Sisters Act

My darling younger sister, Christine, and I were just fifteen months apart, so you can well imagine the close bond we shared despite our very different personalities. Christine’s reticent and resilient and resolved, whereas I am curious, cheerful and candid.  I was a last-minute learner, but   Christine was brilliant from birth. We were like chalk and cheese (and no brownie points for guessing who is chalk), nevertheless, we were always along together like a breeze in the trees. Me, naughty, she nice, could as well be the one-word definition for the two of us!

I remember clearly, as if it were only yesterday, our long, lively walks to and from school, our big bags weighing a ton (deep down I feel that that was the reason yours truly failed to grow vertically). Neither sun nor rain prevented Christine and I from enjoying these walks, often with our friends who’d join us as we drew near their homes on our way to school. Fabulous years when your feet were your only means of transport. No matter what mischief I would get myself into, Christine never tattled on me at home. She would make her displeasure known to me gently but firmly, and that was it.

Study and Christine were synonyms. Mummy dear never had to tell Christine to take her books for she took to books right from infancy, like a fish to water! Her innate intelligence along with her hard work ensured she was a brilliant student all through school and college, culminating in her achieving her Doctoral Degree in the 80s, a rare accomplishment in those days. As for me, the less said the better. Books were my bug-bear. I loved story books, yes, but didn’t share the same love for my school books. You cannot even begin to imagine the patience and effort my dear mother had to put in to get me to sit and study! Do I hear sighs that empathize from my some of my readers! Well, hold your horses, dears, for books, books, and more books, later became a way of life for me. A mystery that continues to baffle me even as I have fallen in love with them.

Back to the flashback. Christine and I were under ten years of age when our dad bought us each a watch, our first, a shiny, steel HMT! I confess I had, by that time, still hadn’t mastered the art of reading the time, and now I had my own wrist watch! What a truly historic moment it was for both of us! Even as I write this, I can still feel the euphoria I felt on that day when we wore our watches to church! Christine was excited too, but never one to make a public display of her feelings, was quite content to sit still in church. With me, of course, it’s a different story altogether. I couldn’t help fidgeting with my watch, and, as if that wasn’t enough, I would ask her, every few minutes, what the time in her watch was. Christine, in her calm, sweet way, took a look at her watch and told me.

This went on for a few more times, when, all of a sudden, we felt, in true Ted Hughes’ style, the “… sudden sharp hot stink of…”, oh, please, do not even for a moment think I am using this line from the poem “Thought Fox” in the context that it was written. Far from it! What both of us felt was, the sudden, sharp, pain of a hard pinch from someone in the pew right behind us. And, no, she was not just anyone. She was Rev.Sr.Strict! Pain coupled with shame should have taught me a jolly good lesson then and there, but no, I was too much in love with my watch to think that Sr.Strict was going to turn a blind eye to our innocent joy. It was the second pinch that settled me, us.

Leaving school behind us, Christine and I went on to college.  And no, it wasn’t just any college, it was The One and Only: Madras Christian College! Since only PGs were admitted into the Women’s Hostel way back then, Dad ensured we got into a good hostel nearby. We couldn’t have asked for a better roommate than each other, poles apart as we were, including our study patterns. I would burn the proverbial midnight oil poring over my books, while my sister would rise before the crack of dawn, drawn to her books. The hostel had rigid rules regarding the use of electricity, so Christine had to make do with a small oil lamp to aid her early morning study hours.

One day, after slogging over my exam preparation till two in the morning, I decided to call it a night. When you are student of literature (in my opinion and experience), the possibility of fictional characters and their situations waltzing into your dreams cannot be ruled out. Here I was, fast asleep in my bed, the fictional figurines filling my REM sleep, when, all of a sudden, I burst out laughing loud and long. My dear sister, who was lying awake in her bed with the oil lamp on her chest, seriously studying, got the fright of her life! Scared out of her wits, Christine’s agitated movements sent the lamp flying to the floor. The noise awoke me, and in all innocence, I asked her what had happened. Thank God the little lamp was strong bottomed, and the burning wick was extinguished as the cute little chimney crashed into a million fragments on the floor. With the mess cleaned up, I was back in bed.

Both of us were ready for class right in time. No matter what, we always kept the time, thanks to our ever-faithful HMT watches! Make no mistake, they came with us wherever we went. Christine was an ardent student of Zoology and Public Administration, practical, her feet firmly rooted in the ground. For me, it was Literature all the way, most of the time, living on cloud nine! How many sisters, the world over, are like peas in a pod with our individuality intact!