My brother introduces me as a writer, when on most days I don’t consider myself one. He also tells people that my recommendations of movies and shows should always be heard because I know a lot, when on most days I’m too embarrassed to share them. For some reason, for whatever reason, he sees me like I haven’t been able to see myself.
Last year, I found a wobbly cardboard box in which I used to keep things that mattered to me when I was a kid. The contents – a diary, some birthday cards and a number of weirdly taken pictures reminded me of how much things had changed for me. As a kid, I didn’t have the best relationship with my brother. A page in the diary from that box listed reasons as to why I didn’t like him. He was mom’s favourite. He was nicer to people and I was not. He understood social cues and I barely got them. He was good at most things I didn’t understand. However, of course, I never felt like he got me.
At age 20, when the pandemic had already done too much harm to our emotional and mental health, I called him crying at 2AM. It was still night where he lives – the time difference matters for context. Here’s the context: he’s always there, no matter where he is, and what time it is for him. That night, he calmed me down, told me that I should cry it out and when I apologized for crying – he said that I’m stronger than that – stronger than feeling apologetic for my emotions. He went on to tell me about the time when he was in a similar spot and what it did to him. For the first time, I felt like my brother knows me, or there are more similarities between us than I think. I had either underestimated him or he had changed – both are plausible scenarios.
He ended the call saying there’s nothing I can do that can make him mad, or make him judge me. There’s nothing I can do that will ever have him questioning the kind of person that I am. No one has ever said these things to me. Even if someone has tried, I don’t think anyone has meant it as much as he did. It’s been 4 years to that one call, and a lot has changed. Every day we talk, he asks me for tea on our relatives and surroundings, we joke about each other’s personalities, then he checks up on me. He thinks that I don’t share stuff or emote if I’m not pushed enough. He’s not wrong. Which is also why when we don’t talk for days, or I avoid a conversation, he knows that I’m hiding something.
But that’s just a brief about our relationship. I think it is important for me to mention that our relationship is what it is because he’s a feminist – because even when he doesn’t get what it’s like to be a woman, he tries, or at least listens. Even when he fails, he mends.
It’s simple: none of us are perfect, we are flawed. Even when we think we are doing something that we consider idealistic, it’s a huge possibility of unintentionally hurting someone. The only way to be human is to at least keep trying. To try and be good, to realize when we are not. And he tries. Actually no, he does more than trying. Whenever I talk about feminism and gender equality, I am intense, but that’s just because I feel strongly about it. When I am around my brother, talking about my struggles and wanting equality doesn’t feel like a task. It feels like liberation – so, exactly what it’s supposed to be.
It’s easier to be yourself around a person when that person doesn’t look down at you for being that way. For context, here’s an incident. Last year, when he was in India for the holidays, we had guests over. My brother had cooked that day, and he also wanted to be there through the entire thing. He understood that the responsibility of serving comes down to women, so he stayed in the kitchen till everything was done. Someone asked him to leave it to mom and me, to which he responded that he’ll sit when we do.
He got married recently, and he kept telling me that the idea of a woman leaving her home for someplace new scares him. He said that it felt like his partner was doing a lot for us, for him – and women always are. But the fact that he acknowledged that, mattered more than I thought it would. That way I know that it’s going to be better for at least one woman.
My brother is also someone who’s always concerned about my ‘social life’. He knows I’m too much of an introvert. But he also knows that I will not have the same experiences as him, solely because gender adds layers to things. Knowing that someone else tries to comprehend what life constantly looks like for you, feels like a warm hug. It’s like that feeling you get when you’ve had a good cry. But that’s not it, you know.
A feminist brother helps you through life, sure, because he’s always there for you. More than everything, though, he will never stop you from fighting for what you deserve. He will always remind you that you deserve more, even when you think you don’t. A feminist brother knows that you are never appreciated enough, so he makes sure to constantly put you under the spotlight. Even if it is his wedding, his day.
Gender dynamics usually get tricky in households because that’s just how things work. So most times, women do not find people in families to confide in. It’s almost a privilege if you get that at home. A sibling is supposed to be your first friend, and imagine getting THAT right. Imagine growing up around a person who just gets you even when you don’t say much. In a lot of ways, my brother is like that wobbly cardboard box: he carries my secrets, my emotions, and somehow doesn’t judge me for all of it.
