Outside it was raining incessantly. When he scribbled on my drawing, it set off a quarrel. He is older than me. It’s only been a few months now, that he has become my brother. He had scribbled on the drawings that I had done with the colour pencils that my mother had given me before she left the house for ‘God knows where’. I tore his comics to bits. He, in turn, tore my drawings.

After unleashing his acid tongue on us,my father said to my step mother:

“Tomorrow is Sunday. Don’t we need to buy chicken for biriyani?

With a touch of anger in her tone, she replied :

“I’ll cook your daughter. She’s spicy like her mother”.

He retorted with a laugh: “Cooking your son would be better. Isn’t he constantly triggering the acid in our guts?”

After a series of arguments, the adults reached a truce and echoed the same sentiment: “We will make a soup of them”.

Even in the thick of anger, we were equally stunned.

Saying out something aloud and laughing, dad and step mom retired for the night.

Suddenly the electricity went out. The darkness outside enveloped the house. The rain was doing a war dance to the music of the frogs.

By now, he had found a match box and lit the candle. Like strangers, we sat staring at each other. In that dim light, I drew a picture- two soup cups, he in one and I in the other…

Surprisingly, neither did he scribble on it nor did he tear it.

Slowly, he came close to me and whispered in my ear:

“Nice drawing, sis”.

His voice was quivering. It was the first time that he had called me ‘sis’.

I asked him “Are you crying, bro?”

Nonchalantly, with moist eyes and a smile on his lips, he suggested a name for my drawing “Kidsoup”

When the gust of wind swept in through the window, the candle was put out and it was darkness once again. Complete and total darkness ……. 

Adapted from the original