I am counting the hours until my sister arrives in Tramin. In the five years since I moved to this border region, she hasn’t, until now, managed to visit. Blame it on the pandemic, on the colour of our passports, on the regressive work culture in India that makes it so difficult to take leave… This time, she managed a visa, and as I write this, her flight is probably preparing to land. I have been holding off my excitement, keeping it at bay, because I have been so afraid of the odds being stacked against us: recurring war-like situations in West Asia that might once again force certain countries to shut down their air space; the recent spate of aircraft malfunctions; her visa being revoked for no reason; or a family emergency that forces her to stay back in Mumbai… I am afraid to feel the weight of my excitement, knowing full well how cumbersome it will be to pick myself up if we encounter disappointment instead. It’s been like this for me each time a family member has talked about visiting. I repress my enthusiasm until my loved one is actually here, in Tramin, both feet securely past our threshold.
Gingerly, I’ve been prepping our toddler for his aunt’s arrival, cautiously mentioning it only once in a while instead of every few seconds. Although he has met her twice before, he has no memories of her that he can immediately recall. He knows her primarily from photographs and video calls. For me, it is another full-circle moment, her being here, helping me care for my two littles, even if for not more than a week, because she and I became caretakers together when we were around 15 and 16 years old and our oldest brother had his first child, then the second, then the third, and our other brother had his child. We helped raise them when they lived with us in Mumbai during summer vacations, when Dubai — where they otherwise lived — got too hot. For a very long time, I felt quite content not having children because I felt like I had already known the experience in that second-hand way, as an aunt. Both of us continue to be deeply attached to our niblings, though, while I decided, late in life, to embrace parenthood, my sister made the bolder decision to remain child-free.
I’m eager to demonstrate to our firstborn the joys of having a sibling. His brother is now three and a half months old, and his growing disposition towards smiling and cooing certainly makes him somewhat irresistible. Though still in its nascent stages, there are already traces of a caring bond between then. The infant looks at his older brother in a particular way, as if taking notes. He has a special laugh and smile reserved for whenever he sees him. It’s beautiful to witness. All my earliest childhood memories are totally entwined with my sister’s existence. She was born a year and a month after our mother gave birth to me. We did everything together. I was a year senior when it came to school, but other than that, we were joined at the hip. That bond remains, even though marriage and the fact that I moved to this remote part of the world make it difficult to nurture it in person.
Each time my parental life feels challenging because we now have two kids, I remind myself about the luxury of having siblings, and I feel instantly better. I had read somewhere that even though it can feel challenging, having a second child is the best gift you can give your first. I see this being validated daily. The older one is learning the virtue of patience and is teaching himself to be of service because he sees us modelling it for him. Since I gave birth, to pass the time while breastfeeding, I began watching Ron Howard’s Parenthood. I’m almost at the end of the penultimate fifth season. My favourite moments are when the four siblings get together to comfort each other in moments of joy or deep sadness and distress. My siblings have been my rock, anchoring me when life feels uncertain. Even though we don’t talk every day, or even every week, I know I can count on them, that we’re a team. That’s so precious, and so hard to describe to anyone who is an only child.
I cannot wait to introduce to my sister — my fellow traveller when it comes to all things culinary — the many delicacies of the Italian and South Tyrolean kitchens. This will be her first time in Europe. I’ve made a list of all the things I want her to sample, from melon with prosciutto to burrata to fritto misto to Knödel. I cannot wait to show her all the strides I’ve made in my own culinary trajectory. I already know that around this time next week, I will most likely be in tears as she prepares to leave, but I am excited that my reality will have altered radically, because the imprints of her presence here in this new life I have been setting up for myself will linger for a long, long time, until her next visit, for sure.
Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She posts @rosad1985 on Instagram
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