More Than a Room Mate (For my Sister)

“And why did you pull down all my Boy Band posters?” I asked my sister as she comfortably settled in her bed with a book. “Because they make the room look cheap!” she answered annoyed by my constant complaints.

Being sisters, we had to share the room which was always neat, tidy and sober looking! It was a true depiction of her personality. There was a study table with lots of reading books. The walls were always an off-white with some artistic picture or frame to enhance the soothing ambience of the room. The space that was mine was my bed or the collection of stuffed toys and a precious doll that I arranged everyday on the mat near the floor cushion. I couldn’t wait for her to get married so that I could have the room to myself!

We had packed up the entire luggage and it was a task to travel to another city for the marriage. We were in Karachi and the wedding was in Rawalpindi. I remember standing in the garage. Mom and my sister came out and dad was standing with a copy of the Quran in his hand. He held it up to let her pass in its shelter and shadow. It was a touchy moment. She was the first to get married and the experience was quite new for each one of us. Both mum and dad shared a few tears as we settled in the car to leave for the airport. I was a quiet observer.

The wedding days were incredibly fun. We used to play the dholak every evening and prepare wedding dances. My sister was a typical quiet bride to be who enjoyed the celebrations and kept out of the arrangements and plans. The first event was her Mayoun when family members and relatives joined in the fun to apply turmeric paste for glow and oil her hair for shine. I sat holding the tray of flowers next to her.

“Call Taskeen, she should apply the oil too,” said my eldest aunt. My mum came and as she followed the usual rituals I began to understand the finality in the events. My cousins were singing songs and I felt a strong emotion of separation. My sister was already in tears and I too started to cry. I left the room like an old filmy heroin and was brought back after much consolation from older cousins and aunts.

The Rasm-e-Henna was also memorable. And at the end of it, the major home events were over. The wedding reception was at a hotel and not much preparation was needed. I was standing in the kitchen when I saw my sister come out with my cousin holding her dress and accessories. She was leaving for the parlour and in a way, that was a defining moment that indicated her departure from a life she identified with to an absolute new venture. Again, my father held her close and they cried sensing the change.

Her Rukhsati was amidst mixed feelings. There was gratitude for the completion of a sensitive task and tears for letting go of one of the most precious blessings of Allah. I cried like a baby standing with my cousins who said, “Be happy silly, now that she’s gone, it will be your turn!”

As we returned from her Valima, the car was abnormally quiet. A member of our team had left us. The noise of the wedding was over. The preparations, plans and panic were all gone within a few days. As we drove slowly, occupied with our thoughts, my sister along with her husband and new family whizzed by our car at a speed. Mum exclaimed, “Oh there is my Afshan!” My sister had only been able to glance in that short moment but the reality of this historical tradition had begun to sink in. It was a difficult journey back home.

As we reached home, there was a sense of satisfaction and a lot of rest was due. As I walked up to my room, my eyes fell on her slippers that she had left behind. I felt the shimmer in my eyes. I entered my room and sat down. It was just perfect. Everything was in place. Just the way she liked it. And somehow, I didn’t feel like changing anything about it anymore. There were arguments in the look, conflict in the colours and a treasure of memories in the air.

Today when I look at my sister, she comes across as the most accomodating individual. We are still worlds apart in our nature and likings, but one thing remains constant. Acceptance of being different. After my mum passed away, she automatically adopted the role of a caretaker mum! Whenever I visit her home, she fills up the refrigerator with my favourite snacks! She happily feeds my children and annoys me with her forever advice on how to help my kids put on weight! She is still interested in my life and how I want to do things. She believes in the family values of sharing plans and keeping each other updated about our lives. We often tend to be forgetful but she is vigilant to call and inquire about our wellbeing. She often jumps into situations to help out without having any reservations. A beautiful and selfless quality that defines her well. Whenever we need something or simply want to enjoy that feeling of being spoiled, she is ready with a smile and a heart that quite humbly wants the best for all of us.

My sister is indeed my strength. I understand and value her presence in my life. Her beauty of character and ability to accept diversity are one of her greatest strengths. She is fair and blunt in her opinions and expects the same acceptability in return.

Her philosophy of life is quite simple, “Family is your greatest teacher. It teaches you about life, relationships and contributing positively to each other’s existence!”

Soon she too will be experiencing the strong emotions of her first born leaving the home. A time all mothers look upto yet dread. I know that she will be able to manage the intricate plans quite well but its difficult to adapt to the changing dynamics of your family.

At such a time I just want her to know that I will always be there for her and she will always occupy the greatest space in the room of my heart!