They call me Tysha. Or sometimes they call me Nysha. No one can tell us apart, you see. We’re twins, Nysha and me. Tysha and Nysha. God knows why Indian parents name their children so similarly.
When we were small, we used to play together in the garden, picking flowers and knocking off unripe mangoes from the branches of trees. We shared a dollhouse where we would host little tea parties for families of four. We would tie each other’s hair in pigtails. All day long, we would be giggling away.
Those days feel like such a long time ago.
Since we started going to college, Nysha is interested in nothing but boys. Whenever I see her, she’s glued to her phone, typing messages. She takes her phone to the bathroom and coos sweetly, presumably to some boy or the other. She plants herself for hours in front of the mirror, applying shades of lipstick and trying on dozens of earrings.
Myself, I prefer to keep it simple. Simple top, simple jeans. I don’t care what boys think of me. I’m happy to retreat to my cozy corner and read my novels. I get lost in imaginary worlds, full of knights and castles, angels and dragons, androids and cyborgs. I find them so much more colorful than the dark desert of the real world.
*****
Nysha sat at the dresser, decorating her face with a bevy of creams and powders and brushes, as though it was a canvas to be painted. The high, wide mirror caught both our reflections. Her right in front of it, and me on the bed behind her. Our eyes met briefly in the mirror.
We had the same large brown eyes with long lashes, the same high cheekbones, the same jet-black curly hair.
“Looking very pretty, Nyshee,” I said.
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”
“But I’ve always called you Nyshee since we were kids.”
“We’re not kids anymore,” Nysha snapped a powder box shut. She brushed her hair back with steady strokes.
“Is that name reserved only for your boyfriends now? Is that it?”
“Why you want to know?” She said. “Jealous kya?”
“I just don’t understand why you have a problem with me calling you a pet name you’ve had since childhood.”
“You don’t need to understand. You just need to stop calling me that, that’s all.”
Nysha sprayed perfume on her neck and began to exude the scent of fresh strawberries. She slid her feet into silver sandals with broad heels that elevated her few extra inches. She scowled at me from above, then turned and left in a huff.
Despite that, I didn’t get angry with her. My sister helped me get through the most traumatic time of my life. I’ll never forget that.
I showered, dressed, and left for college. Jadhav, the building watchman, leaned back in his chair with his belt buckle loosened to make room for his ample belly.
“Namaste Nysha Madam,” He extended an open palm to the tip of his forehead in a salute.
He’d been the watchman at Asha Bhavan building for as long as I could remember. He knew us since we were little girls, but he still couldn’t differentiate between us sisters.
I didn’t bother to correct him. I nodded and went on my way. Nysha and me went to the same college but we never traveled together. She was in Commerce, I was in Science, and our timings were slightly different.
College was a single yellow building at the end of a crowded lane. Students bustled around me as I walked up the steps. I saw Nysha across the corridor, surrounded by classmates. Wherever she went, my sister was always surrounded. I looked at her and gave her a small wave.
Nysha glanced at me, but didn’t wave back. She didn’t so much as acknowledge my presence. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, tilted her head, and faced up to a tall boy with muscular arms who was speaking with animated gestures. Nysha smiled and fluttered her eyes. The poor guy lost his train of thought, and stopped talking for a moment.
I’d seen enough. I turned and walked onwards. A hand tapped my shoulder. Mrinal stood there, grinning and displaying her braces.
“Congrats Tysha,” She gushed. “You did it again.”
“Ha?”
“Your results...”
“Oh yeah, thanks.”
I had come 1st in college in the semester exams, like I had in the previous semester, and the one before that.
“Both you sisters are rocking it,” Mrinal said. “You topped college, and Nysha became the Rose Queen. Did you see how many roses she got? Almost all the boys gave her one.”
I shrugged. Nysha was the beauty, I was the brains. Or so they said. Except that we were identical twins, carbon copies from head to toe. I was no genius either. I only scored such high marks because of my photographic memory. When I read something, I remember it. Exams are then a simple matter of regurgitating the right tidbits from my reservoir.
