Little Horror


Little Bundle Of Joy

Heart thumping madly, i looked into the steel crib softly draped with linen blankets and into the pink, wrinkly face and felt…THIS is my new sister?!

The night was pulsing with anxiety and excitement. When the first rays of the sun peeped into the room, my grandmama rudely woke me up from a rather nice dream and yelled, “You have a new baby sister!” It took a few stupid seconds for those profound words to sink into my sleepy head but soon my adrenaline took over and i whooped loudly and leapt out of my bed, screaming happily. Little did I know how my life would change with this little creature of chaos, innocently called, SISTER.

Anyway, it took a while to realize that the peach-like object in the cot with fuzzy hair, who did practically nothing but sleep, was A: my new sister and B: would one day look human. Mum, dad and my granny were obviously delighted and were, i think, a little anxious about MY reaction. Fortunately for everyone, i fell in love with the fuzzy peach on sight. I mean who wouldn’t? My very own baby doll to play with and dress up and show off to my deprived baby-sister-less friends! Oh, the possibilities were endless and i couldn’t wait!

Surprisingly, i was allowed to carry the peach even when she was a few days old. Evidently, my dear parents trusted me enough not to drop her. Anyway, it was quite impossible to drop her because the little fuzzball was swaddled in a variety of shawls and blankies with a convenient number of grip-holes and the family jumping alarmingly even if i so much as twitched a little blanky. It was annoying.

She was a delicate, little thing in my arms, soft , cuddly and flushed pinkily. She hardly ever opened her eyes, as if the world beneath her small eyelids were infinitely more beautiful and she looked completely at peace. I loved touching her small, snub of a nose and smiled when she smiled.

A couple of days later, we brought the pink fuzzball home, and ensconced her in a little cubby-hole on the bed. There were furry teddy-bears surrounding her and colourful toys and merrily jingling lights dangling above her so that she could just touch them. It was all very cozy and i hoped she liked it because she was showing a lamentable lack of reaction so far to everything and everybody around her. When would she actually wake up?

A few days later, she woke up and boy did she make us remember THAT every moment of the day and night! She screamed her way through the day and yelled her way through the night. With her pink face screwed up tightly and opening her tiny mouth to surprising dimensions, fuzzball left us nightmarish memories of “those” days.

With a sisterly concern hardly shown by my cruel mother, I used to cuddle her and soothe her during those free-for-all wailing sprees. I used to be genuinely worried and worked-up about fuzzy while her so-called “mother” snored obliviously on. Such is life.

Until then, fuzzball was just..fuzzball. But we couldn’t always keep calling her THAT though I found it kind of cute. According to boring tradition, we had to give her a proper little name and we did. A naming ceremony later, fuzzball officially became known as “Shriesha”. Now, that was way too long for a foot-long creature, so I shortened it to Esh.

So, esh wobbled, cried, drooled and dribbled her way into our lives. She’d be crawling jauntily or playing merrily with her numerous toys and when I walked in after school, she’d drop everything with a gratifying swiftness and crawl her way towards me. So, yep, it was very satisfying. I showed her off to my little friends like she was a new science experiment, describing her every little aspect and narrating her latest accomplishments.

Β *sniff* Where did those days go?

Fuzzy had now attained humanlike features and even two tiny teeth which she showed off every time she grinned. So in a short while, everyone could DRAW those things to perfection from memory.

Small things stand out in my memory- the time when esh threw the cloth blocking her way in the furious crawl towards the camera, eating tomatoes out of the basket, peeing right in the center of the carrom-board, scribbling on my carefully-done homework, making her first wobbly stand before promptly sitting down, dressed up in tiny clothes and looking like a real munchkin, banging pots and pans and singing loudly, sleeping softly when I sang and smiling cheekily all the time.

Months and years flew by madly and Esh, the fuzzball, was now a 3 foot tomboy with a toothy grin, a regrettable lack of manners and a multitude of weird popeye-esque expressions. The only thing that made me feel better was the important fact that her english was excellent, all thanks to moi ,obviously.

Little esh had a terrible experience when she was flitting in and out of hospitals. But she bore hell with unbelievable courage and recovered with amazing resilience. We all went through an incredible rough patch, especially Esh but that horrible experience reminded us, forcefully, that life just hung by a fragile thread and that we ought to cherish everyone and really embrace each moment in our lives.

Flash forward and now Fatty-loo a.k.a. Pigloo was now a sturdy 5-footer with a passion for food( deluded mum and indignant sis yell “no” but I Β know and now you do) and a mad enthusiasm for everything under the sun, everything except studies,that is. Her superhuman energy wilts under Math and Science and she positively turns green at the mere whisper of “hindi”. The only subject she finds herself able to accommodate is Social Studies, a subject Β which she aces every time.

Pig’s day is stuffed with every possible activity with a teensy 30 minutes of frantic completion of homework. On her unlucky days, mom buckles her down to semi-serious studies of math, science and her “Favourite”, Hindi.

My sister with her uber-high levels of unending chi slams off 3.5 hours of badminton, kicks out 1.5 hours of karate, plays out an hour on her long keyboard and relaxes with a heart-pumping swim.

A few paragraphs back, I’d eulogised about the wonderful advantages of having a sister, the main being- dressing her up in cute clothes. Alas! My lovely hopes were shot down (violently, with hysterical fits) before they could even take flight. My darling piglet of a sister refused and resisted all my enthusiastic efforts to teach her basic clothes’ sense. I was forced to never associate the words “Pink”, “Dress” and “Accessories” with the fanatically-determined tomboy. Forget using all the words together to create a magical combination. Did she try to understand that she was in infact a female of the human species? Nope. She remained, true to her name, pigheaded.

But all thanks to that wonderful power called “Fate”, Esh has finally found a place in a gang of girls. I’m very grateful.

With the arrival of the iPad, she’s been constantly glued to the little screen, touching away speedily and amusing herself for hours, discovering new apps and annoying everybody by ignoring everybody(meaning ME).

My little sister stands up for me, argues with me, laughs with and more often at me, astounds me with her simple logic (and pea-brain) and I’m really proud and happy that she’s all mine.

All in all, the story of my little sister and I has only just begun. I bet there are a gazillion more exciting experiences lurking around every corner, just waiting for us to explore them.

I can hardly wait!


About The Urtist

Hullooo! Crazy college girl, Book-Nut, Mini-Artist, (Lovable) Klutz, Head-in-the-Tree-tops with a teeeeensy "The Sky Is Falling!" complex. Yup. That's me. All of Me. And nothing but Me. Ooh! And I LOVE pilates!

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