A sister's thoughts from India

Susmita Kurup

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I had always wanted a younger sibling because most of my friends had one. I thought, wouldn't it be fun to have someone to play with, have silly fights with, go to school with and…don’t tell my mother this, but also someone to boss around as an elder sister!

If you ask my parents, they’ll tell you how much I pestered them about it. And finally I was holding a baby brother in my arms (albeit a bit awkwardly) as my seventh birthday present. I suggested we name him “Subhash” but thank God my mother didn’t listen to me. She decided on “Sujit” and we all stuck with that.

Initially, my seven-year-old mind was very disappointed. Baby Sujit, or Jeetu as we all affectionately call him, didn’t talk, didn’t walk, didn’t even giggle when I tickled him. What’s the point of having a brother when all he does is cry and drink milk?

“Be patient. He’s too small. You can play with him when he’s grown up a bit.” My mother would tell me.

So I waited. And before I realized it, baby Jeetu had grown into the cutest little 2-year-old. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve pulled his cheeks and pulled him into a hug because I couldn’t resist his cuteness and his smile. Ask anyone who knows Jeetu and they’ll tell you what a beautiful smile he has.

I was in the fifth standard when one of my friends told me about her little brother. “He’s so cute! Especially when he calls me ‘didi’!” She said.

“Oh, I have a little brother too. He’s also very sweet! But he hasn’t started talking yet.” I said.

“Really? Your brother must be very small then. Mine is only 18 months old.”

Eighteen months? I quickly calculated – that would mean 1 and a half years. Jeetu was 2. Immediately I felt indignation. That was not fair! Why should her brother start talking earlier than mine? After reaching home I told my mother about it. She just gave me a worried look. Obviously, the thought that Jeetu should have started saying at least a few words by now had crossed her mind before.

The next couple of years are a haze to me. It mostly consisted of taking Jeetu from one hospital to another, one doctor to another. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience for any of us. One incident stands out poignantly in my memory.

“The doctors are saying he’s partly MR and partly autistic.” My mother told me, when she came back after an appointment with a doctor in a reputed hospital.

I frowned. “Is it possible for someone to be partly MR? And what is ‘autistic’?”

At that moment I had no idea that the word “autistic” was going to become so integral to my life. I hadn’t even heard of that word before.

While my parents were leaving no stone unturned in trying to find Jeetu’s problem, Jeetu himself was starting to show changes in his behaviour. He was becoming really naughty, or “hyperactive” as the doctors put it. He loved jumping, swinging, running, climbing onto the highest places, breaking things. But he excluded me and everyone out of it. He was always lost in his own world.

During my vacations in 6th standard, we went to Bangalore. My parents wanted to take Jeetu to an institute there. It was there that the doctors diagnosed him as moderately autistic.

“This is all my fault,” I used to think. “If I hadn’t insisted for a sibling none of this would have ever happened.”

I slowly started detaching myself from Jeetu. I was sad, upset, disappointed and most of all embarrassed. I didn’t tell my friends about his condition, never used to even mention him. When they would ask me about him, I would answer with a cursory “He’s okay.”

But my mother is a dedicated woman. Where my father and I had given up hope, she strove on…getting her hands on any information regarding autism, desperately trying to reach anyone who could help Jeetu. Coming across AFA was a huge leap for her and for Jeetu.

Jeetu was five when he started going to a special school and at the same time going for intervention to AFA. My parents also arranged an Occupational Therapist for him.

“He’s improving Mitu, can’t you see?” My mother would tell me. “If we all work with him, he’ll improve much more. Maybe he’ll even become normal!” I remained skeptical then. But I couldn’t help noticing the differences either.

The previously indifferent Jeetu had become a very affectionate boy. He loved to be hugged and kissed (still does) when earlier, he used to push everyone away. He also started writing English alphabets, although that fact turned out pretty bad for the walls of our house.

He didn’t like to play like other kids of his age. But he had a different way of playing. For some reason, he had a huge fascination for kitchen utensils, especially pressure cookers and mixers. He would pick up the pressure cooker, place it on a table and stare at it from all possible angles for hours! I used to find that odd about him, but slowly I started finding it endearing.

He also made these odd, strange sounds. The loudness varied with his moods. I used to find that a very annoying habit and sensing my annoyance he started doing it more. In fact he loved annoying me in all ways. He would scribble over my homework so that I would have to do it all over again. He would snatch my Harry Potter book from me and run away giggling. I regret scolding him then because now as I think back, that was so adorable of him! He was trying to get my attention!

I started realizing what a bad sister I had been. I was ignoring my brother because he’s abnormal. But I soon realized he’s not abnormal. He’s special. He’s different.

Jeetu loves a lot of things that other kids would find silly. For instance, he loves watching me draw, with a fascination for trees. He would insist that I draw something and would watch me with rapt concentration. He also loves music. If you play his select favourite songs, he’ll sit still and listen for hours. He’s a big fan of A.R.Rehman and Himesh Reshammiya. He likes to hear me sing. My mother would tell you what a horrible singer I am. Jeetu, however, seems to think otherwise.

Slowly he got over his pressure cooker obsession and got a new one – spoons! He used to continuously tap the spoon on the table and floor and I found that even more annoying. Again, he sensed my annoyance and started doing it more.

One day, I was in a particularly foul mood and I snatched the spoon from him when he started tapping incessantly. “Jeetu! Stop it!” I yelled at him.

He looked at me and shouted “Jeetu!” back at me.

Imagine my surprise. It was the first time he had said something legible in response. “Didi.” I corrected him.

“Didi.” He repeated.

Needless to say, I was thrilled! Since that day, Jeetu, who never used to speak anything other than unintelligible sounds, started parroting words. It was a huge milestone for all of us. And I’m proud to say that I caused it (even though it was an accident)!

Jeetu will be stepping into teens this August while I’ll be stepping out. Despite this sizable age gap and his condition, along the years we’ve come to share a close brother-sister bond, unlike any other. Our bond has to be different, because Jeetu is different. (My mother won’t agree with me on this, but Jeetu is most obedient with me than anyone else!)

The closeness we share never impressed upon me, until I had to move 3000 miles away to do my engineering. I probably used to take it for granted as I was the one who spent the most amount of time with Jeetu. Even now as I’m typing, I miss Jeetu so much. I never realized how much he missed me too till I went to Delhi for my Christmas vacation last year. He wouldn’t let go of me.

Last year, when I went to my new college my new friends asked me if I had any siblings, I replied, “Yes, I have a brother. His name is Sujit but I call him Jeetu. He’s 12 years old and he’s autistic. But he’s the most adorable and most loving brother you’ll ever find.”