“Tysha,” Mrinal said. “Can I borrow your Chem notes?”
I rummaged through my bag and produced the notes. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to understand them.”
“No, no, I’ll understand,” Mrinal assured me.
She didn’t know what she was in for. My handwriting was a scruffy, illegible scrawl that I could barely comprehend myself. But when you’re the college topper, everyone wants your notes anyways.
“Chal, see you in class,” Mrinal said and took off.
In class, I sat on an inconspicuous side bench, not too near the teacher, nor too far behind with the backbenchers. Afterwards, I bought a grilled veg sandwich from the canteen and headed to the library. I selected a corner table, where I nestled in and opened a book. I flipped the pages and munched on my sandwich, until I saw a figure approach my table.
A boy with thick, wavy hair and a clean-shaven face. He wore a blue-and-white checked shirt. He stopped right in front of me.
“Hi Tysha,” He flashed a toothy smile.
I gave him a blank stare.
“Congrats on topping again,” He said.
I nodded stiffly.
“Next time they should just declare you the topper before the exams even start,” He chuckled.
I blinked and said nothing. My expression must have been severely stolid, because the boy’s shoulders sagged, his head angled downwards, and he trudged off.
What was I supposed to do? Make googly eyes at him and laugh at his joke? I didn’t find it funny, and I don’t enjoy flattery.
Sometimes, I wish I was more normal. I wish I could converse with boys as easily as other girls. But the only boy I could talk to had long since departed from this world. And nothing could ever fill the void he left behind.
When the day was done, I took a cab home. Daddy was riveted to the TV. Mummy was tidying up her bedroom. Nysha was out with friends. We all have dinner at separate times, ever since the tragedy that devastated our family.
I ate my meal with my nose in a novel. Later, I put on comfy pajamas and settled into bed. Nysha and me have our own single beds, separated by desks and tables. There was a time when we would take naps together on the same bed, chatting about movies and food and so much else. Nowadays, we hardly talk at all.
An hour later, I was still reading with my bedside light on, when Nysha entered the room. She changed into nightclothes and plonked down stomach-first on her bed. She looked across and raised a palm to shield her eyes from the light.
“Shut that off,” She demanded.
“Two minutes,” I said. “I’m about to finish this chapter.”
Nysha got up from her bed and walked over to my side. She fumbled for the light switch. The click was firm and crisp, and then there was darkness.
*****
We sat in the Honda in our usual formation. Daddy and Mummy in the front, Nysha and me on the back seat. We were headed to Navy Nagar at the south end of Mumbai for cousin Tanvi’s wedding.
Daddy was in his old black suit that had become a tad tight for him. Mummy was in an elegant teal-blue saree. Nysha had taken so many hours to get ready, you would think she was the bride herself.
But I had to admit that after all that, she looked gorgeous with her flowing lavender lehenga and matching nail polish. Her hair was styled in curvy, cascading locks. Silver-gray contact lenses adorned her eyes, and sparkling earrings dangled from her ears. She looked like the Queen of the flowers in the garden, the one who bloomed the brightest.
I looked pretty too, if I do say so myself. I was in my favorite yellow lehenga that I had paired with a silver bracelet and lemon-colored nail polish.
The road outside was packed with buses and taxis, scooters and sedans, that constantly cut lanes and flouted every traffic rule. A cacophony of horns blared. Daddy added to the chorus by pressing his fist on the horn and muttering curses under his breath. Mummy swiveled around in the passenger seat and appraised her daughters.
“Both you girls are looking lovely,” She declared. “There’ll be many eligible bachelors at the wedding today.”
“Please Mom,” Nysha rolled her eyes.
“I’m just saying, weddings are a great place to meet the right boy,” Mummy’s eyes flicked between Nysha and me, and lingered a bit longer on me. “Specially for you, Tysha.”
“Why specially for me??”
“It would be good for you also to meet a boy,” Mummy said and turned to face forward.
I bit down and chewed on my lower lip. A period of silence ensued inside the car. We were crawling a meter ahead every five minutes. At this rate, there would be no food left by the time we reached.
