Romantic Ideas of Being an Aunt

by Vani Viswanathan

I’m aunt to several kids, but I’ve been made to believe the chitthi is the most special of these relationships. In these romantic notions the chitthi – Tamil for the mother’s younger sister – is the cooler version of the mother, whom the kids can run to whenever they are in need for intervention from the boring parents; the adult who will indulge them, tell them fun stories their parents may not approve of and the one person they can confide in about their crushes and relationships.

I’m none of these. My nephew and niece are still too young – and well-behaved – to be out of their parents’ protective shadow, and currently they are mighty pleased by their parents’ attention and affection. I’m lucky if I meet them thrice in a year, and each time I see them, I’m stunned by how much closer to little people they are becoming, not the babies I remember from the last time.

Being a second born, I always assumed that the first one is the most special to their mother’s siblings. Especially where it’s an older sister, the first child makes you an aunt for the first time, so the first born has obviously got to be special, isn’t it? When I saw my nephew for the first time, his forehead creased as if he was in intense thought, I was in love. This baby would be so, so special; no one could take his place, and he would be the pinnacle and point of reference for all babies I see, or might have in my distant future.

Over the years, as he grew up, I ran helter-skelter to find him gifts every time I visited him, wondering what I could do to take it a notch higher and show him the affection my heart was brimming with. Once, on Skype, he saw on my bed a stuffed doll of Jumbo the giant flying elephant, and stared at it in wide-eyed wonder, his thumb in his mouth. Suddenly he dashed to another room and brought a smaller version of the same doll! I was elated beyond words. I resolved to get him the bigger version before my next visit home, and called up several “Toys R Us” stores to find the toy in an obscure branch that I visited late evening after work. He was overjoyed to see the bigger version, and christened it “big aani”.

The proud aunt that I was, my friends knew about the many clever and beautiful things he said and did as he grew older. My feminist heart bulged with joy when I saw him take to playing ‘cooking’ with gusto. At age 3, he could recite the recipe to make rasam from beginning to end, including how to smell the boiling rasam to see if it was turning out alright. I saw him growing up with sensitivity, with no gender-biased statements coming from him even as he started school, where kids get their major lessons about gender outside of home. His role as the most special child in my life solidified as, thanks to his parents, he grew to be a talented, polite, ambitious child who gave his all into whatever he was doing. Even if he had a sibling, I knew it would never be the same – that child could never occupy the grand place my nephew had.

Enter my niece, a few years down the line. I distinctly remember when and where I got a call from my mother announcing her arrival: I was standing outside my office in the shade of a tree, enjoying a post-lunch walk. My feminist heart erupted with joy – I had been waiting for a niece on whom I could test all my ideas of feminist upbringing. For all the good behaviour my nephew demonstrated as a toddler, this little girl is growing up with spunk, a mind of her own, and is all tenacious. Despite her mother’s – and her sensible brother’s – attempts, she is as girly as any child her age is: a fondness for pink, flowers and princesses, and solid ideas on what women and men “can” and “cannot” do.  My feminist mind has evolved to see this as a phase she may or may not grow out of – that it’s her prerogative to be who she wants to be, and there’s nothing wrong with girly.

A few months ago, I remembered my idea that my nephew occupied prime importance as the child I’m most attached to. Within days of her birth, my niece had clambered up to share that space! In my head, it was a dilemma. I wondered if deep within, secretly, I had a favourite. Was it the nephew, the first one I was so attached to, who showed me the kind of love and pride I was capable of? Or the niece, whose mind and behaviour I admire and am swayed by?

This thought stayed in my mind for a few days. With time, I realised I couldn’t pick a favourite. As much as my niece delighted me with her playful antics and her discovery of things old and new, my heart swelled with pride watching my nephew pick up laurels in school, grow into a well-rounded individual with interest in studies, arts and sports, and speaking with confidence in public. I cherished their different milestones equally and differently. I laughed at my niece’s hilarious rendition of Kabali’s Neruppu Da and watched with tears my nephew’s perfect performance of the Mouna Ragam theme on the piano. I remembered niece watching me dress up for a friend’s wedding, her fascination as she asked me to wear my bindi, earrings, and so on. I surprised myself when I realised I was making mental notes to share some rock songs with my sister so my nephew could figure out how to play them on the piano – when did this thumb-sucking baby grow so old that I could discuss rock music with him!

I revel equally in their distinct personalities, the amounts of courage, intelligence, passion, focus and playfulness they have in them in different measures. The older one stumps me with how he is growing into a young boy with whom I can have very grown-up conversations. The younger one reminds me that she has a fiercely independent mind of her own, and she’s not a baby like how I used to see my nephew as at those stages.

I slowly realised what parents mean when they say they can’t pick which of their children they love more. It’s impossible for most. The mind is greedy, it wants all the kids. Each child changes their lives in wonderfully different ways, that life seems incomplete with just one and without the other (once the subsequent ones come along).

And similarly, I figured out the romance that being an aunt brings along. I can’t pick one child as the one I love more than the other. I’m greedy too, and both of them make me a proud, happy aunt. I bask in the glory of their achievements and laugh at both their antics. I now know that even if I ever had children, my niece and nephew would continue to be my special babies; my partner’s niece, my cousins’ children, all have their special spots too. I know that my heart would simply grow bigger to make space for others to come.

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