Photo by Tom Strecker on Unsplash
by Sara Siddiqui Chansarkar
My twin brother grew light-skinned like the milk he sucked from Ma’s breast and I, brown like the chai I drank from a bottle. My brother slept under a Bajaj fan, and I, under the monsoon skies. My brother was given neem wood toys for teething, and I, slipper straps for my itch. My brother received pats of encouragement for riding the rocking horse, and I, slaps for being a distraction if he fell. My brother carried a thermos to school, and I, a bamboo to shoo dogs in his way. My brother remained a child, and I, his guardian.
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Sara Siddiqui Chansarkar is an Indian American writer. She is the author of Morsels of Purple and Skin Over Milk. Twitter:@PunyFingers
