by Anupama Krishnakumar
Four sisters get together to form a WhatsApp group. Anupama Krishnakumar writes a story about a special kind of sibling-bonding.
On September 10, 2017, a day that the Nathan sisters, Vatsala (75), Prema (72), Lalitha (68) and Chitra (63) would never forget, something momentous happened. It was the day the four sisters came together to form a WhatsApp group. Vatsala, the oldest sibling, surprised her three younger sisters, when an announcement popped on their smartphone screens that Vatsala had added them to the group ‘The Nathan Sisters’, the word Nathan derived from their father’s name, Swaminathan. It was a moment of great excitement for the sisters living in four different cities in India – Bangalore, Kochi, Mumbai and Delhi, for they couldn’t have asked for a better way to catch up every day, despite the distances.
They had all been using WhatsApp for a while by then and were part of Bhajan groups, Ladies Club groups, serious discussion groups, apartment groups and their mini family groups with their children (and sometimes, grandchildren!), but this idea of the sisters coming together was something that never struck them till that day when, like some kind of a masterstroke of destiny, the group was finally born.
‘Hi my dear sisters,’ Vatsala messaged the first ever message to the group, ‘hello, how are you?’ she typed, like how someone would ask over the phone.
It was the chirpy youngest sibling, Chitra, who responded first.
‘Wow, super,’ she wrote, ‘Vatsu, super idea!’
Vatsala sent a smiley.
‘Chithu, not my idea dee. Suresh suggested we all should have a group.’ Vatsala typed slowly, feeling grateful that her older son came up with the brilliant suggestion.
Chitra happily sent two thumbs-ups and three grinning smileys.
After five minutes, a good-morning forward arrived. It was from the second sister, Prema.
‘Good morning Vatsu, Lallu, and Chithu,’ she beamed, showering a string of smileys including a party hat, a few flowers and multi-coloured hearts, in the end.
Lalitha, the third sister, was the last to message, sending a rather erudite response – ‘It’s so wonderful to connect with you all here. Appreciate the initiative, Vatsu.’ She didn’t put smileys, for she was someone who used them very sparingly, only when absolutely necessary.
Days, weeks and months rolled by, as the sisters bonded merrily over diverse things through the group, much to the amusement of their husbands and children. The group was their safe haven, an escape into a paradise, where they went back to becoming their younger selves – the girls who played together and nurtured each other, and who, growing up under the same roof, shared their meals and clothes, their fears and secrets, their lineage, upbringing and memories. They each got their specialties and foibles to the group, wondering how, no matter the number of years that had passed since destiny took them down different paths, they still remained the same in many ways, their fundamental characters intact, the way they had known each other during childhood. Through everyday conversations, they shared, empathised, consoled, advised, giggled and laughed, and waded through life’s daily struggles, the hardships of ageing and the strange fears that lurked in the darkest corners of their minds. This was one place where, they knew, no matter what, they could be their own, true selves.
More often than not, they spoke with fondness and a lingering sadness about their late parents – their kind, firm and simple father, a man of very few needs but very many ideals who adored his daughters, and their gullible, cherubic and strong-willed mother, who bravely lived through the ire of elders as the one who gave birth to four daughters but never a son.
As the eldest one who had witnessed the birth of the other three, it was Vatsala, who opened the floodgates to childhood nostalgia. With her memory still sharp despite her age, she often recalled and shared their childhood mischiefs, pranks, outings and vacations.
‘Lallu, you remember how when you were in school and I was in college, we sneaked out of home to go watch a movie?’ she messaged once.
Lalitha, a bit taken aback, replied, ‘Oh no, Vatsu, I can’t believe we did that! What gave us the courage?’
‘Really??? I don’t even remember. Why didn’t you take me?’ Prema sent out two angry smileys.
‘Oh you went off to someone’s house – that dear friend of yours, Mala, if I remember right, to catch a glimpse of her handsome neighbour,’ Vatsala offered promptly.
‘Well, there you go, Premu,’ said Lalitha, matter-of-factly.
‘Hahaha, Premu,’ Chitra laughed with her smileys.
‘Chithu,’ Vatsala wrote once, ‘you know, you used to be rolly-polly like a potato when you were a baby. All three of us used to love carrying you around.’ And she sent pictures from an old album. ‘Look at you!’
Chitra blushed, embarrassed. ‘Oh no, no wonder I love cooking potatoes,’ she cried, and then sent a YouTube link of her making absolutely tasty aloo dum and hot, ghee-soaked pulkas.
Chitra was the fabulous cook in the group, often sharing elaborate recipes and quick-snack ideas for an all-ladies meet-up that her sisters often organised in their respective homes. She shared baking tips to bake awesome cookies and cakes for all their grandchildren and tasty lunch ideas for their own (whom she still considered little) children, who were now off to posh offices and were parents themselves!
Lalitha, the doctorate and a retired professor, was the one who shared the serious stuff – articles and videos on women empowerment, climate change and politics. She eagerly enquired about the achievements of all the children and grandchildren, prompting the other three to send photographs of the artwork and craft their grandchildren did, videos of the kids singing and dancing, and links to all the poetry and stories they wrote. Sometimes, they told each other about the promotions and awards their children received at their workplaces. These were conversations that were suffused with pride and full of generous praise for their offspring.
Prema was the glue that bound the group together – she was the sender of good morning and goodnight messages, all kinds of videos and memes one had no clue where they came from, and sometimes, only sometimes, those “A jokes” that the sisters would pretend to be horrified about and later have a good laugh over. When nothing else happened on the group, on a given day, Prema’s messages always arrived, stirring the group back to life.
On a rainy Friday though, almost two years since the group was created, ‘The Nathan Sisters’ remained mute for the first time. For some reason or the other, no one messaged and the hours ticked by, until it was nine in the night and Chitra, feeling queasy, dropped a message.
‘Everything ok? Why no messages?’
After a killing silence of ten minutes, Prema messaged, ‘Oh, I thought I wished good morning. Don’t know how I missed it! Chaa…’, and promptly sent a good morning forward, immediately followed by a goodnight prayer forward.
Chitra burst out laughing and sent five ROFL smileys. Vatsala soon followed it up with ‘Oh my God, Premu!’ while Lalitha sent her rare smiling smiley, with a ‘Goodnight’.
And with that, the four sisters went to bed, relieved that all was okay and good. They closed their eyes, waiting to wake up to a brand new day – one full of promise, hope, and spirited WhatsApp conversations in ‘The Nathan Sisters’ group.
Anupama Krishnakumar is an engineer-turned-journalist. She co-edits Spark and is also the author of two books, ‘Fragments of the Whole’, a flash fiction collection and ‘Ways Around Grief & Other Stories’, a short-story collection. Her website is www.anupamakrishnakumar.com.
