Funny, when you are born in a 4-sibling household and stand at number 3, you realise pretty early on, you are a born loser. Life is a race and you stood third. And on, it is not a bronze. You are lying on a double edged sword. And it is the oldest and youngest siblings that take the trophy. Be it for tantrums, love, gifts, pampering or anything else that deserves recognition. The middle child is well, the most ignored soul in any home. Going by my experience, I was neither a rebel, nor a leader. I was plain vanilla – obedient and boring. Just like the sofa. People need it to exist, but no one shows any appreciation.

But being number three has it perks too. You are neither expected to excel nor do you get compared to ‘Sharmaji ki beti’ (the next door neighbour’s ideal daughter). You are left to your fate, especially if you are not a fussy eater, do generally well at school, take instructions well and do not get in the way of anyone else. As a result, I had a free hand when it came to thinking and observations. Nobody got in the way of my thoughts and dreams. Everone else had a life.

Growing up with more siblings also means growing up with biodiversity. Each one comes with a personality of their own. My sister, the oldest one was always head strong. Ready to pick an argument and solely in possession of the only radio the family owned. Her long, painted nails came across as talons you didn’t want anywhere close to your skin. Every evening as she would enter home after a long and tiring day, my youngest brother and she would get into a fight over something. The trigger would be as trivial as he pulling her hairband. And our Tom and Jerry would get into action. Brother number one was always the father figure. Calm, patient, responsible, sporty and always the owner of the latest gadgets – walkman, video cassette player, camera, etc. As a trickle down effect, we the tail-enders would find our way to put his gadgets to good use sans consequences. The youngest brother was always the recipient of exclusive gifts – bicycle, electronic keyboard, too much attention, etc. He was good at sports too. I on the other hand was the quiet and timid sorts, and found my pleasure in dolls, diaries and food. Always penning down my thoughts, a doll in hand, and enjoying all traditional recipes passed as heirloom by my grandmother to my mother.

As siblings, the only one who triggered me was my youngest brother. We have fought in many creative ways – verbal attacks that would go out of control and lead to hair yanking followed by kick boxing. And if matters got worse, using weaponry like pinching to create a zoomed red hill on each other’s flesh or as a final resort, fist fights, for a full and final settlement of the problem. You name every trick in the book and we have certainly used it. But we would also make up as quickly as we would get into a fight. The secret sauce – you can never un-siblingify. You cannot break up with a sibling. You may get into arguments, fist fights even. But sharing the same womb has an effect that is has more far reaching consequences than any other effect in the world. No matter how different you turn out to be, the common strings of the environment you received growing up makes sure there is always room for making up and being there for one another.

Growing up in a middle class household, we learned our Math by dividing the number of Alphonso slices each family member could have. They were super expensive, limited edition mangoes, seasonal in nature. They also gave us a lesson in diminishing marginal utility – something we never experienced because the number of slices per person were always fewer than our greed for the the golden fruit. We learned our people skills by sleeping together next to our siblings in the same room and resolving any issues with had with one another. The idea of owning a bedroom each was too far fetched. But today, I feel grateful for the wonderful memories I have, thanks to that very arrangement. We made good orators too, thanks to verbal fights that needed not just a strong voice, but good reason to win. Be it a chocolate, the last piece of gulab jamun or getting another sibling to complete your share of mundane chores. I believe we turned out alright, thanks to parents who uncannily found a balance between the stick and love.

P.S. The relationship with share with our siblings is very special. In a spiritual sense, every relationship is here to teach us something. In that respect, our siblings have such a big role to play in our lives. There is so much reflection that can happen given the differences in all our personalities, exposure, knowledge and experience. We are so grown now that nieces and nephews are getting married. Yet, we have our difference of opinions. Thankfully, the good orators that we are, arguments are a compulsion to resolve matters the healthy way. We do feel all the emotions of love, anger, jealousy, compassion and many more, just the way we did when we were younger. But most of all, siblings never get rid of that seed of love that gets planted by nature the moment you choose to share the womb.