KINDRED

KINDRED

I feel alone. Now that I’m an only child, with a quiet, tired father and a constantly sobbing mother. What’s worse, I can’t speak my heart out, barring a few deep groans to get someone’s attention when I’m upset, scared or angry. But many people can’t articulate themselves during grief anyway, feeling lost, confused and often self-destructive. Yet, they would want a familiar voice to comfort them with cliches like “I’m here for you”, or “it wasn’t your fault”. But in reality, I was deaf to voices and neither did such words ring true in my case. I deserved to be born with this curse, didn’t I?

When I felt sad about something, my ‘Agga’, whom I addressed by saying the word aloud and by putting out my thumb and index finger, ironically like a gun sign, touching it to my face and then to the other hand, always put her arm around me and dramatically mouthed a poem I liked -

God’s child, God’s child,

I was told you cried.

Well, what am I here for?

To watch all those tears flow.

Who was it that made you sad?

Was it little Joey, Mom or Dad?

If its Joey, he’ll be burned and throttled,

But Ma and Pa, are old and their skin will soon mottle.

No matter how sinister the cause of my sadness- like a crush saying he only saw me as a friend or a distant relative calling my disability my past life’s karma, unaware that I could read their lips, this poem always had a way to cheer me up. Because of its silliness, the spontaneity with which it was strung together or probably because it reminded me of my ‘Agga’.

She was very protective of me. Because I was different, she let go of all of her friends and befriended me, figuring that I would have none when I’d be her age. She made sacrifices before she could even spell the word. A new frilly frock, it looks better on you sister. Something she drew, colour it the way you like, Chelli. No horror movies because little sister will get scared. Though there were little things she may have wanted, she never put up a fight with me. It was my word against hers.

It didn’t help her any more, that we were only 3 years apart, and that I was fair skinned, doe-eyed and had long black hair. Everyone who saw me called me a ‘doll’ and had a lingering gaze of wonder upon me, till they realized that I was a mute and that gaze would quickly change to pity. Whereas big sister was gifted with words and a heart of gold, both of which the world couldn’t see.

Despite getting most of what I wanted, there were still some things she always got over me. My parents’ admiration, for instance, when she helped to teach me at home, or how I couldn’t go to music and dance class, but she could. I had to go to the same college as her, so she could watch out for me there. I wasn’t particularly interested in anything in an Arts and Commerce college. Just because she was good at English Literature, and wanted to become a writer, what should I do there? Clap as she succeeded in all her endeavours!

We weren’t twins. Supposed to be attached together, doing the same things, wearing the same clothes all the time. University, with students from different departments, walking in large groups, meeting up after hours, bunking classes together, really appealed to me, though I sometimes couldn’t understand what people were saying because they talked so fast or there were just too many lips to read. Additionally, I was an instant hit in class. Boys couldn’t stop staring, and girls were curious about how I braided my hair or which store I bought my clothes and accessories from. But all these people were shallow, and although they gave me attention, I knew they were also the ones who felt sorry for me when I couldn’t answer them in their language or mocked me for just being a beautiful face.

Yet, there was one guy who was different. A senior studying to become a lawyer, I later found out. He was tall, skinny and wore wired glasses. He wasn’t particularly attractive, but there was something about him that stuck. Maybe the frown he wore on his forehead or the curly hair he pushed back with a hair band. He mostly sat by himself, reading, either in the library or by the 3^rd floor of the Law building, with his legs dangling down the balcony.

I did try to strike a conversation with him in the library, a place where all the noise of the world was inconsequential, where people like me thrived, however, he didn’t so much as glance at me. What was it that he was reading that he couldn’t take his eyes off? I got a book to read, but hardly finished a page. I kept looking up to see if his eyes would meet mine.

Annoyed at myself or at him for not looking, I wasn’t sure which, I came back home quite snappy. My sister asked me what was wrong but I slammed my bedroom door hard in response. She feared someone may’ve offended me because of my incapacity to hear or speak. When we were younger, she often said reading lips or hand movements wasn’t always enough to communicate, some words were blanketed behind expressions and tones, something I obviously wouldn’t understand. After coming out of my cocoon in University, it felt like ‘Agga’ was my disability. The constant reminder that I needed a translator to understand what was going on around me, the person who enjoyed all the adventures and then filtered her experience to which ones I should and shouldn’t pursue. Don’t go to that cafeteria, I got food poisoning because of their cream roll. Don’t dress up too much for college, people may think it’s your birthday. Don’t wear eyeliner on the top and bottom lids of your eye, it makes you look like you have dark circles. I think I’d know after 18 years of living in this world, what clothes I’d like to wear or how I’d want my eyes to look. Thank you very much!

