When I was a naive five year old, the elders of the family had looked back and forth between my heavily pregnant mother and me and had questioned me,"What baby would you like?" (Determination of the sex of the unborn child is a legally punishable offense in India).

I had scrunched up my nose and had looked at them in the eye, "I couldn't ever put up with a boy. I want a baby sis to play with." Allah had blessed me with one but I never knew how wrong I could be.

I was delighted with the coming of my sister. I was the who had given her tehneek and I was the one who had first dropped her down. I loved being around her and she thought of me as her world. When no one could understand her gibberish, I had spoken to her in it. She had learnt to walk and cycle with my help. Whatever Eidi (money given to chidren during Eid) I would recieve, I would treasure and buy gifts for her. She was chubby, cute and my doll to play with.

I am an avid admirer of seasons but the irony, they take their turns in our lives too. Situations of our lives change and so did my sis. As she grew up, she adopted a careless attitude and mixed with all the wrong girls. I thought it was a phase and let it slide.

Things however grew worse. She couldn't speak a full sentence without yelling at me. Whenever I would intervene and correct her mistakes she would only remove her frustrations on me. From the high opinion she held of me, I became an enemy for her. A nosy enemy at that. Trying to maintain whatever little peace was left at home, my mom pleaded with me to keep my mouth shut. I did. There were consequences. My sister faded away in front of my eyes and I could nothing about it. I lost her. Lost her to the evil world.

The more she pushed me away, the more I got hurt. Each time she yelled at me, a part inside me broke. Shattered to a gazillion pieces never to be put back again. I became stressed but she still continued with her attitude. In her eyes she was right and everyone else were wrong. As time passed, I belittled myself and stood watching with the agony the change in her character. I had failed. Our sisterly bond was lost forver. I moved on. Gave up hope. I left everything in the hands of Allah. If she were to change, the Creator would look into it. Indeed He is the Changer of hearts. He could flip our hearts whenever He wants. I left it to Him.

As I moved on, I reached a phase where I could care no more. I wanted to be cared for.

I started wishing I had an elder brother to look out for me and I still do. As a Muslim and as an Indian, I was and am aware of the thousand rules and regulations that applied to a girl and I had no problem with it. Just the yearning that I could have had a brother to help me face those. The problem was if I wanted a younger brother, I could pray to my Lord but what if I wanted an elder one? I couldn't go back in time and alter things. The thirst for an elder brother's affection grew and soon I became as desperate as a desert is for water.

I started wishing that I had elder brother and I still do. I wish I had an elder brother who would go all savage if someone mistreated me. Who would mock me and who I could torcher in return. I want a brother who would punch guys if they try to hit on me. Someone who would drop me on his bike to my friends' house and someone whom I could turn into a walking ATM (my version of any time money) machine!

Someone who would bribe me to keep my mouth shut. For whom I could cover up in front of my parents. For whom I can indulge in a bride hunt preferably from among my friends. Someone who would hold me close and drench my hijab in tears, warn my husband to take care of me on my wedding day; whose kids I can spoil and be the awesome aunt everyone would long for. A fancy that could never become reality.

In reality, brothers are quite different from what Wattpad portrays. My mind knows it all but my fragile heart refuses to agree. I still want one!

Cousins will never make up for the lack of our own brothers. They will always remain na mehram and the inner haram police in me will be on its duty warning me to maintain distance and keep my hijab on when they are around.

It is a void I have learnt to deal with though the ache in me comes back with full force when I hear my friends speak about their relation with their brothers. I long to steal the glimmer in their eyes and keep it for myself but I look away with envy muttering 'masha allah' under my breath.

My heart constricts with pain every time the topic is brought about and I take a deep breath. I sigh and reprimand myself Allahu alam Bushra. Allahu alam (Allah knows best). Maybe it is better to leave things at His decision, He knows the best after all.

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