call me by my name

on growing up, apart, and together

Oct 31, 2003

The ghouls and ghosts were creeping out of garages as I wandered the neighborhood streets in my skeleton costume, clutching my grandfather’s hand on one side and a little pumpkin bucket on the other. I was ready for a night full of treats, but instead, I got the ultimate trick: my dad cancelled my Halloween night, shoved us into the back of his Mazda Tribute, and rushed us to the hospital.

There’s a now-infamous photo of me in a skeleton costume, sporting a dramatic pout, standing alongside my mom’s hospital bed while she cradled my newborn sister. Understatement of the century: I wasn’t thrilled. I went out on the night looking for family-size Reese’s and came home with a fun-size human.

couldn’t find the hospital photo, so this will have to suffice

the fall of 2005

Within a couple of years of adjustment and earning my big brother badges, I had nothing but pure adoration for my sister. She would roll from room to room, legs not quite working yet, and I would follow behind, counting her rotations on the carpet. Even in my most distracted moments, I’d keep one eye on Need For Speed and one eye on the baby pen.

Rumors has it, she learned to sing before she spoke; her first official language was Tamil, then English. She was my shadow during music class, parroting the tunes of Carnatic legends and old-timey cassettes we’d play at home. When she spoke, she would ask for food, cry of constipation, or whine that she’d gotten vaseline stuck in her curly hair (which happened more often than you’d think).

And when she finally learned to, she would call me “Anna” - with the same tone and cadence as an Australian man saying the word 'under' from The Little Mermaid song ‘Under the Sea.’ It means brother, in Tamil - a term of respect and affection. Especially at a young age, being called “Anna” feels like you’re given some higher respect than you deserve, beyond the wisdom of a child. It was a calling

fast forward to 2014

Before I knew it, I hated this twerp. She stole my spotlight with her cute little dresses and perfectly symmetric dimples. She was the ‘girl of the family’ and the most important crown jewel in a cousin-squad full of boys. She sang better than me, studied better than me, danced better than me, smiled better than me. The home became a fierce competition ring; two siblings pitted against each other like Tyson v. Paul.

The only time I heard “Anna” in this part of my life, was when she was witness to all the mischief and coming-of-age I indulged in. She grew weary of my temper tantrums and became an accomplice in many wrongdoings, from school suspensions to broken TVs. She had a clear picture of a kid with no intrinsic motivation, lack of discipline, and teenage arrogance.

So she embraced the opposite.

She was a good kid - she kept good grades, made all her mentors proud, and filled our bookshelves with her awards in music and dance. It didn’t come without nudges from our parents, but home was constantly filled with sounds of her music practice.

the summer of 2017

We moved from Michigan to Texas with a truck full of our mom’s hoarded trinkets of 20 years and two cars full of plants that couldn’t be forgotten. I enjoyed the clean slate; it was a chance to rewrite all the tomfoolery I had done up until then, making a new life for myself in college. For my sister, it was a painful adjustment. She resented me for a while, pouting at the loss of friends and being robbed of familiar turf. I secretly knew it would be good for her.

She became her choir director’s favorite student, single-handedly revived Austin’s classical Indian music scene and became a community icon. I watched from afar, with support and envy. I could see elements of myself in her, the good and the bad - a well-curated taste in music, a stubborn will to be understood, a penchant kindness for others, an arrogance behind her talents, a dedication for the things she loved.

Only on the occasion I came home for the weekend, I would hear “Anna”, deliberate and subtle. Still with the familiar ring of our childhood bond, but one that acknowledged the evolution of that bond. It was an anchor, a way of tethering me to the person I had always been in her eyes, and who she was becoming in mine.

the pandemic and onwards

The pandemic brought with it isolation, uncertainty, and an unexpected shift in how we connected with one another. It was a time of reinvention, more for my sister than me. She threw herself into her music like never before, practicing for hours daily, joining Instagram lives with world-renowned musicians, and going viral across socials… meanwhile I bought a ukulele to try to keep up. Somehow, it led to an unsuspecting collaboration, where we wrote and produced a joint EP under the name rissin. Half of her name, half of mine. It’s something I had dreamed of, and finally felt like we were on equal creative footing - somewhat of a joint autobiography of our shared childhood.

And then she had her arangetram in India, followed by a number of concerts, all of which felt like canon events somehow. I found a quiet satisfaction in being her behind-the-scenes support, no longer upset that she’d stolen the limelight and instead happy to hold the curtain open. Literally, I’d scurry around backstage as her lighting technician and drive her to shows as a personal chauffeur. At one point, I was ‘the legal team’, threatening to press charges for stolen IP.

During this time, “Anna” softened into something less defined, less hierarchical, more collaborative, and rooted in a shared understanding of who we had become, together and apart.

now

I’m writing this from my parents’ home. It’s Black Friday, and the family is scattered across the house, still recovering from a collective Thanksgiving food coma. My sister’s music practice fills the echoing chambers of our home, keeping the house balanced and alive.

Some things have changed, others haven’t. She’s 21 now - independent and thoughtful, with ideas and beliefs far beyond the fun-sized human I grew up with. Her first independent song releases in a few weeks, a project she’s been pouring herself into for over a year. I’m proud of how far she’s come, and I’ll still laugh at how far she has to go. She is and always will be an idiot in my eyes, I can’t give her the pleasure of being golden-child-prodigy-turned-saintly-savior. Lest not forget she ruined my Halloween in 2003.

“Anna” rarely surfaces these days, but when it does, it feels timeless. I try my best to fill that call of duty on manic facetimes and backstage before her shows, but I know it doesn’t hold the same responsibility it did when we were kids. It’s less of a name and more of a memory. It’s a thread connecting the child she was, the brother I’ve been, and the bond that will always belong to us.

---

quote unquote

“That’s like a dog and a cat getting along because they both want to kill the mouse.” - Taylor Jenkins Reid

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame; Each to his passion; what's in a name? - Helen Hunt Jackson

Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another: ‘What? You too? I thought I was the only one.’” - C.S. Lewis

Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future. - David Mitchell

---

I’ve written this personal essay in bits and pieces over the last couple years; I had to get it out before it got lost in the drafts. But also, it’s fitting that Sindhu is now 21, about to graduate from college. Time flies.

I’m almost at that point where I’ll look back on this year’s goals and photos and journal entries, to be overwhelmed with emotions and nostalgia. But I’m also just trying to make it through the weekend without burning a hole in my wallet. No gift guides for me, thank you very much.

If you enjoyed this coming-of-age tale, let me know by liking or leaving a comment.. If you feel so inclined, share and subscribe too! Only 2 letters left in 2024 - stay tuned.

---

in case you missed my most underrated post:

puppets, prophets, and predators