I’ve always believed that those who grow up with a sibling tend to have a better than average childhood and turn out to be relatively normal people. If you don’t agree with me, you should know that both Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez fall in the category of being an only child. My parents made the right choice by having two kids, although they probably regretted it countless times when I was 8 and he was 16 when we both thought about nothing else but destroying each other (he mostly won unless Mom was around, I was a sissy like that).
While he shall refute the claim that he’s the favourite son, over many years I’ve realized why this is so. It shouldn’t have taken me that long, but my obsession with being cynical and my general hatred aimed at strangers took up a lot of my time. He’s always been a perfect role model to me and since I honestly believe that he can give Ryan Gosling a run for his money at being cool, I shall proceed to explaining that when it comes to being fantastic, my brother not only takes the cake, but also the bakery and the baker (mainly because he’d never crack such a joke).
For those of you who know me, you’re well aware that I don’t fit well in society. I’m not saying this to be a hipster, but I’m basing this on the countless times I’ve been told that people hate me. Not the ‘you’re a little too extreme for my liking’ hate, but the ‘if I see you again I will eat your heart with a rusty fork’ hate. And trust me, I want society to accept me. Not because I want people to like me and because I feel that my behavior should be deemed acceptable by my fellow man, but because I want to climb to the highest echelons of society and plot its timely demise. I can see now why people hate me.
My brother in contrast, is far more likable and is a perfect example of a functioning member in society. He’s far more likely to give up his seat in a train or a bus to an elderly person while I strongly believe that there are tons of retired old people who do nothing but travel in packed trains and buses all day to see which youngster will give them a seat and then give death stares to those who don’t. He will help a blind person cross the street while I will misguide them just to see if they’re faking it.
Let me tell you how stark the contrast is between the two of us (in case it isn’t very evident already). If my mother was to call up a friend of hers and say, “My son won the Nobel Prize!”, they’d automatically assume it’s my brother. However, if she was to call up a friend with a heavy voice and say, “My son is addicted to meth”, they’ll assume it’s me and say that they were expecting this to happen sooner or later and that my brother will show me the path to enlightenment.
Yes, most people believe he is the Messiah in disguise.
In fact, I think I’ve reached the stage where I feel that if I get addicted to meth, I’ll be living up to everyone’s expectations more than anything else.
Anyone who has ever been around a dining table with their family has always had their eating habits compared to their siblings’. While this often leads to shouting and sometimes even a cage match, my parents would simply point out that eating vegetables was healthy for me and since my brother ate them, I should too. I’m kidding, my Mom used to slice my throat open, pour vegetables in and sew it shut (or that’s how I remember it). My brother had absolutely no problem eating any vegetables (except a select few which were hardly ever cooked in our house) and he’d consume them without an ounce of discomfort. Again, for those of you who know me, my reaction to vegetables is akin to how a cat would react on giving birth to a dog.
While I somehow managed to inhale the veggies on my plate, he would chew them like a gentleman and smile through the process. The meal would usually end with him taking a second helping of vegetables, while I’d look forward to the first mango being sliced open. I also have an unhealthy obsession with mangoes, I’d battle a baby for them. To this day, when ordering a meal, my brother looks for something wholesome that would be both nutritious and filling. I, on the other hand, make a meal more wholesome by ordering a large side of cheese fries (I’ve done this at a Japanese restaurant as well).
Additionally, he doesn’t make a big deal about eating vegetables or greens. Most people I know shove the fact in your face at least four times each time you meet them even if they’ve sniffed vegetables at any point in the last seven years. Additionally, he can read a map. And not a political map with capitals marked along with state lines, but those weird black and white ones with squiggly lines that look like a piece of art from Kindergarten. He actually understands what contours (no, it’s not a sports team) are and doesn’t need a legend to decipher a map. He once tried to explain it to me, but I kept playing connect-the-dot on the map.
As far as role models go, my brother comes close to being a perfect one. Countless times during my childhood he’s always set perfect example for me and even to this day when I’m stuck in certain situations, I always wonder what he’d do. Note: ‘wonder’. My actual solution usually involves something completely different that ends up somehow with me and a bottle of cheap whiskey in a dark room.
He’s always been true to his friends and I don’t know of any of his friends who have had a long time grudge on him (unless their girlfriends fell in love with him). He’s kind, honest and true to his word. For him, his family comes first and he comes second. He has his priorities in life set right and he abides by them. He has a sense of responsibility and is true to his duty, and if it’s his fault, he’ll take the blame and rectify it.
