The Y Factor

I have always complained to my mom that she worries too much for me. Even when I was going to Mumbai for my job, she cried so much in the station. I was 22. I remember the person next to me, asking if it was the first time I was going out without my parents. I sighed and added that I had been in boarding schools since I was nine. The laws of affection defy logic. I just named it the Y factor.

My mom’s ultimate defense for all arguments has always been the age difference; that I would realize her point once I turn her age. As obvious, that ends the discussion. Since I never catch up with her age and I don’t remember arguments we had 24 years back, I was never able to pursue a single argument to my favor. So to understand the Y factor, I am supposed to have my own kids, which still is a distant future; at least it seems so. However, in this case, I sort of have a pre-hint. And it’s about my kid brother. He is just two and a half years younger than I am. Not a huge difference. But still I think of him as a kid. I find it hard to believe that he can manage everything on his own. My brother, who used to sit in my class with me in kindergarten rather than his own, who couldn’t finish even a single pack of ‘frooti’, who always sticks to me in a gathering, who has to explain all the new toys and comics he has amassed while I was away from home, who plays with his large collection of discarded plastic items, paper boxes and railway tickets, who innocently asks to lower my shoulder so that he can blissfully fall asleep every time we travel together in a bus or a train or a cab; well, whatever his age is, I find it difficult to visualize how he is attending a meeting or giving a presentation or arguing his case with his boss. It might seem odd to you. But for me, it’s really amazing! Deep down something within me doesn't want to accept that my little brother has actually grown up.