Rajit (Dimpy) & Rajni

Dimpy is only a year younger than me, yet in many ways we never really grew up together.

I spent much of my early childhood in Gidderbaha with my maternal grandparents. When we were together at our parents' home in Tohana, we either stayed at home or went to a small day-care school that we simply knew as Bua's school.

Hardly had we begun spending time together when I left for boarding school at Sainik School Kunjpura.

From then on, our relationship was built around intervals. We met during my school holidays, and even those felt few and far between. Later, when I went to university and then engineering college, the pattern continued. I would come home, spend some time with Dimpy, and leave again.

We were brothers growing up in the same family, but rarely at the same time.

Our parents' expectations for us were different. I remember feeling that we were encouraged in different directions, and I have often looked back on that difference.

We grew up in the same family, but we did not have the same experience of it.

I noticed those different expectations. What they felt like to Dimpy is something only he can fully describe.

Dimpy was creative. I remember his imagination, and I sometimes wonder what he might have chosen with more encouragement to pursue art or drawing. In the world we grew up in, science was often considered the safer path.

He went on to train and work as a pharmacist.

By then, we were both in our twenties. Most of the years when brothers normally discover each other had already passed while I was away at school or college.

Still, I believe we were close. We simply did not know how to express it.

We both loved watching India play cricket. When a match clashed with our studies, we devised a wonderfully dishonest arrangement. One of us would study while the other watched television, and then we would exchange places. This allowed us to claim that we had both studied while ensuring that the match was never switched off.

We were also devoted Amitabh Bachchan fans. We would go out and buy his postcards, which cost fifty paisa in those days. Half a rupee bought us a small photograph of someone who seemed larger than life.

Some of our closest moments were never announced as closeness. They were simply a cricket match left playing and an Amitabh postcard carried home.

The thing I remember most clearly about Dimpy from those years is his quietness. We shared more than we ever said aloud.

We shared memories of home that needed little explanation. I remember turning to Mom for comfort, and I saw the closeness Dimpy shared with her too.

Our parents helped arrange his marriage to Rajni. Before long, our family was entering another chapter.

He married five years before I did.

I sometimes wish I had been more present during those early years. I wish I had asked more about his life instead of assuming I understood it. Later, as Rajni and eventually Rimpy became part of our family, our relationships found new ways to grow.

Perhaps I was too young, too occupied with my own studies and my own future. Perhaps the distance had trained both of us to accept silence as the natural language between us.

I cannot recover the childhood we did not share. I can only understand it better now.

The strange truth is that Dimpy and I were separated by circumstances long before either of us could choose differently. Yet something between us survived the schools, the distances, the expectations and all the words we never learned to say.

We did not grow up together in the usual sense.
But through brief holidays, cricket matches, Amitabh postcards and a quiet understanding of the home we both came from, we remained brothers.

Dimpy and Rajni's marriage was arranged through our families. I had spent so much time away that their wedding marked a change in his life I was only beginning to understand.

They were both in their early twenties, still discovering themselves while learning how to become husband and wife.

They began their married life with my parents in the same small house. Building an independent married life was difficult while so many household decisions remained with Dad.

Even as a newly married man, Dimpy had to seek permission for the simplest things. Going to a movie, taking Rajni shopping, or spending a few rupees on personal clothing could become a matter for discussion.

As a young couple, they were learning how to make a life together within an established household. I could see how little room that sometimes left for decisions of their own.

Rajni faced expectations about adjusting to her new family, and I remember comments about her parents and her home that I found hurtful. I wish she had received more understanding during that transition.

There were expectations from the wider family as well as the needs of their new partnership.

Even within those constraints, I saw affection and respect between them.

About a year after their marriage, they were blessed with a daughter whom we lovingly called Gudiya.

The atmosphere around them was often difficult, but their relationship always seemed remarkably clear. I saw affection, understanding and a quiet respect between them. I can hardly remember seeing them fight.

Two years after their marriage, I found a job in Singapore and left India.

From then on, much of my connection with the family happened over the telephone. Whenever I called, I wanted to speak with everyone, including Rajni.

She was my sister-in-law, and I valued having a relationship with her in her own right.

As Rajni became more comfortable expressing her needs, they had to work out how to make decisions together within the wider household.

Dad eventually built another house nearby. Dimpy and Rajni had a place of their own, though their days remained closely connected to my parents' household. They mostly went to the new house to sleep and returned each morning.

Their own home and the wider family remained closely intertwined.

Their son, whom we call Nonnu, was born in 2003, almost ten years after Gudiya. They were now raising two children, alongside their wider family responsibilities.

Dimpy's work as a pharmacist was demanding. It also brought opportunities to travel with well-known local personalities and see different parts of India.

Throughout these years, Dimpy and Rajni raised two children while carrying responsibilities extending far beyond their own household.

My children were growing up in the United States. Whenever Raagini and Dev visited India, Dimpy and Rajni welcomed them with complete warmth. The affection they gave my children always filled my heart with love for both of them.

Their warmth made my children feel at home.

Gudiya grew up, fell in love and chose a young man who had moved to the United States in search of a better life.

After several unsuccessful attempts, Dimpy and Rajni finally received visitor visas and came to America in 2016. It was a special time for all of us. We celebrated Gudiya's marriage, spent a wonderful period together, and for the first time I was able to spend meaningful time with Nonnu.

With their daughter beginning her married life in America, attention naturally turned towards their son. Nonnu was admitted to San Francisco State University.

Supporting Nonnu's education in America involved major sacrifices. Dimpy and Rajni were determined to give him that opportunity.

They put their children's future at the heart of their decisions.

