When he was born, I was not around, but I remember it was in the middle of the night. I remember looking down at him, in the hospital cradle and thinking 'hmm...interesting'.
His mother was taking a bath, having entrusted me with the responsibility of looking after him, sleeping peacefully in the middle of the double bed. Five minutes later, he was awake and crawling to the edge of the bed. By the time I rushed to him, he had slipped over the edge and was hanging in the blue nylon mosquito net tucked under the mattress. All I could do was support him, like a little fish caught in a net, till his mother came back. He blinked at me the whole time.
It was tedious at times, reading aloud to him. He wanted books with pictures and he would lie in the crook of my arm as I read. Sometimes he would turn the pages, helpfully. If it was in English, I had to translate in my head and 'read' aloud in Malayalam. I am glad those days are over.
He wanted to learn how to cycle - I really didn't have the time or the patience. He still does not know how to (although he may disagree).
He had two little plastic bunny rabbits, an inch and a half in height, with little mustard seed eyeballs that moved when you shook them. They had little ridged cylinders of smelly eraser inside. It was my job to think up escapades and adventures, featuring the two little mischevious bunny rabbits. They are still there, in his room, 20 years later. The pink one is missing an eye, the yellow one has lost an ear and the erasers are long gone.
I cannot remember how well he did at school. I seemed so busy with my own life. I do remember his admission to REC Suratkal. I went along and got him settled into his new campus life.
My life was picking up speed and I had places to go. We kept in touch, but he was growing up fast. There were still the odd precious glimpses of the little boy I used to make spaceships out of seat cushions for, the little boy who had a favourite T shrit when he was two - the one with vertical blue and white stripes down the front with a smattering of little brown teddy bears, the little boy I had to visit in school and open his flask full of chocolate milk for (because he was too tiny to do it himself) - I love and treasure these memories.
He is now taller than me, lean as a lamp post and has a deep, manly, slightly dopey voice. Lately I have started annoying him.
Officially he is my younger brother, with a gap of five years between us. Why then, does it feel like he is my son, I wonder. At the age of twenty five, he is starting his first job tommorrow. I feel proud, I feel scared, I feel happy and strangely enough a bit sad as well.
I want him to do well, I want him to be very happy, I want him to fall in love with his work and his life boldly and unconditionally. I want him to be polite and decent to everyone irrespective of rank.
Oh, and I want him to remember always that he has the best parents in the world and a very proud older brother.
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