BLOG POST 2: One sister for sale
One sister for sale!
One sister for sale!
One crying and spying young sister for sale!
I'm really not kidding,
So who'll start the bidding?
I just came across this poem and found it hilarious. You would wonder who would ever put their sister for sale! But I can totally relate. There was a certain time in my life where I too found my sister so annoying. Those compromises you have to make for everything you own in life is beyond endurance threshold. Sometimes it made me go nuts. I would be reading my textbook and she just pops into my room randomly, stands near my table and picks up a book she wishes to and then scribbles silly drawings on it. Of course, it's really sweet. Happy Realisation to myself! But back then, at primary school, how could you tolerate your social studies notebook being used for some stick figures? Imagining the teacher walking into the class with her dreaded cane and beating us up for all the silliest reasons she could find would obviously make me roar at my sister, "GET OUT OF MY ROOM!'. To which my mom would run all the way from the kitchen right into my room, remove her chappal and take it in her hand, motioning the wicked little girl with the chappal to move out of the room. Those chappals to us were like the devil catching a glimpse of the cross. Our mother just raising it and showing it to our face would send us fleeing away. She hastily ran out of the room all along wearing her crocodile tears. My bad luck, that day I had been writing my diary when my sister came into the room. My mother caught me wasting time (according to her writing my feelings down was a waste of time) when I was supposed to be studying. That day I wasn't spared from those chappal beatings she had come prepared with. I was so annoyed with my sister that day for spoiling my life.
But, she wasn't so bad after all. I can still very well recall a day when we had both received so bad whippings from our mother. I ran to my room and sat by a wall crying with so much pain. My sister received her share and joined me in that weeping process. I was too self-centred to even pay any heed to her. All I thought of was my pain. I couldn't even remember the reason I was thrashed up for. Minutes later I felt tiny hands on my face wiping my tears. I looked up and couldn't help but smile at her innocence. The pain faded away. On seeing me smile, a tiny smile lightened up her face too. We didn't cry after that. All I know is that even today, the best I can remember about my sister is this day. She would never let me cry.
