"Miser of my memories"

I used to watch 'The Wonder Years' as a kid and a line from the show stuck with me. "Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose". As time goes by, I realise how true this is; how true it has always been. Some memories are vague, some vivid and some are unforgettable. The kind of memories you think of once every day, maybe more. Everyone has, at the very least, one such memory. For me, it is the memory of my elder brother, who passed away in a train accident eight and half years ago. Today would have been his 28th birthday, and although this in no way does justice to his life or his memory, it serves as a small way to pay tribute to one of the most influential people in my life. For a change, I am at an absolute loss for words. Where do you begin, I wonder, to talk about 16 years of togetherness that ended in a way I never envisioned?


I wish I could say I remember every single detail of those 16 years; but I don't. There are snatches of memories that my brain has held on to long enough for me to rehash them every day and keep them alive. Small but vivid memories of little things like playing cricket in our back alley, eating ice cream at Baskin Robbins almost every Friday, with me eating ONLY Vanilla and him trying each of the 31 flavors in succession, of watching a lame Mithun (or Jeetendra) movie every Thursday (that was the weekend in Dubai, and the only day the Arabic channel would broadcast ONE hindi movie. We lived for those days) and eating a burger from KFC or a pizza from Pizza Hut, while my parents went out for some peace away from two squabbling kids, kicking each other in the back seat of the car, even though there was enough space to fit at least two more people, me being the target for every WWF move possible (Yes, I have been chokeslamed more than once!), but at the same time fighting when a local rowdy ran over my leg with his bicycle (That is the moment I cherish the most. Through all the pain, I still remember, the rowdy, at least twice the size of my brother, asking him on being shoved "What do you care?" and my brother saying, "She's my sister. Apologize or I'll hit you with my cricket bat"!), of me weeping while my Barbie dolls got tied to the fan and de-limbed (cruel, cruel boys *sob*), the songs he listened to and I copied (he introduced me to Bryan Adams and Bon Jovi among others) and those little quiz cards we owned, where I always lost when we competed; always! These are my most cherished memories.

He was brilliant; really. Although I always outperformed him academically, he was way smarter than I was or am. I was always jealous and my marks were the easiest thing to throw in his face. What infuriated me more was that he didn't care, and ended up making me cry. My verbal comebacks were never more than an unintelligent "shut up!" when he used words I didn't understand (until I looked them up in the dictionary!) Quizzes and debates were his forte, along with chess and the piano and karate. I have learnt more words from him than I did in my English classes. He ignited the never-ending curiosity that still plagues me at times, when I just HAVE to know about the specifics of something, with his endless questions and quizzing! I remember one of my last conversations with him too. My tenth board results came out on 19 may, 2003, three days before the fateful day he met with a train accident in the Bombay locals. And he'd bet I won't score more than he did in his boards. And I did. Comfortably. He didn't pay up, and dismissed me with irritation, while I laughed at him. We didn't speak at all that day. I learnt much later that the next day he bragged to his closest friends as to how I'd scored so well and how proud he was. Much, much later, my extended family sat together and discussed small anecdotes and incidents of their interactions with him, and I was so proud of the person he was. He inspired me. He knew from the time he was 12 he wanted to conduct research in the field of genetics. He would speak to me for hours about genetics, stem cell research and other such things, without me getting a word, but still nodding, pretending to be interested. He followed that dream, pursuing B.Sc, and was all set to pursue his M.Sc from MSU, Baroda, followed by a Ph.D in the States. He had it all figured out. He had a ten year plan when he was 19. I’m 25 and I don't know what I want to be doing next year.

I wonder how different things would have been if he was still around. Just, hypothetically. And I can't put a finger on it. It would have been very, very different. I paint these rosy pictures sometimes in my imagination, of me taking his advice while coming to the States, of visiting him, of him getting married and me dancing, of becoming an aunt and pampering his kids. Then it all shatters and everything stands still. I grew up much faster than I would have liked to. At 16, I barely had firm footing and I had to step up and assume responsibility for my family too. I lost faith in God for a very long time. I didn't think this was His way of dishing out justice. I wept silently and alone, because I was instructed by my extended family to never cry in front of my parents, lest their healing process get affected. Naive at 16, I believed that and I never spoke to anyone about how I felt. I resisted forming close bonds with anybody I met. I never healed. I still haven't. But the difference is, now I have learnt to accept that. I wish I could say I have moved on, but I haven't. But I have made my peace with the fact that I haven't, rather than forcing myself to move on.

My biggest fear? That soon, not long from now, my memories will begin to fade. I will forget his voice, his laughter, his smile (photographs never do justice), the distinctive smell of his Davidoff perfume, the movies we watched together, the songs he introduced me to and the other small tiny details that keep me linked to him in a way only I can explain and that cannot be put into words. And hence, this is my small way of keeping him alive, for my sake at least, and I hope this serves, albeit in a small way, as a form of catharsis.
Happy 28th birthday Ashwin. I wish you were here. Every single day...

"I am a miser of my memories of you
And will not spend them."~Witter Bynner, "Coins"