Rakhi Musings

Rakhi musings
Punam Khaira Sidhu

YOU know what they say about sons being sons until they acquire a wife, and daughters being your little girls all their lives. Well, as I grew older I found that this homespun adage is perfectly true of real life. My brothers who were part of a close knit family unit changed after they married. No more phone calls, or flying visits to renew the sibling bonds. No more caring or sharing and keeping each other updated on every new pimple or itch.

Parents usually accommodate and come to terms with their sons’ changed priorities. They appreciate that their progeny are busy with new-found mates, even as they strive in pursuit of life’s goals. Sisters usually find it harder to fill up the yawning, aching, emotional abyss that deep-rooted brother-sister bonds leave behind. Initially every sister tries to cling to a relationship under threat. Its not easy to watch bonds, you thought were held together by something, far more durable than any fevicol commercial promises, being rapidly frayed by new emotional equations. I know it wasn’t easy for me. But eventually sisters retreat, deep into their own family unit and try valiantly to hide behind a shield of “as if I care, bravado”. I know I did too.

But deep inside they hurt and pine for their brothers “Bhais”, or ‘Veers’ and the warmth and succour of the brother –sister bond of old. We all use different methods for coping. I use my mother as a punching bag for releasing my angst over brotherly apathy. Rakhi is the time I give passionate vent to it.

She starts reminding me at least a month before Raksha Bandhan. An updated list of addresses follows. Then comes a reminder to send the “Rakhi” so that the brothers get it on time. I usually ignore it, determined to get even with callous brotherly indifference. “Do you know he hasn’t written me a letter or even acknowledged my rakhi?”.”But he sent you a cheque, didn’t he?” I ‘m not interested in their rupees/dollars. “It would be nice to get a letter of thanks, or a greeting on a birthday, or an anniversary “Remember he’s set up a new business,/or he’s got a new posting/or he’s just moved house…….. I’m sure he has his problems. .” “He could call or e-mail if he can’t find an envelope and stamps.” “He could at least have expressed some concern over what appeared to be a huge trough in my life.” “He didn’t even express an interest in my son’s wonderful achievements or congratulate me on my promotion.” . “…..So why do I have to send him a Rakhi?. He’s hardly ever there for me. Fat chance, they will protect or care for me if I should ever need it.”

I moan and groan and my mother lets me. It’s a pattern we have fallen into. Very gently she does, however, make the point that, relationships need to be nurtured. It dosen’t take much to break off a bond, but its difficult to rebuild it. What better occasion than Rakhi to remind them as an older sister of brotherly obligations. “Its your duty to do your bit darling they’ll come around.” “That’s what family is for-understanding and standing by each other” “ Its certainly not about scoring points and getting even”. And so it goes on and every year she blackmails me, emotionally, into sending that symbolic thread of Rakhi that was devised perhaps to remind brothers each year that they have a duty, indeed a responsibility for the well being of their sisters.

This year, however, at that time of the year, came news of a different sort. A biopsy and an emergency operation later, one of my brothers is minus his stomach. There’s a long haul ahead. Chemotherapy, dietary restrictions, a whole change in lifestyle. Life is never going to be the same for any of us. For me, coming as it did, at the time of the year when I usually find reasons why I do not need to renew the bond which puts me in a position where my brothers can hurt me with their careless indifference, I suddenly realise that I cannot bear to think of life without them.

How ephemeral life is? You just can’t take anything, especially those you love for granted. Who knows what destiny has waiting for you at the next corner. More than ever before, I realise, how important my brothers, my ‘Veers’ are to me. Childhood memories, dreams, sibling rivalries inundate me washing away the trivia of my perceived neglect. Cherished memories framed in sepia suddenly come alive. As lachrymal glands go into overdrive I resolve to act, rather than brood in impotent melancholy, for a relationship and indeed a brother I value and cherish.

I can act constructively to do something about it while there is still time. I pack my bags, put in a leave application and tell my husband that Raksha Bandhan is when I need to be with my brother. So what are you waiting for?. Just get together a thali, a Rakhi and a box of sweets and go visit the recalcitrant truant who is an inextricable part of your memories of growing up.