As a child, my bed time stories comprised of tales of many revolutionaries (in their own right), including those of Rabindranath Tagore, and how he encouraged Hindus and Muslims to tie rakhis to each other. My mother said this fostered kinship and harmony, along with the extension of security. I do not know what the authenticity of this is, but I didn’t feel the need to seek it, for my mother said it.
Having grown up as a single child, with all my (male) cousins in Calcutta, I’d often wonder if I’ll ever know what this day feels like, to a sister. Every time I’d feel forlorn about this, mother would remind me about Tagore’s story, and say that there are more roles I could have on this day than just that of a sister, if I chose to. From then on, I have known what Rakshabandhan feels like- to a daughter.
Every year, on Rakshabandhan, my mother ties me a rakhi. She says it’s not because she wants me to look after her; she wants me to look out for myself. Today, my father tied me one too.
The world is coming around, slowly but surely. At least, mine is.
Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak! 
Leave a comment