The Pillars of My Life: My Sister

Today is my sister’s birthday.

The first thing that came to my mind, as I was wishing her, was a letter. She wrote this letter to me years ago, just a month after her marriage.

The first letter I received from my sister after her marriage made my eyes fill without warning.

She did not write that she missed me. Instead, she wrote about a neighbor’s little girl who was called Chinnari and how that name reminded her of me. She said she wanted to call me that too. I remember reading those lines repeatedly. My chest felt warm and heavy simultaneously. I was surprised by a tenderness I had not known to expect from her.

That letter stayed with me. It was the first moment I truly understood something about my sister and about us.

In a life that has shifted and tested me in many ways, I have always had two steady pillars. They hold me up. My mother and sister are these pillars.

My sister and I grew up in a bustling town surrounded by girl cousins, all close in age. Childhood felt crowded in the best way. She had her circle of cousins and friends, and I had mine. Our worlds ran parallel. They overlapped less often. We did not spend endless hours together the way some sisters do. Still, we shared a bond that quietly existed beneath the noise.

I remember the ordinary, imperfect moments. The silly fights where we scratched each other with our nails. The money I saved that she borrowed as a loan and never returned. I remember good times too. No single moment stands out clearly. Perhaps it is because we were both busy building our own little universes.

She got married very young, at nineteen. I remember hearing whispers and conversations about her marriage long before it became official. One day, she asked me to ask our parents if everything was settled. When I did, they said yes.

I do not know why, but marriage frightened me back then. Even though it was not mine, the idea of it filled me with an inexplicable sadness. When she moved to the city after her wedding, the house felt different. It seemed quieter and emptier in a way I had not anticipated.

When she came home a few days later, she brought me a gift. It was a light blue chikankari churidar from a designer store. I remember holding it. I knew it was expensive. I knew my brother in law had only just started working. I knew my parents had not given her money. Somehow, she had still managed to buy it for me.

That was one of the first truly tender moments I remember, the kind that quietly changes you.

My sister is the smarter, stronger, and wiser one between us. She is also the spender. She does not plan too much. She prefers living, laughing, meeting relatives, and enjoying moments. She values this over chasing money or building strategies. For a long time, I struggled to understand that.

Once, I asked her what she thought her strength and weakness were. She smiled and said they were the same thing. She does not overthink.

She has been there for me my entire life. She supported me during my good times and even more fiercely during my bad ones. She is the person I know I can count on, no matter what.

Sometimes my love for her comes out harsh. I get irritated when I see what I believe is wasted time, intelligence, talent, or opportunity. I wish she would work more, plan more, build something measurable. But slowly, I am learning that my way is not the only way to live.

She has endured a great deal of turmoil and still stands tall, steady, and strong. From her, I am learning a different kind of resilience, one that is not loud or ambitious, but deeply rooted.

What binds us is more than blood. With her, it has always felt like a soul connection, quiet, enduring, and unbreakable.