The Extra Sister

When my twin sisters were born, the world-wise nurses consoled my mother; they told her not to worry, that she would eventually come to love her two extra daughters. The concerned doctor asked her whether there’d be any problems at home. And there were. My grandmother refused to come to the hospital to see her two new grandchildren because they were girls (however like the nurses had said, she came around to love them, within the next 24 hours). Not-so-distant relatives landed up, offering to adopt one of them. They were childless and my parents had too many girls, it made perfect sense to them.

We’re in this beautiful hill station. “We want to go for a nice gentle trek, breathe in the fresh air, reconnect with nature, far from the maddening crowds. Preferably some place with a stream we can splash around in” The guide listens, nodding his head thoughtfully. He looks over the five of us and after assessing our needs and wants proposes that we go to Mata Betapakkahogas Temple. “It’s only a 1001 steps, you can do it, you can stop in between and drink nimboo paani at any of the 2002 tea shops that line the cemented staircase leading up to the temple, the hundred other people also climbing up with you will give you strength, and once you reach the top all you have to do is buy and plant a Trishul at the steps of the mandir and all your wishes will come true. My brother’s wife’s nephew’s daughter just had a son, only through the grace of Mataji. Of course once your wish has been fulfilled you must come back to thank the Mataji and that time you must stay at my sister’s husband’s niece’s son’s hotel.” Of course there was the guide at Jaisalmer, who philosophically shrugged and told my father that what happens will happen and who knows what gods will is.

Growing up as one of three sisters we’ve had to deal with sympathy and incredulousness all our lives. The three of us have perfected the “No, just three sisters, thank the good lord” line which we repeat, often several times, to the same person, heads bobbing vigorously, smiles plastered on our faces until it sinks into their thick skulls that we are perfectly content, thank you very much. We’ve learnt to deal with friends who try to convince us that we need a brother to balance out the family and my parents have learnt to deal with the well-wishers who try and introduce them to support groups for parents afflicted with too many daughters.

While I can’t claim to the fact that I never let any of this get to me (I am rather high strung and my sainted mother has often been at the receiving end of tirades directed at these friends and too defamatory to publish), I can very confidently assert that I never understood what these people were going on about. Until this summer that is. This summer when the two of us who are now living in hostel returned home, we were given a space of 5 square feet, in which we were expected to keep our suitcases containing all our possessions and a rolled up mattress. The sister who was still living at home, not content with taking over our room and converting it into her room had launched a successful offensive against the rest of the house as well. By the time I came back home the drawing room, living room, guest bed room and tiny store room had all fallen. Alex the G would have been envious of her strategy. Which is why if this post is a bit ranty or whiny, excuse me. Sleeping scrunched up on a lumpy mattress never did anyone any good and I am a person who needs her inner-beauty sleep even in the best of living conditions. I have finally begun to appreciate and understand the sympathy out there for families of three sisters. However I am still confused about how an extra sibling in the form of a brother could make things any better.

Did I hear you say Movie?

A day well wasted is a day well spent. And yesterday was a day very well spent indeed. My sister, cousins and I decided to celebrate the return of new releases to Multiplexes by going and watching 17 Again. As my sister and I were leaving, my mother looked at us and in accents of great torment and despair announced that she was being Bheja Fried yet again by us.

According to her Being Bheja Fried means being cruelly left out, deserted by your near and dear when they go to see a movie without you, that too a movie which you might enjoy. The origin of this term she explained her voice quavering with neglect and deeply repressed emotions comes from when my Dad and took me and my sisters to see the movie Bheja Fry without her. She accused us of having Bheja Fried her numerous times since then, the most recent incident being when we went to see Star Trek behind her back. My Father she had forgiven, but being Bheja Fried by those who she not only gave birth to but also gave reasons to live by introducing them to the wonders of Star Wars and the Lord of the Rings was unpardonable according to her. To watch us so shamelessly stalking out without a care in the world (My sisters Final exams are on and I had some left over Internship work to be submitted today) without so much as a backward glance at her as we bheja fried her, it broke her heart, she wailed.

We would have been deeply moved and might have considered inviting her or perhaps even invited her to come along with us except that, my mother got snagged in a technicality. In order to be Bheja Fried the movie you are left out of should be one that you actually wanted to see, or think you might enjoy (like when my friends went to see Dev D minus Me!). My mother to put it quite simply has not enjoyed a movie in quite some time. All the movies she’s seen recently have given her a head ache, and she always ends up pulling a 99 on them. A 99 you ask? It means plugging into your ipod, shutting your eyes and completely ignoring the movie. She first did it in the movie 99, she then pulled a 99 at Angels and Demons (a movie I was Bheja Fried from because I had Internship work to submit the next day. Those of you who think that I am a hard worker, carrying work home, please don’t read the rest of this sentence, for the rest of you who’re still reading- the reason I get stuck with work at home is because I’m busy sleeping at work, that or writing blog posts). My mother would have pulled a 99 on 17 again. If she came, her Ipod stayed behind, we warned her, she sheepishly agreed that perhaps it was best for her to not come.

