Special Mention - Creative

Lady Punekar

Today’s a very important day for me. What happens to me depends on how today goes. A part of me has always wanted today to happen, but a part of me wishes I could sink into yesterday. But I’ve burned that bridge. There’s only today, tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and so on. But who says tomorrow can’t resemble yesterday? Don’t we have days when we take what’s best from the past and blend it with the optimism that we pump out of the future to make the best present? I think I want that for myself. I want my tomorrows to mirror my yesterdays but have new prospects of their own as well. That’s not what most of my people would want, though. And that’s definitely not what Big Sister would want either.

I look at my younger, less influential sisters. They seem happy, and they seem young. But they’re dull. We all want friends and sisters who can be intellectual, agile, attractive, and astute, but we also want them to care, have faith, and help in times of need. Which qualities override the others? Hard to tell. Would I rather want a hyper-pragmatic and ever-dynamic friend who would enhance my position and ameliorate my stature in the real world but wouldn't lend a compassionate ear if needed, or would I want an average, naive, and downtrodden one who would offer a shoulder to cry on during adversities? Not that those qualities come in those definite sets and are strictly set in stone, but those are the two distinct combinations I’ve seen. I would like to believe that I am the best of both. But if I had to pick only one, which side would I select?

What if I want both? What if I can’t choose?

But a choice must be made. And it must be made today. Nagpur reads the letter thoroughly. I can listen to her pronounce each word in her head, in her addictive nasal accent as I look at her distressed face, decoding the contents. She looks up at me and smiles weakly. She always smells of orange peels, and she’s quite a poet. Among all the sisters, she is quite liked. She’s younger than me, but not too young like Nanded, Ratnagiri, and others who I often meet. Satara and Nashik are around my age, but they don’t quite agree with me on a lot of terms. Kolhapur is another sister I have picked bones with. But at the end of the day, I suppose, we don’t keep glass shards in our skins; we pluck them out and we live, as we infinitely have in peace. No grudges, no squabbles. Only sisters.

I play the conduit between Big Sister and the rest of my direct family. One can say I’m the second-eldest. Mumbai doesn’t have time at all for anybody. She’s far too burdened, and I understand. That’s exactly why I have to help Big Sister. They all say I’ve come of age and that I must take responsibility. I’m not afraid of responsibilities; I’m afraid of what these responsibilities will make me in time. It’s a process. A metamorphosis for a sealed fate, irreversible in nature. And these ‘responsibilities’, as the Big Five like to put it, lay the first stone.

I have responsibilities of my own, you know. I am the ancestral home of all the rulers of my State. In my early days, when the Council of the Five didn’t exist, I was a regal blessing. I was the chosen one. The beacon of culture and heritage. Had I hit the geographic jackpot of having the shores, I would have been on the council today. But I was never ambitious. Even now, when I have the chance to sign the contract to nominate myself to be the sixth member, I contemplate. What will happen to my annual parades? Ganpati Dholkis? Elaborate, authentic festivities? Pandharpur yatra? What of the peculiarly nasty boards and hoardings that I am known for? What of my green sensitive parts, my trekking spots? It will soon vanish, that I know for sure, or worse, get commercialized. Don’t get me started on how my food is slowly going extinct.

But then I was the one who was responsible for that. I did demand that my outskirt-ish sides have better clubbing culture and western eateries and pubs to dance in. But I blame Big Sister too; has she no sense when to stop? Really, sometimes I feel like she’s going to be the end of me. She’s already had Holi ruined for me, along with some other festivals. Every Rangpanchmi, I used to be soaked in the vivacious transcendence of organic pasteles and cool, refreshing water, like a turmeric-bride, like a paradise fly-catcher. Now I’ve become a pit of chaotic sludge, thanks to the ideological brainwashing by Big Sister’s people. There’s too much music—heart-thumping music—in every festivity ever. Children used to titillate me, putting their little hands in my soil and carving mini-castles they called ‘killas’ in their backyards every Diwali. Mumbai was so jealous that I used to get that treatment from the children. But now that’s gone too. I don’t entirely feel like a flycatcher anymore, I feel like a pigeon hanging upside down on a wire, choking on plastic stuffed within and without.