Supporting an expensive education in America was difficult enough. Doing it while immigration rules were becoming increasingly uncertain made the future even harder to predict.

I admired the commitment they brought to their children's plans, even with so much uncertainty ahead.

They built a life with affection, resourcefulness and commitment to their children.

When I think about their marriage now, it is that partnership I see most clearly. Their families helped arrange the beginning, but the affection, trust and respect within it were built by Dimpy and Rajni themselves.

Their families brought them together.
The life they built together was their own.

There is a debt of gratitude I owe Dimpy and Rajni that I can never fully repay.

While I was building my life in the United States, they remained at home with my parents. I contributed from a distance in the ways I could, including financially, but the everyday responsibility was theirs.

They were the ones who were physically present.

Caring for Dad became demanding, and there had been difficult years in the household. Those experiences were part of their history, but so was the care they continued to give Mom and Dad.

Their care continued through difficult times.

They were supporting their parents while also raising their own children. The expectations of the wider household could make decisions for their own family difficult. I saw some of those tensions, but I cannot know everything those years felt like to them.

In his later years, Dad's health deteriorated, and he eventually needed help with even his most personal daily needs. Rajni helped with that care, while Dimpy attended to his medicines and medical needs. Together, they protected his comfort and dignity through difficult days.

When Dad needed help, they were beside him.

This was physical and emotional care given day after day.

From America, I could call, worry and contribute money. But I was not there for the daily care. Dimpy and Rajni were.

Dad passed away in 2018.

Their responsibility did not end with his death. Mom continued living with them, and they continued arranging their lives around her needs.

Even today, if Mom has to walk a short distance, Rajni reaches for her hand. It is a small gesture, but it says more than any grand declaration of duty ever could.

When Mom takes even a few steps, Rajni is there to hold her hand.

Because Mom can no longer travel easily, Dimpy and Rajni plan holidays and time with their children around her care. That often means setting aside plans of their own.

Their children have grown and built lives of their own. Dimpy and Rajni have reached a stage when they might reasonably have expected more freedom. Yet caring for Mom remains at the centre of their everyday life.

Their everyday commitment has shown me what being there for someone involves.

They did not make speeches about duty. They simply stayed.

Their care was not measured in promises. It was measured in years.

I sometimes feel that Dimpy and Rajni experience Dad's absence more deeply in their everyday lives than I do. They shared years of daily closeness that distance kept me from sharing. That is not easy for me to acknowledge, but it is how it sometimes seems to me.

As his son living abroad, I was removed from much of the everyday difficulty of his final years. I was also removed from the ordinary moments they shared with him.

They knew the daily demands of caring for him, and now they know the daily absence he left behind.

It reminds me how much of their experience I can only understand from a distance.

I can never thank them enough for what they did for Dad and what they continue to do for Mom. Nor can I truly repay them.

I can only acknowledge what their presence made possible for me. While I built my life far from home, I could live without the constant fear that my parents were alone.

The peace I had from a distance was built upon the care they gave every day.

Today, Dimpy and I are extremely close. We can speak about anything, much as we always could.

What has changed is me.

There was a time when I was very expressive in my affection for Rajni, Gudiya and Nonnu. Over the years, I have become quieter and somewhat reclusive. This is not limited to Dimpy and his family. I have become less expressive with almost everyone, including my own children.

The feelings remain. I simply show them less often.

Where I have grown quieter, Rimpy has stepped in with warmth and openness.

She, Dimpy and Rajni can spend hours together on WhatsApp calls, sharing jokes, family stories and secrets. Watching the three of them together gives me a somewhat selfish sense of happiness. A role I have not always fulfilled, Rimpy now fulfils joyfully because she genuinely loves her relationship with them.

Where I have become less expressive, Rimpy keeps the affection between our families alive out loud.

Their relationship extends beyond telephone calls. Rimpy has travelled with Dimpy and Rajni to Bangkok, Goa, Mumbai and other places. They spend time together not because family duty requires it, but because they enjoy one another.

With Dimpy and Rajni, there is an ease I treasure. We can laugh, talk openly and disagree without feeling that every conversation puts the relationship at risk.

We can simply be ourselves.

We do not have to perform for one another. There is room to be ourselves.

For Rimpy, India is not merely a country we visit. Because Dimpy and Rajni are there, she knows that we have a home in India.

Rimpy feels completely at home with them. There is no ceremony between them, only the confidence that she is welcome.

Dimpy and Rajni return that trust and affection in full.

Our children are building lives and relationships of their own. Their connections need not mirror ours, and we are learning to give those relationships room to take their own shape.

I treasure the affection the children show the family, while recognising that their lives and relationships are theirs to build.

Belonging to a family does not mean every relationship must look the same.

Sometimes I let too much time pass before speaking with Gudiya or Nonnu. I can be much the same with my own children. That is something about me, not a measure of what they mean to me.

When we speak again, we simply pick up from where we left off.

I am grateful that we can reconnect so easily, but I do not want to assume that my silence always feels to them the way I intend it.

I am grateful for that generosity. I do not want to take it for granted.

We are no longer young. We have lived separate lives in different countries, raised our children under different circumstances, and become quieter or more expressive in our own ways.

Our relationships have changed as our lives have changed. I want to leave room for them to keep growing.

Yet the centre has held.

Dimpy and Rajni know they have a family with us in America. Rimpy and I know we have a home with them in India.

For me, that sense of belonging is one of the great comforts of our lives. It is something I want to keep caring for.

There may not be much more to say.

And yet, perhaps there is an entire life contained in that simplicity.

One word describes where we are today: blessed.