Sohan got new clothes today and, looking at him all freshly dressed, I realised something rather shocking – that I’ve never spoken about him or his twin on the blog.
Which is strange, because this other pair of twins is as much part of our family as H and N, and as normal for us as long arguments, squishy hugs and utterly ridiculous nicknames. They have occupied our beds and our nighttime routines for an age. I suppose it is time they were properly introduced.
Over a decade ago I was diagnosed with spondylitis and was advised to sleep with a bolster by my side. It became a dependable presence beside me, that ensured I didn’t wake up with a cervical headache on most days.
Now N has always done what I do (including picking up her bag and saying ‘I’m going to the gym’ when she was three, strutting around in my heels and swirling about in my dupattas, though I don’t ever remember doing much swirling).
Anyway, so she began sleeping with a bolster too.
Naturally, whatever N does H must also do.
So H wanted a bolster too.
The trouble was we had only two in the house, and I had absolutely no intention of surrendering mine. Even at the risk of civil war.
And war it was.
It went on for days.
‘It was my idea,’ said one of them, (It was NOT, it was MY DOCTOR’S).
‘But I need it more,’ said the other. (?)
‘I can’t sleep without it,’ insisted the first. (LIES!).
‘How were you sleeping for so long?’ (EXACTLY!)
Long arguments and longer sighs occasionally dissolved into wrestling matches but I, wisely, stayed out of it.
As long as nobody came asking for mine, I remained Switzerland. Motherhood evolves you in peculiar ways.
One day, while passing their room, I overheard a specially heated argument.
‘You wanted Mohan only after you saw me sleeping with him!’
That stopped me in my tracks.
That sentence sounded alarming on so many levels that I simply had to investigate.
And that’s how I discovered that sometime during those days of conflict, one bolster had acquired the grand, completely unnecessary, very royal name of Mohan Raj Kumar.
Don’t ask me why. I have no explanation. He simply looked like a Mohan Raj Kumar, insisted H.
On a side note: H has this talent of giving weird nicknames that simply refuse to go away. I, for instance, along with ‘ma’ am also called ‘tiki’ by the children. I have no idea why or when that started but it has just stuck.
Moving on.
My sleeping companion, logically enough, became Sohan. They were twins, after all. Identical twins. To this day, I cannot tell them apart.
But not N.
Even half asleep after a busy day of studies, she could identify them instantly.
‘Mama,’ she would say impatiently, thrusting one at me in the dark, ‘this is Sohan. Exchange please.’
And that’s how these ancient cotton bolsters, heavy and misshapen, with stuffing that has long since congealed into one dense, lumpy mass, have slowly become family.
Over the years, H has relinquished all claims to Mohan. It does come up though, each time there’s an argument and he’s enumerating instances of how I have always favoured N.
But that’s only occasionally. For all practical purposes Mohan belongs to N.
While other children have fluffy teddy bears in pastel pinks and whites, only Mohan works for her.
I have also trained myself not to react to sentences like:
‘Mohan almost fell out of the bed today.’
‘I want to study in bed today. I need Mohan.’
Sohan mostly remains in the background, happy in his supporting role. I believe he is is relived that he has fewer emotional expectations to handle.
At the grand old age of twenty, when N moved to the hostel, Mohan went with her.
Crammed into her suitcase. Her emotional support bolster.
And I’ll admit, watching her leave with that faded old thing tucked under her arm made my heart ache a little.
Strange are the things that come to mean home and family.
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This post is a part of ‘Fam Jam Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters blog hop series