Brother from the same mother

Written by TheGali

“Most children can recall memories when they are around 3.5 years of age”
-Cornell University study

Meet my younger brother, Dhruva. He looks exactly like me, has the same height and physique, a product of my mother and father but he’s not my own brother. He was adopted by my aunt, my mother’s sister when he could barely walk. My aunt, for some reason wasn’t fertile. Hence, their family decided to adopt a baby. I don’t know how they concluded to adopt my brother, or how my mom agreed to it, but the adoption went ahead.

I remember seeing my brother for the first time at the adoption ceremony. I was barely 4 years old. Adoption ceremonies are as big as a marriage ceremony in my family. My relatives, my aunt’s relatives and friends were invited, rituals were performed. It was a feast just like a wedding would be. There was no way my dad could have afforded it. It was hosted at my aunt’s home and I believe the entire ceremony was sponsored by her family. I have some faint memories of the ceremony. I remember a ritual where I was seated next to my aunt and my parents held my brother in their arms and gave it to my aunt’s family, while the priest chanted some Shlokas and my relatives threw grains of rice on them. The priest asked my aunt and uncle to recite a Sanskrit Shloka, that translated to “I will take care of him as my own” or something like that. I could see my mother shed a couple of tears, like she was giving away her own son. The cute little baby was no longer hers. Imagine raising a child and giving him away when he could barely walk. She felt bad, even though it was her decision to adopt. After all she’s a mother. He would be raised by her own sister, so she knew he was in good hands. The pain of giving her son away would live with her for a couple of months at least. It was agreed that my brother would be handed off before he could identify my parents as his mother and father.

I think it was a very good decision to adopt my brother because my dad does not earn much. We are the lower-income class family. His education would be taken care by aunt’s family, even though they were from a lower-middle class family. They were a joint family and they owned a temple. They lived in a city called Shivamogga in Karnataka, with the temple adjacent to their house. Since my uncle’s brothers and family lived together, they did not have to pay rent and all their expenses were divided among them. So, my brother would grow up in a joint family that owned a temple and his ‘dad’ and uncles would be priests. Good times don’t last long. His ‘father’ was diagnosed with blood cancer a couple of years ago, and he lost his eyesight for a few months. They operated his left eye and he gained very little sight. He could barely walk without help in familiar areas and recognise people with his partial eyesight. Although he couldn’t read tiny text, he could make phone calls from his phone based on muscle memory and today, he can do most of his work without any assistance. He quit his job (I’m unsure what that was) and joined his brothers as a priest. My aunt worked as a permanent nurse in a hospital. Her husband’s treatments were covered by insurance, and they had no other expenses because of their joint-family arrangement, so there were no financial problems faced by his family.

He turned out all right, an enthusiastic version of myself. He was named Gaurav by my family. I would be Goutham Gali and he, Gaurav Gali. After the adoption, he was named Dhruva. He does not know he was adopted, or at least he pretends to not know about it even though he looks exactly like me. When I visit, he introduces me to his friends. I jokingly tell them “I am the better-looking version of Dhruva”. Why do I think the adoption was a very good decision? One reason would be that my aunt was financially better off, and secondly, he would not be a victim of my father’s abuse.

My dad does not know how to run a family and I don’t blame him. He grew up with 10 siblings and had a love-less relationship with his parents. I never complain about the lack of money in our home, but I don’t like how he treats me or my mother. Constantly criticizing us, he finds faults in our work and blames us. It’s anything, my mom’s cooking, my handwriting, the way I walk or my opinions. I feared my father as a kid, and I’m scared today. I have anxiety issues and I have memories of my parents fighting when I was a child. The fights have reduced because I support my mother whenever my parents have an argument. I turned out alright, at least I think I did. Speaking of fights, when we visited my grandparent’s home as kids, I broke my brother’s tooth while we were wrestling. I kicked his face and cracked his tooth. I’ve had a similar crack in one of my teeth, now we look alike.

I don’t know whether my mother is happier now or if she regrets her decision, but I think she’s alright. Of course, she begs to see him every summer vacation, calls him over to Bangalore every now and then. When he comes, she prepares a humongous feast. It’s natural she longs to see her son. Sometimes when me and my mother are having a fight, she yells “I should have given you away instead of Dhruva!” or “This is why we gave your brother away. I don’t want another one of you in my house!”
I respect Dhruva’s mother because she has a job and she takes care of her partially blind husband and her son, while taking care of the house when returns work every day. I like her very much, a very sensible woman who has her priorities right. She has no room for errors, has ensured her son scored a 10/10 in his 10th board exams. She is also very caring and affectionate. A couple of months back, she came to Bangalore complaining of severe stomach ache. None of the doctors in Shivamogga knew what it was, and they sent her to Bangalore for a “PET CT Scan”. The results showed cancer of the gallbladder and doctors recommended an immediate chemotherapy treatment. It would be covered by the insurance, but we didn’t know what this meant and whether it was fatal or not. She underwent chemotherapy and was sent back to Shivamogga.

Six months later, my father and I were asked to go to her home because things had turned for the worse. The one woman I respected more than my mother, died in front of my eyes.