Sunita used to wake up early on Rakshabandhan - not because anyone told her to, but because she couldn’t wait. The house would smell of haldi and incense, and her hands would be sticky with kaju katli mix she helped her mother prepare. But the best part? Sitting beside her brother, giggling through the aarti, tilting his head to apply the tika just right, and tying that one sacred thread with all the confidence in the world.

He’d hand her a chocolate or a crumpled Rs. 100 note, then grin and say, "Don’t ask for more - protection is expensive."
She’d roll her eyes, "I don’t need protection. I have you."

They had made promises as children. "We’ll always be together." "I’ll never let anyone hurt you." "You’ll tie me rakhi even when we’re old and grey."

She never forgot Rakhi - even when the world expected her to forget herself first...!

But then came marriage.
Sunita entered a new home - new walls, new rules, and new expectations. Rakshabandhan suddenly became a day of responsibilities. Cooking for ten. Helping her sister-in-law with the pooja. Making sure everyone else was taken care of before she even thought about her own brother.

Now, her Rakhi is packed in a courier a week in advance. Her phone call is squeezed between her son’s homework and the afternoon tea. Her voice is always cheerful - but her eyes? Her eyes look at the clock, at the photo frame near the kitchen sink, at the message that says "Miss you too, didi" - and hold back a lot.

She doesn't complain. That’s not how she was raised. But the truth is: the thread is still there. The love is still there. What changed is the time, the freedom, the space to just be that sister again.

 

This year, when her brother sent her a voice note after receiving the Rakhi, he added just one line at the end:
"I know it’s not easy for you now. But I notice. Every year. Thank you for remembering."

She listened to that line five times. Maybe more. Then got up, wiped her face, and went back to the kitchen. The next round of chai had to be made.