Outside my window, a big, burly SUV stopped in the next lane. My lips immediately twisted into a snarl and my teeth grinded.
I hate SUVs. I can’t stand the sight of them, after one of them took my brother from me.
His name was Rajat. He was nine years younger than Nysha and me. I called him Raja. My little Raja. He was my favorite person in the whole world. I scrubbed his bums when he was a baby. Later, I dressed him for school. I did his class projects for him. I hugged him till he shooed me off.
There was a time when I couldn’t imagine how dull and empty my life had been before Raja came into it. But then he was gone. Just like that.
The driver of the SUV had been in a hurry. He reversed out of the parking lot, not noticing the boy in a blue school uniform walking behind him. My baby brother bore the full impact of the rear bumper of the SUV. But it wasn’t the impact that did it, the doctors said, it was the fall.
He fell backwards and his head struck the ground hard. His little skull was not strong enough to protect its encased brain. There was internal bleeding and immense damage…
A wetness formed around my eyes, and I blinked hard to prevent the dam from bursting. Those dark pockets of sorrow would reside permanently within the confines of my heart. They would never leave me till I took my last breath.
I glanced at Nysha. I don’t know how I would’ve survived that phase without my sister. She stayed by my side throughout.
I touched her arm. “You’ll be the prettiest girl at this wedding.”
Nysha gave me a half smile and went back to her phone.
After Raja left us, Nysha had cried a lot, night and day. She vented all her grief. And then she got better. She made her peace and moved on. It wasn’t that easy for me. Unlike Nysha, I couldn’t simply cry it out.
Talking about my feelings during those days felt like trying to squeeze out invisible toothpaste from an empty tube. I felt dead inside. I was as cold and stone as a statue. Yet my sister didn’t give up on me. She hugged me when I needed it. Little by little, she got me to open up, and I was able to recover a semblance of my sanity. At least I appeared as though I was functioning normally. For the most part, I buried myself in books…
A earsplitting horn reverberated inside the car and jarred me out of the black pit of memories. Daddy jammed down on the horn and waved his arm about. Other cars joined him in the incessant horning.
The traffic surged forward, and the deafening symphony gradually fell silent. It took another forty minutes before we reached the venue.
Open grass lawns were brimming with wedding guests decked up in their finest sarees and lehengas, kurtas and sherwanis. The elevated stage at one end had floral curtains behind it. A line of guests waited to ascend and greet the couple. The bride and groom stood at the center, posing with plastered smiles, while the shutters clicked.
Daddy ushered us straight to that line. He liked to get the picture-taking routine over with and then move freely. Myself, I was eyeing the buffet.
Soon, we were up on stage. We hugged cousin Tanvi in turns, shook hands with her hubby-to-be, and assembled in a row for the photographers. After that, we dispersed. Daddy made a beeline for the bar. Mummy mingled with relatives. Nysha was surrounded, as always, by a string of hopeful suitors.
I was about to hit the buffet when two hefty hands clasped my palms.
“Nysha beta, you’re looking lovely,” Smitha Aunty said.
“Thanks Aunty, but I’m actually Tysha.”
“Oh sorry…both you girls look exactly the same,” She said. “How are you? I hear you’re a genius, always coming 1st in college.”
I nodded and pried my hands loose. The smell of tandoori chicken was making my stomach growl.
But Smitha Aunty was undeterred. She took me by the shoulder. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”
I shook my head.
“Why not? You’re such a beautiful girl…”
I shrugged, and peeked at the steaming mutton biryani with its saffron-white rice, chunks of tender meat, and sprinkles of coriander.
“Smitha,” A male voice called. “Come here one minute.”
“Okay beta, I’ll see you later,” Smitha Aunty said, and mercifully turned away.
I grabbed a plate and filled it up. There are no secluded spots at wedding receptions, so I ate my food while dodging assorted chachas and chachis, masis and mamis. For dessert, I had gulab jamun and malai kulfi. I let out out a hearty belch, drawing sharp looks from nearby aunties.
“Excuse me,” I said to no one in particular.
I went to the washroom to relieve myself. When I emerged, I wandered aimlessly around the lawns, until I overheard a familiar voice.