I could ignore my big sister in graduate school, but not this senior. What further got my attention was that he and ‘Agga’ spoke very animatedly, laughing and punching each other’s arms, for close to 20minutes in the corridors. Did they know each other from before? Were they dating? I ran to my sister and grabbed her arm. She was taken by surprise at my sudden arrival mid-conversation and by the aggressive way I held her. She introduced me to the boy, who smiled at me for the first time. He told ‘Agga’ that I was so pretty. I was elated. He knew who I was! He thinks I’m beautiful! My sister told me to say thank you to him, like I was 5 years old and didn’t know better. I frowned at her, but thanked him anyway, idiotically forgetting to hide my disability and putting my hand to my chin and out to him, mouthing ‘THANKYOU’. He frowned and turned to my sister to ask her how to respond to that. She said “you can just wave your hand away like it’s nothing”. Again, I needed someone to mediate my conversation. Guess, I could never have a private, one-on-one conversation with anybody.

Later that evening, I told ‘Agga’ I had something I wanted to tell her. That I had a huge crush on the guy she was talking to today. Her wide, expecting eyes turned dark and she looked down. When I asked what happened she said that he was older than her and me. So, what I said? So, you CAN’T be with him she said. I was flabbergasted at such a stupid excuse. SHOULDN’T is a suggestion I could consider, CAN’T is an outright order. Who was she to tell who I can and cannot date?

I needed to set the record straight with her. She was interfering way too much into my life! She wouldn’t give me any further explanation either. I had fights with her every day. You’d wonder how that was possible considering I can’t speak? Well, no interaction in or outside the house, coming to University separately, doing things I knew she didn’t like, such as taking things from her room and not putting them back in the right place. Childish you may say! That’s what she said too.

Meanwhile, I noticed that the senior I had a crush on was also less visible in University. When I tried bumping into him, he would give me a superficial smile and avert his eyes from me. I wrote him a letter of how I felt about him. He said he was flattered but I shouldn’t waste my time on him, because he was recovering from a broken heart and needed time for himself. Who was he dating? He was always alone, except for my sister?

She had stopped talking to me and mostly kept to herself. She looked quite upset about something but wouldn’t say to anybody what it was about. I tried hard to get a reaction out of her, but she just looked tired all the time. After 2 months of my antics, we had our showdown in the subway, while waiting for the train to take us back home. It was 7pm at night, raining heavily. Our Dad was supposed to pick us up after work, but had a sudden meeting come up in the last minute. So it was us both coming back home together. How bad could it be? We won’t kill each other?

The train got delayed by the rain and the subway was empty. What’s your problem Agga? You won’t talk to me and he won’t either? Why are you acting like a damsel in distress? You can date anybody else on this planet? Why does it have to be him? You can lure the person you love with your beautiful poetry or with how sweet you talk?

She held me by the shoulders and shouted loudly “Enough”. I couldn’t hear how loudly she said it, but the lady at the ticket booth looked up from her paperwork and Agga’s eyes were blood red. She wasn’t doing any hand gestures either. She said, “can’t you see how much pain I’m in?”. “How can you be so selfish” she said aggressively. “You can’t have everything you want just because you’re disabled. I broke up with him, because you like him. I’m miserable from the past 2 months.  It is NOT my fault he’s not attracted to you. I CANNOT control other people’s emotions, like I do mine, to your liking. What will you do if he dates you anyway? You won’t be able to tell him what you want and even if you do, he won’t understand.” So what’s the point? Go find a person like yourself!”

In a fit of rage, I pushed ‘Agga’ away from me, not realising the train was coming behind her. She fell right in front of it and died. I killed my big sister.  But, there was no one to see this, as the ticket collector, perturbed by the commotion we caused, left the booth for a cigarette. I got away with my sister’s murder, by calling it a suicide. She was upset we both liked the same guy. Her recent breakup and dwindling marks in college were proof of her depression and only reinforced the fact that she killed herself. The world knew I had nothing to do with it. I was a silent witness. I said nothing. I heard nothing.