kapish when his sister asked him if he wanted to have Maggi Noodles aka did he want to prepare food for both of them? Both of them finally decided to head  downstairs to the kitchen  to cook noodles together.  They realized something wasn't right when the burnt smell stimulated their olfactory receptors. Their vision was blurred as the stairway was blanketed in clouds of white smoke. The living room looked haunted as the white ceiling  was covered in black splotches of soot. The rectangular black television was now just a big black charred molten lump  bellowing fire. As the two of them were synthesizing all that was happening around them, Amma and Papa returned from their day trip to find the house they had worked hard to build in over two decades almost set to fire. Papa followed his usual carrot and stick approach in teaching Mathews the dangers from using a television as a candle stand. But is arson committed from stupidity really a crime?

Thinking of tiny hands

 I remember you as a tiny bean inside Amma’s belly. In the evening we used to take short strolls in the terrace of our Chevayur home, which was a single storey  house at that time. Deechechi came up with a fun game to guess the baby’s gender. We will knock on the Amma’s pregnant tummy and ask “ Boy or Girl?”  and if you (who was of course super- intelligent to understand the question) kicked once then you were a boy. Deechechi will go first and I will follow suit.

You have well narrated the story of your birth in your own words before; how Amma’s water broke and you swam out like a champion into the new world. I remember overhearing that Amma was taken to Baby Memorial Hospital that day. Anija aunty called that day to ask which Baby Memorial it was (was it the one next to the beach or the other one?). Even though I didn’t know the answer to the question, I confidently said it was the one next to the beach as it sounded more fun. I remember visiting the hospital to see you for the first time. I was more excited to see the doorknobs in the ward; looked very different from the door handles we had home. Ironically, I don’t have a lot of memories of seeing you or holding you that day; but I am sure I cuddled you with loads of hugs and kisses as I was always a dedicated older sister.

Thus, we became a family of five. Pappa’s bullet bike was our family’s official locomotive. It appalls me now picturing all of us sitting tight on that two-seater. I will be sitting in front of Pappa holding tight to the heavy steel lid that closes the fuel tank; Deechechi will be right behind Papa, arms wrapped around his waist and Amma will be behind Deechechi carrying you in her lap and simultaneously balancing her posture holding to the rear handle of the bike. I remember our ride on the bullet to  ‘Photoshop’   for our first family picture as five. You might wonder why I look cross-eyed in the picture. I was trying to look sideways to make sure you were looking at the camera; while looking straight at the same time.

 

Although I was always eager to hold you and carry you around, I was a bit disappointed that Appa and Papa seemed to trust Deechechi more than me (understandably I was only 5 years at that time). Deechechi would carry you around pretending to be a queen (wearing Amma’s vesti half saree; hair tied as a bun to one side). My role in this pretend play was as ‘Poothana’ the ghost who steals the baby from her. Since I was just a ghost, I didn’t need any fancy costumes. I still agreed to participate as stealing the baby meant I could hold you for some time. Deechechi would gracefully walk around singing a lullaby like in movies and finally put you to sleep when I can finally do my part of stealing the baby. However, as Deechechi is the script writer; the play would end right after I steal the baby. Of course, we never played the game after that day since I declined to be Poothana without any incentive.

I wanted you to have things that I didn’t have as a child. One of the items included a pet name. After much contemplation I came up with ‘Ikkilikuttan’ aka  ‘Tickle baby’-( better than the name you had chosen for the mall you were going to  build when you grow up-‘Hernia’). I called you by this name for a couple of days; however, Deechechi once overheard the name and condemned my poor choice. I was discouraged and told myself that you should stay as Mathews.

Having a baby brother means you could be my guinea pig to answer all the science questions that pops up in my inquisitive brain- What happens to a person’s eyes when sleeping? ( Are the eye balls up, down, or do they recede to secret cave inside your brain?). Like every other older sibling, I had to tell you the sad fact that we got you wrapped up in a blanket in the little creek behind our house and you don’t truly belong to our family.  Amma/Papa decided to keep you  only because we had no boys. My heart would swell up with sadistic satisfaction as your eyes welled with tears.

When you started kindergarten, I would rush to the nursery side of Presentation during every break to make sure you were doing ok. You would often burst out in tears and was rightfully nick named as “Kannuneerpainkili”. Being a responsible big sister meant that I had to judiciously scavenge your bag every day for any evidence of low test scores . You became a pro in discovering new hiding places ( I couldn’t use the Hindi answer paper  that I found a year later in our enormous Malayalam dictionary to black mail you).

I would often extensively talk to you about all I have don’t for you as a baby; from cuddling and feeding to changing your diaper and how it was time for you to pay me back for my hard work. You would sincerely bring part of the birthday treats that you get at school as my reward. I was so grateful to have a brother who disliked chocolates and ice creams. I still remember you excitedly running to my 9^th grade classroom with foreign chocolates that Rugbaz had shared with you (they were delicious).

 

I would often hold your little hand close to mine and ask myself “Will these tiny fingers ever grow? It will take ages!”.  You were secretly listening to me and in the last three decades you grew not just long fingers; but also over six feet tall. From pillow/blanket fights to sudoku races (you always won) I have countless warm memories to cherish with you. I feel blessed to have you in my life.

 

PS: This was written as a gratitude exercise on my birthday. What better way to feel grateful than reminisce my childhood memories with you!

Wishing you and Nitha a wonderful and blessed life ahead!