“Karan’s a smart boy,” Smitha Aunty was saying. She paused to gauge interest. “But I’m sure a pretty girl like you doesn’t need me to set you up.”
Nysha just smiled.
Smitha Aunty seemed to take the hint, and lapsed into momentary silence.
“What about your sister?” She blurted. “I spoke to her earlier, she said she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
I shuffled in my stance. A couple of uncles stood between them and me, and conveniently concealed me. Still, I stooped a little lower.
“Tysha?” My sister threw her head back and gave a shrill laugh. “She’s only interested in her books.”
“But Karan is a really nice boy. He has a job in the US. I know the family too, they are very decent people.”
“Forget it,” Nysha shook her head. “Tysha’s hopeless, she’ll never get married.”
Something about the way she said it, her tone of voice, it made every hair on my body bristle. For the rest of the evening, I evaded all forms of human contact. I didn’t utter a single word during the car ride home.
*****
In the thick of the night, I tossed and turned for hours, waiting for sleep to arrive, while Nysha snored away on her bed. At 3am, I gave up and lumbered out of the bedroom.
I decided to make some chai. I went to the kitchen and turned on the gas stove. The fire crackled at the center of the burner. My sister’s words crackled at the centre of my brain.
Tysha’s hopeless, she’ll never get married…
When my chai was ready, I took it to the drawing room. I didn’t turn on the lights, preferring the darkness. I placed my mug on the side table, and lowered myself onto the sofa. I felt something under me, a flat, rectangular object.
It was Nysha’s phone. She was always leaving it here and there, and then raising the roof in panic to find it.
I picked it up. It was the latest iPhone with an immaculate touch screen and super-duper retina display.
Nysha always got the best of everything. Fancier phone, bigger cupboard, nicer dresses. She was born 17 minutes before me, you see. When she learnt this, she was quick to latch on to it and anointed herself the ‘elder sister’. She used it to claim first dibs on all the good stuff. And I was stuck with the leftovers.
I swiped to unlock her phone, but the insolent thing demanded a password.
Most people use some variation of their birthdate. But that was not Nysha’s style. She would be different, unique, quirky.
The birth time. That’s what she would use. A sister’s instinct told me I was right. Nysha was born at 12:21am.
I entered the numbers and sure enough, the phone opened its gates. I checked her emails, I scrolled through her photos, I read her messages. There were a flurry of them from someone called Aarav.
“Heyy cutie pie, how was the wedding? Did you get bored? Did you miss me? ;-) ;-)”
“So we’re on for Saturday right? You’re sure your parents are out of town?”
“I can’t wait for it…this is going to be our first time…”
I looked up. There’s only one thing that excites boys so much. I wondered if it was to be the first time for Nysha too? Or did she have experience with past boyfriends?
I tossed the phone aside. Nysha’s grating voice bounced around the inside of my skull.
Tysha’s hopeless, she’ll never get married…
Tysha’s hopeless, she’ll never get married…
My own sister thinks I’m beyond hope, and she goes and tells people about it.
Silver moonlight shafted in through the window curtains, and shadows flickered on the wall. The edge of the dining table, the armrest of the sofa, and my own head, black and faceless.
Suddenly, I burst out crying. The tears came without preamble, and poured forth like a rushing river. I cupped a hand on my mouth and tried to stifle my sobs. I didn’t want to be too loud. Nysha hated being disturbed from her sleep.
I can’t believe I was still being considerate towards her. After the way she spoke about me, I was concerned about her sleep?? It’s ridiculous.
My jaw clamped and hardened. I reached for tissues and wiped my face. During those endless nights after Raja’s accident, when I couldn’t sleep, Nysha would stay up with me and wipe my tears.
What happened to that Nysha? What happened to my sister??
Today, she’s the reason I’m crying…
An idea came unbidden into my thoughts. A plan so devious, so machiavellian, that it could easily belong in a novel. I almost dismissed it. But then a cold, black fury pervaded inside me and contorted my cheeks into knots.
I would do this to her. Nysha deserved it. The fucking bitch.
