The All-rounder
The room was lit by an old, dusty tube light. The congested table was the source of a combined odor of medicines and fruit. The twins had their gaze sleepily fixed on their mobile phones.
I was lying on a bed covered with a white sheet, in one of the rooms of a private hospital. It was after a minor accident which left my head and left hand injured. But that was not what bothered me now.
“How are you feeling now?”
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I did not notice my mother entering the room.
“I am fine. What about him?”
“He’s got his leg sprained. He is still asleep. I do not know how he will take it. Appu! Ammu! Enough of it! Go to sleep!”
My heart started to bleed.
My elder brother was always my role model. In fact, he was the role model for many, even my younger siblings, the twins and all my younger cousins. Why wouldn’t he be?
He was a ‘straight A’ student and most of the time, the topper in his class. He is proficient in both classical music and martial arts. He was head boy in his school days and was studying in one of the best engineering institutes of our country. He had to quit the basketball team of his school to join the National Cadet Corps, and then became a Senior Under Officer in college. He took up engineering just because our parents and his teachers convinced him to do so. After taking up his degree, he planned to join the National Defense Academy.
His role model was our father. Whenever anyone told him that he reminded them of him, his face would beam with pride, much brighter than any prize he had won. He was tall, with long legs and broad shoulders , and had grey eyes. Like my father, he stood out in every crowd. He had also inherited his deep and clear voice, and when he would recite mantras in the temple, a powerful grace in his voice makes it distinct from others. Our father was a General in the Indian Army and he wanted to follow his footsteps.
But then, I had never felt comfortable with him. Especially when people compare me with him. I was never like him, nor like my father. But I tried to be like him. I joined every course he joined, and tried to inherit his mannerisms and style, but just ended up as a mere mimic. I shall improve when I am older, my mother would tell me.
My brother was pretty short tempered. My imperfections did not go along well with my parents, and did not go along with him either. Whenever I fumble in the parade practice or turn up late or if anything did seemed untidy to him, his handsome face would turn red. I have heard a lot of his scolding, but never became immune to them. He would complain that I was clumsy and absent minded. He was a perfectionist, like my father and expected everything in our home in military standards. I would feel relieved when he would leave for his college.
In one of his visits, he seemed really happy. He was selected for the Republic Day Parade, and it was his long time wish. He made sure that his preparations never lacked perfection.
The night two days before the Republic Day of that year, he screamed at me for something that I do not remember now. Everyone stood on his side, and I had enough of it. I yelled back and stormed out of the house. I would never go back to that house where I was considered less inferior, I thought then.
It was when I was walking on the pavement of a busy road, that I heard his voice. His long and fast steps got him closer to me. To avoid him, I decided to cross the road, and in the process, failed to notice a truck approaching me. Then I felt a bright beam of light and a strong pull.
My elder brother had just saved my life, and in the process, sprained his leg. Those moments also smashed one of the biggest dreams of his life. I was certain that he would never forgive me, but had a strong urge to go to him and apologize.
I walked into his room and saw our mother with him. He was sobbing hard on her shoulder. I had never seen him sob before. My mother stood up to leave the room, and all I heard her say was “I know you lost something important, but there are far more important things”. I chose to talk to him later.
I refrained myself from his room later that day. The next day, I visited him. He was awake and looked okay.
“How’s your hand” he asked me.
“It’s okay” I replied fast.
“The Republic Day’s tomorrow, is it?” he asked, his voice getting shakier, as a precursor to his tears. He wrapped his arms around me andcried softly.
“I…I’m sorry” I said, feeling guilty. He did not respond.
After a while, we talked for a long time about other happy stuff. And that was the first of many long talks we had
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