I’d never grow up but keep growing, slowly and surely. Making mistakes, stumbling along the way and learning lessons are healthy indicators of being alive; of being aware and of being open.The day we think we have figured it all out, we lose the wonder about this mysterious blip called life.
Coming back to today’s prompt, the first sign of growth made its way when I was about eight years old. My brother, who is four years younger, was the center of my world in those days. I’d pamper him, feed him and sometimes even dress him up in girly clothes and make a pigtail with his short hair to polish my skills as a nurturing female. He’d also get smacked a few times when he’d refuse to listen as that is what I learned from my mother as a part of our household discipline.
On one, sweet winter morning, when both of us had brushed our teeth and were sitting in our beds holding up quilts up to our chins; our mother served us hot glasses of milk on one condition that we’d drink it without letting a single drop fall on the bed. As extra careful as an eight and four-year could be – we held our steel glasses with utmost care and stretched eyes. However, the warmth of the bed, the sweet taste of buffalo milk and the early morning combination did its magic on my brother and he dozed off. The milk conveniently went from the restricted dimensions to all over the bed – seeping into the quilt, the sheet, the mattress and his night suit. He woke up the next moment, sobbing and shivering at what he’d done – looking at me for help. I had finished my milk by then. In a fraction of a second, I asked him to hold my empty glass and swap places with me. When my mother showed up, I confessed that I’d fallen asleep and dropped the milk. To my wonder, she was not angry.
Instead she picked me up, kissed me and said – I know you will always look out for your brother but lying is not something I expect from you.
For a moment, I was relaxed as the disaster had been overturned but could not figure out how she found out. Realizing my dilemma, she touched my dry clothes and smiled. A big stain on my brother’s shirt glowed in the background along with his wet, round eyes.
She hugged both of us and kissed our cheeks. No more milk on the bed – she declared with a smile.We were disappointed but it was a small price to pay.
My brother never acknowledged how I saved him even without understanding what big words such as growing up or responsibility meant; but I can never forget the look of gratitude in his eyes. I grew up a nanometer that moment. I understood a bit more about love, a pinch more about happiness. Since then, many events have gone by raising the bar and I hope I always have room for something to achieve, something to find and something to grow and something to live for.