His Brother’s Wedding

Do you believe in Fate? I try not to.

When the psychologist confirmed my suspicions about why I can’t (would not, he said) have a baby, I didn’t say, “My Fate!”

When I was a kid, I used to play with my neighbour, a girl named Vasanthi. She was twenty years older but played just like my cranky kid cousins. The elders used to praise my patience and understanding. Such a nice kid and so mature; that too, without even having younger siblings, they said. I didn’t tell them that Vasanthi was OK; that my kid cousins were not OK, and any younger siblings would have been definitely NOT OK.

After Vasanthi, there was Das, my uncle’s son. Though he was my cousin, he called me maman (uncle). I never played with him. He was younger than me by a few years and quite shy. More truthfully, I had other company. Like Kochumon.

Kochumon’s father Shanku-maman is related to my mother. Not exactly a first-cousin or even a second-cousin, my mother used to tell me, but still like an elder brother. Since his parents died when he was very young, Shanku-maman was brought up by my mother’s parents. He married very late, that too, a shrew. Kochumon is their eldest son. They have another son and a daughter. Even before his first birthday, people referred to him as simple and no one even thought of giving him a name other than the pet-baby name, Kochumon.

He is a few months older than me. Whenever I visited my mother’s village, I sought his company. The other cousins used to thrash me in carroms, cards, kabbaddi and worse, they could climb trees and eat raw mangoes with salt and chilly powder. They seemed to know everything and I seemed sickly. Next to Kochumon, I was OK.

When Sathyan, the all-in-all helper, used to take me to the aaru (river), Kochumon would come along. While Sathyan swam in the deep, we sat on the steps, usually silent and happy in our own little worlds. A few years later, when the aaru did not reach the steps after being spoiled by indiscriminate sand mining, I still went with Kochumon. When I cried, he just stood next to me watching me cry, still silent. We were still in our own little worlds.

I remember seeing him on two more occasions in the years that followed. He disappeared from my world while I gathered degrees, joined great places to study and work, made money. Even the person I knew as “I” disappeared from my world for a long time.

Last year, I started seeing the psychologist. I started rebuilding my world. I discarded a lot (paper, photos, CDs, books, movies, money, job, friends, acquaintances, relatives) and tried to gather only that which I wanted to keep (there is no list at present). I thought about Kochumon. But, he seems to have been discarded. My parents tell me that he is in some home for people like him, that he has been there for a long time, even before his parents died. Why, I asked people. Who will take care of him, people asked me.

A month back, I met his brother. Or rather, his brother had come home to invite my parents for his wedding. And since I was there, I was also invited. Was that Fate? It does not matter, does it?

I managed to find Kochumon three weeks back. It took some tact and deception. I could not ask his siblings. Even my relatives in the village were not too keen about discussing the matter. In my notes, for the next visit to the psychologist, I have jotted, “Is it collective guilt? Or, just minding one’s own business?” Anyway, every village has loose tongues. I found two, at the Sivan temple and at the tea-shop. A few queries about the wedding, the location of the hall, those invited and those who are not and that discussion eventually led to more intimate details, grudges and the skeletons started tumbling out of the closet.

I found him in a home for the retarded. It is run by a semi-government organization. The warden helped me find him. I didn’t notice much about the place or the facilities. I didn’t want to. Or maybe, it was just because I was too busy trying to recognize Kochumon in every face out there.

He was having breakfast (or was it brunch?). I have changed too much and I was not surprised when he didn’t recognize me during that visit. I could recognize only his eyes. Still like a puppy. I didn’t stay for long during that visit or the other visits since then. Just a few minutes, silent, just like old days.

On the day of his brother’s wedding, I got there early with new clothes for him. I helped him dress. We got to the hall well before muhurtham. From the hall-gate, we could see his brother standing outside, inviting friends and relatives, talking and hugging.

Kochumon tugged at my hand. Come, let’s go in, I said. He shook his head. Ok, we don’t have anyone there, do we, I asked. He shook his head again.

My gift, he said.

I smiled and wanted to hug him. I might be simple but you are definitely not, I wanted to say. Once again we were silent and in our own little worlds.

I left him at the home. Maybe, I will keep visiting him.

You see, I can’t take care of anyone, especially people I love, like Kochumon. That is why I can’t have a baby either. What if my baby is like Kochumon? When I am not there, what if my baby is discarded? I can discard myself. But, no one should discard my baby.