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.