So it was just us kids who went and saw 17 again, and then because it was playing in a theatre conveniently close by and because even my cousin hadn’t seen it, but mostly in order to bring balance back to the Universe I decided to skip doing the work due and we watched Angels and Demons instead. It was day very well spent indeed.

But it was as we trailed out of the movie theatre after watching Angels and Demons that it hit Sumana that this coming Wednesday she was going to be Demonised by her friends. That is what happens to you when you have a movie crazy family (did I mention that my family has a movie lingo which defines the different ways in which we watch or don’t watch movies?) which takes you to see every single movie released (even those released during your exams) so that when your friends eventually get around to going to see a movie with you (say for example to celebrate the end of the exams) you’ll be watching that movie for the third time in a theatre.

Confessions of a mathematical society president

My parents didn’t take us, when we were Kids to see many movies and the few that we did get to see in the theatre were always kiddy movies (like keeping your cell phones off, not taking hyper kids to the movies is a courtesy my parents very firmly believe in). So the three of us were pleasantly surprised, when my Parents returned from a shopping trip one evening from which the three of us had been excluded (Ok…… in hindsight it looks they didn’t believe in taking us kids out, Period.) with tickets to the Night show of a movie called star wars.
They tried explaining the premise to me “stars and lasers and wars…. Lots of fun!” and I remember trying to picture the movie in my head as we went to the theatre “twinkling stars in a night sky, occasionally a laser beam would emerge from one star and go hit another star which would disappear ……. Lots of fun!” (I really hadn’t seen many movies then). It was my first night show, my first grown-up movie, my first movie with action and violence and a real true Villain, who actually managed to be villainous and not comic relief. That night I fell in love with Movies for the second time (the first time was when I saw Singin’ in the Rain on TV).
And there was so much more to come, finding out that Darth Vader didn’t die in the first movie, that Darth Vader was Luke’s father, that Han Solo Didn’t die in the second movie, that Leia was Luke’s twin sister and that the prequels I waited for, for so long and so eagerly, sucked. But once a star wars fan, always a star wars fan. And Star wars geek I remain to this day, I was after all the girl who had a crush on Lando Calrissian (not Luke the guy who was supposed to be the hero, not Han who stole the show and became the actual Hero). Lando? Who you ask? Precisely I reply. To those of you who are equally clueless about Luke and Han…. I don’t know what to say.
In my grandparents house down south there are many important traditions which must be honoured or else consequences faced. Absence from the sacred early morning pooja for instance will invite the wrath of all your dead ancestors upon you, to make noise, or disturb the peace during the even more scared post-lunch siesta will earn you the wrath of all your living ancestors. On one particularly long sojourn down south my mother began to tell her three hyperactive daughters (perhaps that’s the reason we never got taken out anywhere) the story of the Lord of the Rings, a new episode every afternoon in order to keep us amused and quiet so that the rest of the household could sleep. To cut a long story short, I eventually got around to reading that even longer story, a several hundred times. I have read the companion book Silmarillion thrice and made notes and family trees to keep things in track. I can tell you both the names of Aragorn’s Sword, what Minas Morgul was originally called before the evil lord Sauron took over it, I can recite some of the poems in the Books and most of the dialogue from the movies. To amuse myself in situations of boredom, I make lists of the cast members of the LOTR Movies. I can name 30 of the top of my head! How many can you name?
This summer my sister introduced me to Anime. I fell for it hook line and sinker, I sat up all night and watched 25 episodes of an anime called “Darker than Black”. I marvelled at it, I woke my sister up at 2 in the morning to discuss the significance of the last episode, cried like a baby after one particularly touching episode and when it ended I lost no time trying to find out what was the next anime I should move onto.
And it was as I sat at 5 in the morning, my head spinning with BK Nimarishi, mediums, and the very, very cute protagonist (I totally have a thing for chinky eyes!) that it hit me, the only thing holding me back from total geekdom was the fact that I was not (also) a Trekkie.
That was then. I just saw Star Trek the movie last night. I liked it. (John Cho is the cutest! His eyes……….).
Its official! I am the female Raj Kuthrapalli. Minus the IQ and mathematical aptitude (I became president of the mathematical society on sheer geekiness). And with a longer and even more unpronounceable name. After a night of serious introspection and much contemplation I’ve come to realize that the only thing keeping me from dressing up like my favourite characters and attending movie premieres or conventions is the fact that we don’t have movie premieres and conventions in India. Anyway I’ve almost made peace with myself (writing being very therapeutic) all I want right now is a pair of prosthetic pointy ears for it to be complete.