Ever since I can
remember, I’ve always wanted an elder brother. Possibly influenced by my
friend’s continuous glorification of the concept of an ‘anna’, the thought
never left my mind.
Someone to dote over me,
to pamper, to kick other guys, to be the girl in school who has the brother who
will bully you if you mess with her, to earn before I start and shower me with
gifts, to get married and bring me a ‘manni’.. I could go on and on and on.
I pleaded with my
parents for an elder brother, but all they gave me was a younger one. And an extremely
naughty, fat and annoying one. His pet name is Chubbi. (I don't know if I'm allowed to reveal that in public)
Yes, I was really happy
when he was born. I even distributed chocolates in my class. But as he grew up,
he stole my thunder everywhere! He was smart, could write, would question
everything, looked unbearably adorable, curly hair and always the teacher’s pet. Technically, everything I was not.
While teachers
complained about my low grades to my mom (who taught in the same school, ugh!),
they were overflowing with praises for my brother. I am justified in being a
bit jealous, eh?
We were just another
bro-sis who fought for the remote, slapped each other, brother cuts up the
Barbie, and sister ruins the HotWheels. You know all this. There was no major
turning point or any emotional story that changed things. It was time. Time. Now that’s precious!
Or maybe there was. He
once came home and told us he wants to go on a 4-day trip with his friends.
This was a first. I felt an overwhelming breeze of possessiveness to let lil
bro go away for long. I mean, anything can happen! I’ve gone on trips loads of
times. But him? NO.
Well, anyway. He did go.
Today, he’s better than the best brother that my head can imagine. I know most sisters think their
brother is the best; I’m one of them too. Except that my brother is really the
best ever.
I should also mention
that he’s lazy, adamant and stupid at times too.
Times change, and people
change along with it. Emotionally and mentally, I sometimes really wonder who
the older person is. Let’s take the physical appearance for granted, ok?
Also, three loud cheers
to the wonderful cook that he is! As the ‘girl of the house’, I was probably
the one expected to adorn the apron, but tadaa! Surprise surprise. A
perfectionist at his best, spending hours standing in the kitchen and tasty food that makes me feel utterly useless. In my defense, I give him moral support and
keep him company with my stories while he cooks.
On an ending note, thumbs up to
awesome little brothers. And to sisters who are yet to realize
how lucky they are, wake up. Have I set an example here? (Say yes, say yes!)
He will run to the shop
and buy maggi for me, when I realize I want some after he’s started with his
bowl. And cook it too. He has seen me cry for an hour at Pizza Hut over the
silliest reasons, laughed at me when I fainted after a fatal injection, is randomly exposed to my retard self, threatened to click pictures of me posing, cook whenever I want and whatever I
choose. And I am proudly his sole shopping specialist.
P.S: Chubbi and I share
a lot of secrets too. *cough*
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