The unmarried sister- a must-have.

After five (wonderful) daughters, my parents have been recently blessed with a fourth grandSON. (It runs in both sides of my family, this propensity towards having children all belonging one sex). So anyway, guess who was called on to assist in all this wonderful plethora of child-bearing and rearing? Unmarried sister extraordinaire Kuku, that's who. 


I've been alternating nights at the hospital with my mom because my bro-in-law's family does not have any available, competent nurse to help my sister recuperate. I don't mind though, even if the latest addition to the family is an ugly little bawl-his-lungs-out-at-all-hours-of-the-night crybaby. Being called on to help out is part of being THE unmarried sister, after all. 


I was in boarding school when daughter #1 had her son, but I comforted her through her crying jags and midnight cravings for wai-wai during her pregnancy. Daughter #4,who by-passed #2 and me, #3 at the marriage stakes should get down on her knees and thank me. I changed numerous diapers for her two sons, even washing soiled cloths for her. Then when she and her husband decided to cut set up house together, her husband had to go frequently out of station, so I was the one who had to help her get set up. 


She was heavily pregnant with her second son at the time, and this was just before Christmas, so you can imagine the picture- me trying my best to shield my future nephew from the rush of the crowd as we go search for stuffs for their house. I did things I never imagined myself doing- haggling with Pick-up truck drivers for delivery and stuff, walking all over Aizawl searching for good but not-too-expensive furniture items, buying floor carpets, cushions, cutlery etc. and arranging their delivery- all the while protecting my unborn nephew and his bursting-at-the-seams mother.  


It's a fact that with great responsibility comes great grumpiness. Before #1 and #2 got married, they were the epitome of grumpiness because the responsibility of the house fell on them. My mom declared some fifteen years ago that with five daughters, she was retiring from household chores and concentrating on doing what she loved best- doing manual work in the garden and our farm. So the onus of the household chore-dom fell naturally on the eldest sister. Hence the grumpiness. 


And then they got married and became mothers. #1, whom we secretly nick-named "The Dragon" became a madonna- placid, smiling and endlessly patient. And #2 with her hair-line temper has now followed suit. Last night, as her little tyke kept up an incessant wail, she crooned softly to him with the tenderest smile. Of course, when her husband, who also spent the night there remarked on the unruliness of their 4-day old baby, she turned on him like a tigress. And when I slept a little too soundly and the little monster's diaper needed to be changed, she called "Kuku... KUKU... CHHUUUNGIII!!!(Her lovely pet-name for me)".


#4, who, as I mentioned by-passed me and #2, loves reminding me that my biological clock is ticking. She's always been a little different; eversince she was a kid, her aim had been to be a good wife and mother. Of the five of us, she's the only one who fulfilled her childhood dreams (I wanted to be the first female CM of Mizoram). She says, "By the time I'm in my thirties, my kids won't need that much looking after, and I'll be able to re-beautify myself and concentrate on doing what I want. Giving birth ages you, and by the time you give birth you'll be too old to rejuvenate yourself". She also loves warning me of how much it will hurt because I left it so late to have children. She should know, she took barely an hour to go from labour pains to giving birth. Lucky thing. 


So anyway, as the relatively competent unmarried sister, I'm the one who's always called on to do the dirty jobs. I now hold the dubious honour of being the elder sister, since there's only me and #5 left. And I'm starting to become grumpy too. Maybe when I have a child I'll become sweet-tempered again. I know, I know, its terribly chauvinistic to say that motherhood makes placid beings out of harridans and if a guy had said this I'd probably shoot him.


I don't intend to be the unmarried sister forever. I want my own ugly little monster and a live heater in my bed too someday. And this reminds me of a conversation I had with my grandmother some months back. I was basking in the warmth of her praise over my being an all-round great daughter and sister, when she said, "You must never get married. You should stay home and look after your parents and be there for your sisters anytime they need you". I guess I protested a little too loudly because now the whole maternal side of the family jokes about my fear of NOT getting married.


Anyway, time to cut off my long with this great lesson for all- treat your unmarried sisters like gold, for one day they may get married.

Eating humble Pie

For someone like me who suffers from a chronic case of foot-in-mouth disease, eating humble pie is pretty easy. After all, its an acquired taste. 


After hearing some people say that Mizos writing in English are less Mizo (whatever that means), I fired off  a little post about language and culture purists. Basically the post was about me ranting what makes those people decide who is 'more' Mizo and who is not? And the term Mizo is a blanket term comprising of Lai, Mara, Paite etc peoples, and is it fair to call them Mizo II because we, the Lusei are the majority. And in the same way, why should the Duhlian language be considered as Mizo tawng just because it is the most widely used language within the Mizo community, blah blah blah. 


This would have sounded quite valid had I not been writing in Duhlian language, which pretty much busted my little rant because I also talked about the correct usage of Duhlian language, and unfortunately, my own writing Mizo is stilted, and the syntax is not as perfect as I would wish it to be. As a medium of writing, I am much more comfortable in English, though I am spectacularly good at spoken Mizo, so don't ever get into an argument with me. And I can read Mizo flawlessly, with perfect intonation and pitch. But anyway, after posting the piece, I cooled down and discovered  the many mistakes plus the ambiguity, and so I removed it. 


Of course, it showed up clearly in people's readers and stuff and so, here I am, gorging myself on humble pie, admitting that I strayed into an arena where I am not qualified to. Kudos to the Mizo writers and the people who are trying to instill correct usage. But my stance on the medium of writing and it's supposed implications remain. 


And yes, I often lack tact and sensitivity, and often have to cover my ass or eat humble pie after making a huge blooper. Like the time I went shopping with a friend and she asked my advice about a shoe. I thought it was for her mom and said, "Your mom's only 50-ish. That shoe is so 60 +." And she says, "I meant to buy it for myself" Oh hell, what do you do in those circumstances except flatter her a little and fess up? So I told her she had pretty feet that would look good in any shoe, but suggested other styles for her. 


The there's the time another friend showed me a new phone and I unthinkingly said, "I thought of buying it too, but it was too bulky and yellow". Ooopsss.. my runaway tongue does it again. So I said, "But the yellow is nice, looks like Bumblebee" and proceeded to take a lot of pictures of myself with the phone cam. Sometimes I try to shut up, and when I do talk, I use polite words. Then they tell me I'm being unnatural, blehhh!


That said, I'm usually not a nasty person with a lot of bitchy comments. I just say the wrong things at the wrong time. Like complimenting a previously rake-thin friend on her  new voluptuousness and she said, "I'm not voluptuous. I'm pregnant. I was excommunicated last Wednesday". Damn damn damn. 


So, as long as I keep talking (or writing), let there be a steady supply of humble pie.