Not that I want to derogate someone on the basis of their complexion, but Big Sister looks old. Older than she should look. She looks like one of those actresses who abuse the skin-care industry by applying excess make-up to look good but end up looking terrible. Big sister tries her best to hide those wrinkles and dark circles, that acute hairfall, and those coarse, dry lips, but she isn’t always successful. The capital sister, who’s my cousin, not my direct sister, looks terrible too, but she doesn’t bother. I like that about her. She doesn’t care if she’s flamboyant or if she’s shining. Mumbai is like a rotten apple that keeps on polishing herself to present a shining apple. Delhi doesn’t do the polishing part, but that does not change the fact that the core is rotten.

But you know what they say: if you want to reach the top, you must get your hands dirty. I know that’s unfair, but it is what it is. My sisters have done bad things, yes, but somewhere that was out of obligation, and they did it for us so we could live. Of course, from time to time, they made personal decisions that I do not approve of, like those sky-scarpers Big Sister had herself constructed besides her slums or the forest named ‘Aarey’ she slaughtered because she fancied a metro on her birthday. But those were her choices, and some of them made her the economic pivot of the entire nation. They made her one of the best there is out there. I’m proud of her; I truly am, but the question is, do I want what she has? She says everyone wants what she has. Everyone wants to be her. But I’m not sure if that’s even true.

Talegaon, my sweetest darling, comes to send me off. She’s still budding, she’s purely innocent. She reminds me of a younger me. She adjusts my saari for me from behind and puts a tikli right in the midst of my forehead. I thank her, and I take the wind.

I must reach the capital on time. I have a reputation to maintain. On my way, I fly by my cousins. I don’t interact with many of them. I don’t have to because Big Sister handles it all. She’s very flexible and astute. She doesn’t discriminate, as many of our cousins do. She’s very multilingual, and she makes friends across the country. Her popularity has no bounds. Yes, I am jealous of her from time to time; there is no denying that. Her extroversion is a boon, I admit, but that boon comes with a price to pay. A price I’m iffy if I want to pay. I’m not very out-going. I’m reserved but open to change, as you might have noticed. I don’t know if I’ll be able to grow out of my shell, that is if I decide to upgrade to the next level.

As I reach the gates of the Capital Cousin, I release some of my own air around me so I can breathe. I’m sorry, but I simply cannot tolerate the smog and that sort of cold. I need things to be fresh and clean. That’s why I feel sorry for Big Sister at times for the horrendous rains she has to endure that dampen her quite literally. She says she likes it, but deep down, I know she doesn’t. And she’s too proud to ask for validation, let alone be pitied.

I reach my destination five minutes ahead of schedule. I’m not surprised to see that Big Sister and Capital Sister haven’t arrived yet. Just a few minutes later, I encounter Southern Cousins.

Bangalore and Chennai, who are part of the Big Five as well, are distant friendly cousins with whom I want to interact more often but can’t. One, because they are super busy in their own worlds, and two, we have boundaries after all. They don’t smile much and they talk only when necessary, but when they do, it’s always something sharp and witty. Bangalore and I vibe on some levels. Bangalore’s older than me, but not as old as Big Sister. She’s neat, and she’s young. But the type of young that’s strict and organized, disciplined, and more focused. She presses a lot on education these days. I admire her for that. But she’s recently become so restrained. Ironic considering her nightlife and drinking culture have expanded so much. But I’ve seen her unpredictably ‘fun side’ in her youthful days. She has great food and lovely gardens, I tell you.

We make small talk, the three of us until Kolkata arrives, right on the dot of the hour. I’ve always adored the big red bindi she wears on her forehead. She’s the oldest member of the council but lately she’s taken a retirement of sorts. She has her own fair share of problems to handle. I feel a bit awkward when the three of them begin interacting about some high-end, convoluted stuff. They’re talking about our relatives abroad I sense. Sisters that I have never really seen but only heard of. I mean, I know a lot about them but not the way the larger council does.

I want to get to know them. I want to trade with them. I want everything that they offer my other elder sisters. But I also fear if they’re unfriendly and if I fail to handle and negotiate with them. Unfriendly. They can’t be, can they? But they can; after all, they are not ‘our’ sisters really. They're not part of the family.

