REMEMBERING BHAI

 

For My Dearest Bhai

A sibling is someone with whom you share not just your parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, but also the very fabric of your growing years, the laughter, the mischief, the lessons, and the silences. And when that sibling is younger, you don’t just grow up with them, you grow up for them in many ways. You learn responsibility, protection, and sometimes, even love in its purest form.

My younger brother—my first friend, and at times, my first enemy too. In many ways, he was like an adopted child to me. I was the louder one, the naughtier, extroverted didibhai for him. He, in contrast, was gentle, quiet, and kept to himself. I would tease him, scold him, and play the bossy elder sister, yet beneath it all, there was always a bond that needed no words. He was a simple soul, yet always had his quiet watch over me.

When he was just a toddler, he fell gravely ill. It was the skill and care of the army doctors that saved him. But I’ve always felt that trauma left its imprint. It made him quieter, more inward in his journey through life.

He chose to live like a sage. Never married, never sought luxuries, and never wished ill for anyone. The world of nature—trees, birds, animals, plants, that was his sanctuary. That was where he found his energy, his purpose.

I often felt he was loved more by Maa and Bapi. Maybe it was because of his frail health that they were more protective of him. My grandmother once explained this to me—that their love wasn’t unequal, just more cautious with him. But last year, when one after the other—first Maa, then Bapi, and then him—left this world, it hit me differently. It felt like he was their most cherished child. And somehow, I was okay with that.

He suffered a heatstroke last year, slipped into a coma, and never came back. My husband stood like a rock, doing everything humanly possible to care for him, to bring him back. But it felt like Bhai was done. As if, for the first and only time, he was angry with the world. And in his silence, he left.

Today, I missed him deeply. Last year, I was still numb, still trying to make sense of it all. This year, the absence settled in more sharply. I did cry, though not loudly, my eyes simply welled up as memories floated back. The silly things I did, the books we read, the times I pinched or slapped him for tattling about me and my friends.

Bhai, I’m sorry. Sorry if I didn’t always live up to your ideals and the simple, honest way you lived your life. But let me say this: you were, without doubt, Maa and Bapi’s most loved child. And rightly so. 

They took you away, to be with them, sooner ! 

I miss you. I miss your way of being here. Quiet, steady, kind.

Always watching. Always caring.

~I remain, your Dibhai

©®Madhumita