Once Upon A Time, There Was A Brat…
By Shriya Singh
Catawampus, was suddenly the state of my mind, when I saw my six year old cousin, Samar, poking his head through my room’s door. I could not settle down to study now, even if I had wanted to, which I didn’t, not much of a surprise there, huh? Now, most would consider my cousin as a cute little toddler, and normally I would too, but if you’d have had painfully witnessed all your beloved acrylic colors being emptied over by someone over his own head and your stuff thrown all around by the same toddler, you, like me, would be inclined to disagree. While this event set the tone of our relation, other factors, including but not limited to Samar causing absolute mayhem whenever he’s around sealed its fate. However, I think the problem is that, I am just not fond of kids, or rainbows, or Princesses, or Barbie dolls, or...get my point? I prefer solitude, not because I think it’s cool (which it totally is!) but because I feel more comfortable that way.
I recall that day when my mom suddenly informed me one morning that we were going to visit my aunt and uncle’s home that noon. I think my reaction to that wonderful bit of news was understandable….at least to myself.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”, exclaimed my mom when I refused to go and play “Meet the relatives” with her. “Because they come here all the time and I have got homework to do. I do not have that kind of time to meet people every other day anymore; I am in high school now, mom!” I said decisively. “But your sweet little brother would be there, you know that the kid adores you, right? We would only be there for three to four hours. That shouldn’t trouble your academic performance.” Mom continued with her tirade but something she said made me take a double take. “Samar…and sweet? Hahaha…mom you’ve got to be kidding me. That kid is the farthest thing from sweet! And while three or four hours is not that big of a deal, I’d be so...bored there! It would be better for everyone that I stay here and occupy myself with work.” My mom realizing that convincing me is a fruitless endeavor gave up after awhile muttering something about how I’ve become anti-social and generally inept and that I used to be such an angel as a kid. The bit about me being anti-social, got me thinking, have I really became inept socially?….Nah, my mom’s exaggerating things as usual. It’s one of her hobbies, actually. That I like my peace and quiet is not a bad thing. It’s just that I’m not that good with kids and so I tend to avoid interacting with them.
There’s another story behind my wariness with kids. Do you wanna hear it? Of course you do, you wouldn’t have been reading this otherwise. It goes back a few years, I was twelve and I was drawing a painting of a flower in a garden with my brand new oil pastels that just then I felt someone peering on my painting behind me, it was the neighbor’s eight year old daughter named Priyanka (I don’t get this fixation kids have with me!). She giggled when she saw the entire work. Obviously I didn’t appreciate it, “Why are you laughing?” I might have come off ruder than I intended to but at that moment I didn’t care, how dare this stupid girl insult my drawing prowess! It’s one of my passions! “This looks like an old man not a flower, hehehe” Priyanka managed to say amidst her non-stop and annoying giggles. I won’t lie, I was really hurt when I heard that, I looked back at my painting. There wasn’t anything wrong with my masterpiece! But this annoying brat though was still laughing like a maniac. I huffed and got off the place I was sitting at and went somewhere else to draw something new. This insult made me more driven, now that I remember, to prove to the others that I could indeed draw well. As I grew older, I improved and won numerous art and design contests. But that single experience with that mean little kid, Priyanka, I couldn’t forget.
I started thinking that all kids are mean and annoying, which my rational side knows isn’t the case but I couldn’t so abruptly change my entire perspective that simply. The thing is, I preferred being on my lonesome. And, Samar, upsets my peaceful life. I remember how he once ran taking the mayonnaise with him from our cupboard, much to my mom’s dismay; she had recently bought the foreign item on sale out of curiosity. All her dreams of mayo sandwiches were doomed as soon as Samar “The Menace” set his eyes on the shiny yellow jar. We found him much later, with his entire face and hands and even arms covered in mayo and the glass jar, much like my so very loved acrylics, emptied ( woah, déjà vu’!).
When my mom returned after meeting with my aunt and uncle that evening, she gave me a piece of paper. Apparently, the two barely legible stick figures on it were me and Samar, there were some thingamabobs which were supposed to be flowers too. He had given this to mom so that she could give it to me so that I wouldn’t feel bad about having to remain alone at home. In his words, “When didi sees this, she’ll know that she’s never alone!”. Out of nowhere I got the urge to glomp the kid, and I even felt a little bad and guilty about not seeing the kid. Then, I pushed the thoughts to the side, took the drawing, put it in my clear bag. Then I called my uncle and asked him to put the brat on the phone to let him know that the next time he comes here, I am teaching him how to draw some thingamajigs which happens to resemble the Homo Sapiens species.
I have always made it clear that I like being alone but the thick-headed brat always seems to find me, whenever he arrives or uncle and aunty leave him in mom’s care. He never fails to invade my personal space.
“Didi! What are you up to?” Samar said whilst poking his head from the door, I am starting to think the brat’s actually fond of me. True, I was furious when he first messed with my stuff, especially so, when he ruined my acrylic painting kit but, since he’s just a brat I never commented on it other than reprimanding him once. Not waiting for a reply he allowed himself in and sat next to me. “Samar! When did you arrive?” I exclaimed. I patted his hair and he started with his usual chatter, I didn’t pay much attention, something about seeing a mayor on an American news channel and now wanting to become one when he grows up. I realized despite being only eleven years older than him that we are worlds apart but somehow he reminded me of my younger self. The brat grew on me, I guess. While Samar was still babbling about, I looked into the book which I was planning to give to him later. It was mine when I was younger, it was a drawing book. I opened it and a page flew out of it. I caught it without drawing Samar’s attention, I turned the sheet around to realize that it was the same painting I drew when I was twelve! It didn’t seem like such a masterpiece now. And what a disappointment it was. Wow, it really did look more like an old man than a flower. That girl, what was her name again? Priyanka! Right, she wasn’t lying. In fact, she didn’t appear to have been so annoying in my memories anymore. If anyone, I appeared to be the bratty one in my memory. Man, I am such a hypocrite! Just as I was about to smack myself, that suddenly, in the middle of his chatter, Samar looked up to me and smiled brightly, “You know what, I think you are the greatest didi in the world!”. I won’t admit it to anyone but my heart gave a loud squeal of happiness when he said that. Outwardly, I merely smiled and rubbed his hair softly with both my hands muttering my thanks. Don’t know the exact reason but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.
“Wanna eat a mayonnaise sandwich? They are all the rage these days”, I say. “Really? You’ll make one?”, comes the enthusiastic reply. “Yep, let’s go”, I grin as I lift him off the ground dashing towards the kitchen.
“Didi” means “Elder Sister” in Hindi. I am Samar’s didi, more like, his elder cousin technically, but the brat’s more like my own brother. Sometimes, I wish kids would never grow up or a place like “Neverland” existed in real life. But that isn’t the case. I am afraid that when Samar grows up we will grow apart and become merely relatives who know each other. He’ll go through the teenage angst phase; he’d have his own friends and I’ll have my own job and problems by then, you know the usual drill. We’ll forget each other. I don’t know why he thinks I am so great, when I don’t think I’ve ever done anything to make it so. But, maybe now, as long as it lasts, I’ll strive to be a better, no, the best didi to him.
