– my attempt at a short story

School was not exactly a fun place. Though he still ressisted his parents' efforts to drag him to school occasionally, little Buddha had come to the conclusion that the tiring ritual was unavoidable. At least until he was old enough to take his own decisions. When he is fifteen years old, perhaps? Well, there were nine more years for that. Until then Buddha decided to adopt a policy of appeasement. The appeasement of his adamant parents, the appeasement of his unsympathetic teachers and the appeasement of his mocking classmates.

His older sister Kavitha apparently never had any problems with school. She seemed annoyingly willing to go to school every single day. She woke up like an early bird, happily brushed her teeth, took a shower like a grown-up and got dressed for education. Breakfast was a minor hurdle in her merry cruise to the second home. Every morning when Buddha would still be bravely battling his mother against her attempts to arouse him from his sleep which was usually accompanied by dreams of buildings filled with toys, she would greet him with her tongue sticking out to mock his childishness. He despised her readiness for work and to taunt her lazy sissy of a brother. Thanks to God she went to a different school, a school for the bigger, meaner children.

Mother cajoled him into finally getting ready and starting for the school. “Go straight,” she told him. “Do not stop anywhere in the way. Keep walking until you see the school gate.”, she added. Buddha complied. He did not stop to shake hands with the neighbours' dog or turn his head towards the candy shop. He carried himself and his backpack straight to the school gate, where the watchman let him in along with the other children.

There were two good things about school, though. He got to listen to stories in the language classes and he got to see Divya. She was the cutest girl in school. Well, at least in little Buddha's eyes. It was too early for our six year old Buddha to have had boyish feelings for pretty girls. What he had for her was only the simple affection that a child has for a playmate and perhaps a little more. He showed her his new acquisitions. A new colourful pencil with an eraser on the top and a blue pencil sharpener shaped like a fish. She was mildly impressed or he thought so.

Recess brought relief from the nagging Mathematics teacher. Buddha almost got a rap on his knuckles for not remembering what two times seven was. The blessed school bell rang to his rescue just in time. The peril was averted for the day much to the teacher's disappointment. School was indeed a rough place for Buddha. He spent a lot of time dodging canes and enduring painful pinches in the stomach and the armpits. Many a time was he subject to public humiliation by making the entire class chant “Shame! Shame! Puppy Shame!” which was often mutilated to “Shame! Shame! Pappoo Shame!”. It was a barbaric ritual and eventually everyone in the class had to face it. But Buddha always felt conspired against.

Divya had something to share. She saw Buddha's family bungalow on her way to the temple with her mother. She saw him playing in the porch with the neighbours' children. Her house was next to the school and Buddha knew that it opened towards the back of the school. He always thought the only way home was through the frontgate of the school. He told her confidently that it was impossible to reach his home from the backgate. But she was sure that she saw him playing in the porch. “Why did you not call me then?”, he asked, “You could have joined us too!”. She did not listen. She was still trying to convince him that one could reach his bungalow from the backgate. When Buddha seemed skeptical she suggested he try it that day.

School was over for the day. Most of the children ran to the frontgate. A few went to the backgate. Buddha and Divya were among them. “I am not so sure about this. Did you really see our house yesterday? I never went this way, you see.”, he tried to reason with her. She was insistent. Her mother took her from the backgate and she saw him playing in the porch on their way to the temple. “Well, in that case..”, thought Buddha. “Do not worry”, she said. “I know you'll reach home safe.”, she assured him.

The backgate! It was a new world to Buddha. He never saw the road he was about to walk on. Divya seemed to know what she was talking about. He finally decided to give it a try. It was high time he did something on his own anyway. Her smile and the tone of her voice gave him confidence. He should not be a sissy. He must try new things, be brave and explore the town. He waved her goodbye and started for home. He did not know in which direction he went except that he thought it was the right one.

Unfamiliar faces greeted him, which was not new but when accompanied with unfamiliar territory it was not reassuring. But he kept moving forward. He thought about how Divya must have seen him playing. He hoped there were not too many girls. He should avoid playing with the girls. “Play cricket with a cork ball like the big kids”, he told himself.He hoped the surroundings would become more familiar as he neared his destination. But that never seemed to happen. The further he walked the more distant home seemed. He wondered where the pot-bellied keeper of the kirana store was. Every tree he saw on the way he hoped was the Neem tree in the front of his house. But the trees he met were either too small or were not trees at all.“Just keep going straight,” he assured himself “and you'll reach home”.

Then came the cross-roads. He must take a turn. Buddha was perplexed. He never took turns. Should he take the left? Or may be the right? He started to panic. He had to make a decision. One of those roads would lead him home. He just took one of the roads, he did not care which. He could only hope that things would change for the better.

The new turn led him into a noisy street. Buddha could not recall ever being to this street. There were hawkers all over. Vehicles rushed past him indifferently. There was a haze of dust and smoke all around him. The stench of vehicular smoke suffocated him. The cacophony of haggling customers and urgent sounding horns made him feel small and alone. Tears rolled down his face.

He felt desperate. Clearly there was no way home now. He looked around for a familiar face. He wished somebody would recognise him and take him home. There seemed to be so many people but he knew none. He kept walking aimlessly. He saw children working in the road-side eateries. They reminded him of all the movies he had seen about chlidren who go astray from their homes and end up in foster care often in abject poverty. He had heard tales of beggars kidnapping innocent kids of his age and forcing them to work. Little Buddha wept in agony.