My outlook is slightly different. Well, it’s a whole lot different. Each time I’m given a responsibility, the first thing I do is ensure that I find someone whose responsibility is somehow connected to mine. Through various devious methods of mind trickery and underhanded approaches, I convince the person that my responsibility is in fact his. And because most people are trusting and believe in step-wise logic (which I can bullshit my way through like a pro), this usually isn’t very hard.
Let’s look at this another way. When a sincere person approaches you for some help, more often than not, you’ll give it to them. Unless of course what they need help with is something that involves saving the environment, or God-forbid, reading a pamphlet about something. Who has the time for that? So, I give you two scenarios. The first scenario is my brother being asked for directions by a gentleman who is truly lost, and the second scenario is the same happening with me.
Lost Soul: Excuse me, I’m looking for the CDS Mansion.
My Brother: Just go straight along this road till you see a large brick building which is the National Library to your left, take the following right onto the North Avenue which is lined by small clothing stores. At the very end of the road you’ll come to a T-junction from where you should take a left. You’ll see the CDS Mansion on your left after about 100 meters.
Lost Soul: Excuse me, I’m looking for the CDS Mansion.
Me: You’re in the wrong state.
We’ve all met that one guy who said he’s driven a Hummer, or that he’s been behind the wheel of a Ferrari and pushed it past 200. While this person truly believes that in our head we’re thinking how cool he is, the reality is that in our head we’re all thinking, “I can’t think of a worse person than this guy to be behind the wheel of a fancy car”. Each time guys in their early 20’s get together and talk about the super machines they’ve driven, my brother trumps everyone with a single statement. He regularly flies a fucking helicopter.
Do you know how insanely cool that is? We all know at least one aircraft pilot, and those guys have boring jobs. They push a stick and press the “Auto Pilot” button and the aircraft flies itself. The most interesting thing a commercial airline pilot will ever tell you is “the view from the cockpit is great, you have to see it to believe it”. These gentlemen are the same people who believe that wearing Rayban Aviators is a job requirement.
In contrast, I achieve a moment of nirvana in a vehicle if I’m able to parallel park. It’s an achievement for me. Each time I’m able to shift gears in a vehicle without making the engine sound like Optimus Prime just attacked it is a moment of triumph. My greatest ability while controlling a vehicle is being able to pick up a friend and drop him back without taking his life in the process. My brother on the other hand is able to hover a few feet over mountains and ravines while evacuating injured soldiers. James Bond would look up to him.
In case I haven’t mentioned it already, my brother is in the Army. His list of mind-boggling achievements would do any parent and brother proud. I’m not sure where to start, but I’ll start with the simpler ones. He’s never let me down. Not once in my entire life have I expected anything from him and not had it delivered. He’s never let our parents down. And it’s through all of these realizations that I’ve realized that he’s the favorite son, and very rightly so.
A total of about 55-60 officers of the Army were nominated for a specialized course in Aviation. Remember, these people were hand-picked from all the corners of the country, and were the hotshots of their specific regions. My brother was picked as well (needless to say) and after a long couple of months when the grueling course finished, he topped it. He was the best of the best, and that wasn’t the first or last time that it happened. He evacuated wounded soldiers and saved their lives by flying them to a hospital in time, receiving an award for it. He has also on more than one occasion simply ‘felt’ that there’s something wrong with a helicopter’s engine before taking off, and after inspection found a fatal flaw thereby saving the lives of people who would have been in it.
So now that we’ve ascertained that he should have been a part of the Avengers, let’s see where I stand when it comes to accomplishments. One of my biggest achievements is usually being able to place an order at Subway without changing my mind twice and being able to go through airport security without somehow getting the FBI involved. I take pride in the fact that I’m able to iron my shirt without setting the house on fire and using the microwave at a friend’s house without being charged for arson.
Here’s another cool thing about my brother, in the event that he’s talking about something you don’t know about or haven’t heard of, he will patiently explain it to you and get you up to speed with it. If he’s talking about a band that you’ve not heard of, he won’t diss you for your poor taste in music and start a rant about how mainstream music has killed the true creativity of real artists and then branch off into how corporate capitalism is the reason of the demise of the global economy. And how it’s somehow your fault.
My brother is cool, and he’s cooler than me and cooler than you (unless this is you reading it, Mom and Dad).
Please note, certain statements and situations have been greatly exaggerated (about myself) in this post. Don’t feel sorry for me (unless that means you giving me gifts, then feel very sorry) the next time we meet and for heaven’s sake don’t pick up the phone and console me thinking I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown.
That happened last year.