Night before last, my home’s fusebox went kaput. Nothing could be done, so there was nothing to do except go to bed! (Ah, life as it was a mere century ago.) It was a strange surprise to be pampered with adequate sleep in the right time zone.

So, the next day, my dad’s two brothers came down and the three managed to figure out the problem together. (The refrigerator did it.) Then they went for lunch together, which, honestly, is the first time I’ve heard of them go for lunch together as just three. Blessings in disguise all round and a poignancy that made my heart well up with family pride.

As I enter into my grown-up years, I hope never to be distant and even get to know my brother ever better. There’s a lot that I owe towards him. But I also wonder what the truth will be. My mom likes to remind the two of us that after she and my dad are gone, we’d only have each other as far as close blood relations go.

“In Her Shoes” is such a great movie. So much to take away from it, and so many images from it stick in the mind. (In other words, marks of a great movie.) My brother and I may not share the same bond as the sisters in the movie do, but I also recognise and share with him many traits and common amusements. And here’s what I’m most grateful for — we’re not at loggerheads, intractably, intolerably, irrevocably, as some I know are with their own sibs.


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