An ode to my sister

sistersTwo circles traced in the sand by a wistful finger,
Half burned candle forever stuck inside grandma’s candle holder,
A pair of reading glasses resting on your dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights,
A balmy conversation shared over a hearty meal of vegetable kofta and rice,
Something’s are just meant to go together; like a thread through the needle’s eye.

You and me only a few years apart. “Why did I follow” you ask?
How else would I lay claim on all your childhood toys, even your one-eyed
plastic doll the one whose eye you filled out with a black felt pen.
We were four braided pig tails, four blinking eyes, two impish heads lying side by side staring at the ceiling, wondering how we could cover it with the star studded sky.

Do you remember those endless nights rehearsing your Shakespearean school play? “To be or not to be”, was never a question you asked again. You always knew what you wanted, even when you said “I have no clue”, and how often you said it too? The sturdy doll house you built for me out of cardboard and keen imagination. No scissors and glue can build a childhood haunt that sturdy. I still owe you a “thank you”.

You saved the few shillings we got for pocket money in some piggy bank hidden far out of sight. Yet you always had enough to buy us a treat after school; an ice-cream for you and candies for me. And on the way back home you would share stories you read in class. And oh the stories you would conjure, I soared like a bird in each one.

We crawled on our knees raiding Tutenkhamen’s grave in our mere wall-papered bedroom, and sailed the lost city of Atlantis in our bath tub using spoons for oars. The street lamp outside our room shone brighter than full moon through the wooden slats of our window shutters,
throwing silver ribbons of light that always guided us safely back to home. We were savages who plundered books for adventure. Imagination is an endless playground for the young.

Adventure we found like all who grow up to live their life. We were two circles traced in the sand; delicate and precious. Like sugar cookies cut out of the same dough. Something’s are just meant to go together, dear sister, so I followed you into life like a thread through a needle’s eye.