The Bro Code

     I still remember that day like yesterday. The December chill had set in, and so had my long Christmas vacation. The date was December 18, 1995, and I accompanied my maternal grandparents to Dr. Vaidya’s Maternity Home, Thane. I was aware of what had happened the night before, at 9:30 pm, but I was still as excited as a 4-year-old, probably because I WAS 4 years old.

     Dad was standing outside the maternity home, flashing a wide beaming smile. I walked softly towards the ward where my mom was resting, and saw a cradle next to her. I walked even slower towards the rocking cradle, careful not to disturb who lay within, my excitement level reaching its zenith. My mother smiled at me weakly, but her face exuded satisfaction and happiness. For a moment everything inside the room had disappeared, save for me and the cradle.

     I was too short to see what was inside the cradle. I remember standing on my toes, peering into the cradle, to see the most beautiful creation of God I have ever laid eyes upon. Restlessly moving in a tightly bound blue cloth was a red faced baby with a tuft of hair all around his face. I was mesmerized by whom I saw in that cradle that day, and am his biggest fan to this day.

     I finally had company, a partner in crime, a confidant, a fellow-conspiracy theory-lover, and one who remains, to this day, my best friend. It was my brother – Priyaj, aptly named – ‘One who is loved by all’, and he soon became the ‘live-wire’ of the family.

     I was a regular participant in the annual social gathering in school, but the gathering of December 17, 1995 continues to be the most special for me. My pregnant mother had reached the due-date of her delivery, yet was persistent to attend my very first annual gathering. We had called my grandparents over, since I was too young and stupid to be left unsupervised. And as soon as my dance group’s rendition of ‘Nani Teri Morni ko Mor le gaye’ (O grandmother, the peacocks took your pea-hen away) reached its finale, my future sibling decided that it was time.

     I barely saw my parents that night; dad rushed my mom to the maternity home, and thus began her most difficult time so far. But at the end of a very taxing delivery, she gave birth to the greatest person I have ever known.

     I was a brat growing up, I still am, but having a brother instilled some sense of responsibility in me. I was told that I might have a sister, so I’d childishly thought of a name for ‘her’ – Tanvi. Silly, I know. I even remember seeing my mom’s sonography and feeling uncontrollably excited. As shameful as it may seem, I had potty issues while growing up. So one day, after one of mom’s visits to the doctor, I asked her what the doctor had said. She playfully replied that the baby had refused to come out until its brother started taking a dump in the toilet. And from that day onward, never have I taken a dump in any place other than a toilet (Score!). So that’s how responsible Priyaj made me, even before he came into the world!

     When he was born very few of us gave him the welcome he deserved. People had refused to see him in the hospital because “he was dark”. But then again, he did have people who loved and believed in him, and he became the fairest of us all, in every sense. One thing that I regret is that we were lost for a name to give him, a condition which lasted until the evening of his naming ceremony. I did think of a name for him though – ‘Niraj’, just to weakly rhyme with my name. But one of dad’s colleagues suggested a name that will one day be known the world over – Priyaj. In fact he was given four more names as per tradition – Mangarish (to name after the family deity), Niraj (probably to keep me from crying), Sahil (suggested by my maternal grandmother), and Pranjal (my dad’s mom suggested this one).

     As he grew up, his colour went from red to snow white. With a round face, a small nose, gleaming black eyes and a heart-wrenching smile, Priyaj soon became the apple of everyone’s eyes. I soon realised how protective I’d become. I’d accompany him everywhere, guard him from the bullying kids in the park (I even provoked a bully who called him fat and made him run behind me all around town until he was out of breath) but made sure that he had a good childhood despite the illnesses he faced from time to time.

     His laughter soon filled up the house, and his adorable nature took over the entire neighbourhood. Although he gave my mom sleepless nights, he’s grown up to love sleep now. As he started school, we realized how intelligent he truly was. Mom had to struggle a lot with his reverse ‘Z’s and crawling handwriting in the beginning, but he became independent very soon. He charmed his teachers into loving him, despite having the pressure of a quiet and overdisciplined elder brother in the same school. His restlessness was testament enough to his rebellious outlook towards the traditional method of schooling.

     I remember a day when I’d accompanied my mom to the school to meet his kindergarten class teacher. The teacher had warned us to stay out of his sight, which I didn't understand at first but when he saw me standing outside his classroom he stood up with a start and waved to me yelling, “Dada!” (Older brother). The teacher glared at him with her hands on her hips, and he sat down quietly. Over the years, whenever he’d notice me looking at him in school he’d do his best to impress me. Little did he know that I was already in awe of him, and I still am.

     I wanted to give him all the knowledge I had. Be it drawing, poetry, music or sports! I remember teaching him to draw Mickey Mouse when he was 2 years old, following a step-by-step process. And his Mickey was cuter than the one I’d drawn. I’d taught him the chords for ‘We shall overcome’ on the synthesizer, and he mastered that art too. Living in a city with a dearth of playgrounds, it was difficult for me to teach him any sport, so we’d shoot penalties with a small basketball in our room. I didn’t exactly have to teach him poetry, he picked it up on his own, as even graduated to writing full blown ballads! He's outperformed me in everything he's done so far!

     All of this might make me seem as a very good elder brother, but I was not that much of an ideal brother. Although our parents never really made it seem that they had a favourite, I often feared that Priyaj might get pampered. And the idiotic solution my pea brain thought of then was disciplining him by hitting him whenever he made a huge mistake, albeit I stopped hitting him when he went to secondary school. This is definitely one of the things I’d want to change about his childhood.

Hammock Times at Goa!

     He was subjected to a lot of pain at a very young age. He’d once literally been burnt by a hot mug of tea that fell all over him when he was 1. He has a flair for pyrotechnics, which makes him, from time to time, set things on fire. He’s amazing at telling stories, and it’s hard not to believe that innocent face. He’d once convinced his friend’s mother that he came to school every day from Sydney, Australia. Wait till you know what she did - she asked my mother if this was true.

     1997 was when my mother took the brave decision of pursuing Bachelor of Education studies, which meant that Priyaj and I had to be kept in a day care centre. He was the only saving grace for me then, my only dear one in the stygian and depressing house we were in for over a month, until I fell ill and my grandparents had to be called.

     Over the years he has proven his intelligence in several occasions, but what surprises me is his level of maturity. All his life he’s seen the rest of us behave immaturely, yet he’s the most mature human being I’ve ever come across. He’s compassionate, even to the extent of being naïve, but never has he lost faith in humanity. He’s taught me not to be judgemental, and that’s what has made him an instant favourite of whomever he meets. He had a shy phase some years ago, as all teenage boys have, but is now back to his outgoing and happy-go-lucky nature, with an icing of maturity around it, and a cherry of affection on top of it.

     He keeps the family together. The rest of us can tolerate anything but his tears. If he’s upset about anything, that’s the ultimate straw, because he’s hardly ever upset. Today Priyaj and I have become so close that we can almost hear each other thinking. I don’t know if sibling telepathy really exists, but there sure is some weird connection that we share which I share with no one else in the world. We like the same art, the same songs, the same movies and share the same interests. I still am very protective about him, and we all have this running joke that had he been a girl, I’d have made sure that he'd not see a guy until he turned 40.

     I’ve seen him grow, I’ve seen him succeed, I’ve seen him cry, I’ve seen him angry, but never have I seen him being hateful. He’s my biggest teacher, my best friend, my dearest confidant, and my promising son. I can't stand him being dejected, and will abandon anyone who stands between us. I would not have been myself had it not been for him, which echoes every time he calls out to me, and is also the very first word he spoke – Dada.