A few passers-by asked him what the matter was. They asked him if he was lost. Whose son was he? Where did he live? Buddha did not pay attention to any of the queries. He just went on walking while wiping his incessant tears, towards a goal not yet in sight.

He forgot all about the cute friendliness of his favourite classmate. He remembered nothing of the arduousness of school. He wished he could find his way back to the school. Ah, the school, how well he knew it! How clearly he could see his way home from the front-gate of the school. Second home indeed it was.

He wished he had just obeyed his mother. It was so easy when she made his decisions and gave him clear instructions. He wondered if he would see his mother again. She must already be looking for him. May be she even sent someone to look for him. But how will they ever find him? Buddha was tired of weeping. But silently he still did.

“Buddhoo! What are you doing here?” said the voice from behind. It was Kavitha! She must be returning from school. Oh, how he loved her! He dropped his backpack and ran to her like he would run to his mother. The poor girl was stunned. She almost fell backwards. “What happened? Why are you crying?”, she asked him caringly. He did not know the right words to describe what happened to him. She wondered if someone hit him but he denied it. She wiped his tears, picked up his backpack and reassured him that they would now go home.

It surprised Buddha how soon they reached home. He saw the neighbours' dog eating its evening chapati on the veranda. The crows on the Neem tree caw-cawed their greetings to him. He figured his mother would be worried sick for him. Buddha ran up the stairs as if it had been years since he had been home. He jumped to hug his mother who was waiting for them in the doorway. “What's the matter? Why are we so affectionate today?”, said the perplexed mother. Kavitha told her how she found him crying on the road. Now assured of his safety Buddha recounted the entire adventure to the ladies. “Oh dear, you were lost, were you?”, she asked him concernedly. “Lost! He was hardly a few metres away from home.”, contradicted his sister. “Aww! But he's just an innocent child. He wouldn't know that now, would he?”, said mother. Little Buddha couldn't disagree.

Okay, She has been pushing me for a while, but I somehow found it awkward about writing a testimonial to my own sister, and also scared of saying something I shouldn’t. So I didn’t.

But, now that it is Rakhi Pournami (or Raksha Bandhan if you are a North Indian), and also because of the fact that a girl just scribbled in my Orkut scrapbook that she was impressed by how much I liked my sister, I think its high time(and also apt) I write this.

Well, where do I start? As a wise (wo)man once said, lets start from the beginning.

You see, we are almost of the same age.

I am just One year,One month and One day older than her. How many of you brothers and sisters out there have such a special combination of ages? That itself shows that God had planned quite a bit before bringing us together.

I don’t remember quite well about how I felt when she was born.(The discerning reader would understand the obvious reasons for my partial amnesia. No, I did not get hit on my head.)
I don’t think I even knew what that meant.

From what I could gather from my parents’ and relatives’ vivid but sadly second-hand(to me) descriptions, I understand that I wasn’t even speaking three-syllabled words by then. However that was supposed to change.

On the day when she was born, I was left to the care of my relatives in my grand ma’s house. And(the puritarian reader whould excuse me for starting the sentence with a conjunction) probably to my cousin Mahesh(whom I call Mahesh baava)’s care especially.

If you were attentive enough you would have noticed that Mahesh is a three-syllabled word(though in certain contexts in Speech Processing “hesh” is considered to be a single syllable). Well, I don’t know if even the attentive readers would see this coming, but that very day I called him by his name.

A new (three-syllabled)phase of my life starts on the same day my sister’s just begun(It’s God’s planning all over the place now).

Though I don’t remember how much I cherished my sister’s coming, I do remember quite well about how, to put it delicately, I didn’t.

That could be evening or afternoon that day, but I was petting my baby sister. All of a sudden she scratches on my nose. Being just the one year old infant I was, I felt hurted.
That’s how our first quarrel happened.

In the following years, I had to bear a lot of scratches on the rest of my face, numerous times of my hair being pulled and on one fine Diwali day, a forced combing of my hair.

As the male readers who also have younger sisters would understand, I hated her.

I don’t regret saying that. Because(again the puritarians among you should excuse me) how can you love your sister without hating her? For that matter how can you bond with anyone without constantly quarelling with him/her?

So much for the past.

But(alright I give up, I can’t form a sentence without starting with a conjunction) before coming back to the present, I would like the reader to reflect on the following. We were just one year(and one month and one day) different by age.
So, we were practically twins. All we ever shared at that age was our looks. We almost looked alike. There wasn’t a sane person who did not mistake us for twins.

Coming back to the present, I don’t think I ever deserved a sister like her.
The reader may wonder why I think so. The following explanation should suffice.

She knows what I like and what I don’t, where as I hardly know what gift she would like. She remembers(always) my birthday, but I forgot hers more than once(to be precise, twice I think). She shares everything with me, while I don’t even share my thoughts with her. She is probably the most practical thinking person in our family, where as I have no clue about my life. She works hard, is punctual and modest. She gives and gives. I only take.

I am all that she is not.

Probably, thats why I love her so much.

(I just can’t resist putting this in)

P.S.: We are virtually equivalent to a pair of hypothetical telepathically joined siamese twins.

Well, i had to start blogging at last.

 So, here I am making my “Hello World!” post.

 Thats all for now.