Mumbai and Delhi arrive five minutes late, as expected, and break my chain of thoughts. I stand straight as they arrive, and they take their respective seats. Big Sister smiles at me as she passes by and wishes me luck. She looks tired but hopeful, as always.

I am asked to sit outside the hall for a few minutes. I’m a bit stressed. Look, I love what I am right now. I’m smart and up-to date, but I’m also young and happy. I’m the perfectly toasted bread, and I’m the perfectly bloomed flower. I’m not too much, and I’m not too less. I wish I could freeze time right now. But I know I can’t. If I agree to become a ‘Big Sister’, then I might lose my youth, I might become all upright like Bangalore and frustrated like Mumbai. But if they can deal with the challenges of the global world, why can’t I? I don’t deem myself any weaker than them. After all, I have everything that they had when they were my age. In fact, I have more space, I have more resources, and I am privileged in so many ways. I understand that I have to evolve; I see no choice around that problem, but how I evolve should be my choice. Right?

I am called inside. I stand before the Five. At first, they ask me a few questions. I answer correctly. They test me on my factual and practical abilities. I prove my worth. Then I pitch my thoughts. I try my best to convey what I want to say. I try to show them the equilibrium that I have and wish to maintain. I try telling them that every fiber of my landscape wants to grow without letting go of the roots. That I want what’s best of all, and I want to get rid of what’s worst of mine.

I don’t think I do a great job. I don’t articulate it well. They seem confused, as they should. It’s a simple question they ask. Do I want to be a Big Sister or not? Do I want industries? Do I want fame? Do I want speed? Do I want luxury and comfort?

Do I want larger-than-life spirits? Do I want to feel the thrills of urban zeniths? Do I want to get high on metropolitan tendencies? Do I need more and more of everything? Simple ‘yes or no answers’ I fail to give. Most medium-sized cities would die to be in my position. Hence, the Big Sisters find it odd that I am unable to make such a presumably easy choice.

I walk out of the hall, requesting the Five for a few minutes to make a decision. Big Sister follows me as I expected her to and calms me down. She says nothing’s going to change instantly, if it’s the sudden shift that worries me. She narrates how she felt insecure when she went through this phase. She tells me how lucky I am to have her as my guide. In her time, she had no one. I sympathize. She says that it’s a slow change, one that I would completely be in charge of.

‘Really? Will I?’ I ask her.

Will this change really be under my control? I’ve seen this ‘change’ change everything. In both good and bad ways. It’s like a fire that we start consciously. At first, we have this fire regulated and maintained, and the burner switch is accessible. But later, there’s no stopping it. It is only an illusion that this ‘radical revamping’ is something we have a lid on. Once this fire spreads, it burns everything. But it also purifies the intoxicated. Fire provides warmth, it provides comfort, and it emblematizes immense power. But this power might turn everything to ash. And I will not let my tomorrow be a pile of ash. Neither will tomorrow be a never-ending ice-age. You see how I’m caught up in this paradox?

My people have put their faith in me, just like their ancestors did and just like their children will. I am their past, present, and future, and hence I must evolve according to the world. But I must do it my way. So I must choose wisely for them. I see that it won’t be an easy path; to walk on surfaces the edge on the brink of yesterday and tomorrow in order to survive through today. I know it won’t be easy to become something that has never been before—to let go of your Big Sister’s hand and imprint footsteps of your own instead of walking on hers. It’ll be challenging to manifest myself in my own way; protecting myself and putting myself out there, taking long leaps but landing safe. But at least it will be my choice to do so. And

I’ll have no one else to blame or credit, for the things that’ll happen to me. I know I seem headstrong and stubborn, even a little arrogant and ungrateful. But I suppose that’s me being me. Don’t worry; I’ll work on it sometime soon.

I decide to leave.

‘Where are you going? Are you not signing the contract?’ Big Sister asks. I nod sideways.

‘What will you do then?’ she asks.

‘Build my own tomorrow’ Pune says.

Written by:
Adit Chandrachud

This piece is part of Nagrika’s Annual Youth Writing Contest. Through the writing contest we encourage youth to think creatively and innovatively about their cities.