In response to daily post’s prompt : Uneven
I grew up in a family of twelve kids, there were more boys than girls. We were even in numbers, but ill-matched, especially me and my older sister. She was seven years older than me, which was an Uneven number.
She was taller than me. Surrounding herself with book was her favorite pastime. I gathered books when it was absolutely necessary, i.e when I had homework.
My sister loved the word match, her shoes, her dress, blouse, even her umbrella had to match or else she was unhappy. She was my Dad’s favorite because she did what we the other eleven did not. She studied or pretended she was studious.
My Dad was aware of all of us, we could not escape his eyes even when he seemed to read the newspaper to know how was our world doing in terms of trade, population, and other things.
One day I gave some money to our servant to buy me some dry tamarind, I loved them, they were so sour, he was about to hand it to me, my father appeared from nowhere, ‘Let me see’, he said.
He took it out of our servant’s hand, examined it carefully, ‘This is what you were going to eat, don’t you remember, the last time you were sick?’
He threw the little thing wrapped in a piece of paper.
I always felt he watched all my moves, he’d say to Mom, ‘What’s wrong with Ranu, she never uses cream on her face, she grew up in cities,one would think she’d look after herself?’
In his mind he was forever comparing me with his eldest daughter.
Let’s turn my attention to other people, one of our uncle’s nephew saw me and my sister for the first time, he had seen my sister several times, she was their constant visitor, but saw me the first time. He screwed up his face and wondered who is this one, my sister only hung out with stylish women, this one could not belong to her group, his curiosity made him ask, ‘Who is she?’
My sister said, ‘she’s my younger sister.’
‘WOW!’ he said, ‘Positive and Negative.’
Everyone I met thought we are mismatched, my teacher, Sister Joseph Mary ( Nun), asked me who she was.
I very proudly said, ‘She’s my sister.’
Her reply, ‘Is she your half sister?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘she’s my sister.’
Perhaps she said, ‘She’s your step sister!’
‘No, she’s my real sister.’
‘Yes,’ was my reply.
She could not help saying, ‘My how different you are!’
Talk about mismatched, unequal, Uneven? We fit the category beautifully!