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Sandhya Rao |
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As I hung up after a conversation with my elder sister in India, a dull sadness gripped me. My brother-in-law, a major in the army, was coming back after a stint at the India-Pakistan border. I knew he would have to go back. But that was not the reason for my sadness. I feared that when he went back this time around, my sister would lose something precious. Namely, her 'snobbishness', 'fluffiness' -- her optimism, as I see it. You see, my sister is one of those people who relish the small joys of life. She cannot quote Tagore at the drop of a hat or be up-to-date in today's politics or what have you. She is a regular middle-class housewife. Her interests are the latest movies, gossip magazines, shopping, jewellery, and the two MVPs (read, Most Valuable People) in her life -- her son and husband. She loves looking through her collection of expensive clothes. And before they bought their car, she enthusiastically explained the choice of colour and make to me on the phone. Our relatives call her 'shallow', but I positively love her childlike enthusiasm for life and its luxuries. My elder sister could make herself exquisitely happy with life's materialistic offerings. Growing up, I was always the 'smartest' among us three siblings. My brother was the silent, brooding type. As for my sister, my parents wanted to get her married off as soon as possible. She was always 'flying in the air', my father said. She and her friends giggled over their good-looking seniors and had a great time in college. Everyone knew she would not hold a high-paying job anytime in her life. But I have always looked up to her and, in some way, envied her. At 26 I am jaded. Living a mechanical life in the US of A, I burst into tears every time I have an argument with my husband. Jewellery and fine clothes do not relieve me of that depression because... because I am above all that, you see! My sister, on the other hand, is always bubbly. Whenever I am down, I call her up and she will say something like, "You know, I got this bead necklace... and at the kitty party everyone said my sari was the best..." God, her enthusiasm is so infectious! And that is why I am scared. Maybe the harshness of life will catch up with her. Since 1999, my brother-in-law has been called to the frontline many times. Thanks to the Kargil war and the now-so-routine skirmishes at the border with our lovely neighbours, he is gone most of the times. I wonder how difficult it is for her. She stays in a small cantonment town in north India with her five-year-old boy. Loneliness seems to have changed her. She was chatting nineteen-to-the-dozen when I called her up, but she also said she had gone to see the doctor because of an unexplained pain in her back and shoulders. The diagnosis? The dreaded D-word. Depression. My heart ached. Not her! Please, not her. My worst nightmare is that one of these days she will say, "All these expensive clothes do not matter... I just wish he would be here all the time." Illustration: Lynette Menezes |
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