Neighborhoods
Prepare a five-minute story about communities. Nosy grandma two doors down, kids on the stoop, block parties and other local flavors. The guy at the corner store, the church down the road, the playground down the block. Keeping up with the Joneses, glass houses, cups of sugar, banging on the ceiling, parking spot battles or the girl-next-door.
*Tip, read this while listening to major-scale acoustic guitar because it adds to that nostalgic, subset vibe I’m really going for.
“Neighborhoods” are solidly associated with childhood in my mind. I think it’s because where I grew up, our neighborhood was 100% family-associated. We had neighborhood block parties and kick-ball tournaments. But some of my fondest memories are of hanging out with my brother and his neighborhood friends.
My brother and I have a fiercely strong relationship, and now that we’re long-distance siblings (aw), I think about the childhood we shared all the time. He had a big group of ragtag, hooligan friends in the neighborhood and they used to get into all sorts of trouble together. On their more tame adventures, I’d be allowed to come along.
We used to play cricket together in the cul de sac in front of my house. We’d stick three wickets in the grass in my neighbor’s lawn (he always yelled at us about it), and we’d play with a tennis ball and the bat that my dad brought us from India. They were boys, so they would always copy the moves of their favorite cricket stars, you know, as boys do. I was tiny, so I’d struggle to just hold the bat up long enough to hit the ball. Every time I hit the ball, they’d all yell out “Sixer!!!!!” More likely, it was just my brother who was yelling that, but even so, that’s all that really mattered to me back then; if my brother thought I was cool, then you bet your ass I was cool.
We had this trampoline in the neighborhood. It was in the backyard of my best friend’s neighbor’s house. We knew them too, but we weren’t as close with them. That was the first trampoline we had ever seen in the neighborhood. It was fun. I mean, we jumped and hung out on that thing well past its viable life span. Years and years after they first got it, it was still there. Damn, that trampoline; it was such a solid part of my childhood and such a solid association with my neighborhood and the neighborhood kids. This trampoline was also the one “in” I had to my brother’s group of friends.
My brother was always the protective older brother, who made sure I was safe, happy, and included. And I always took full advantage of that. I would always want to hang out with Bhaiya, because I was unabashedly selfish with him and wanted all of his time always (that’s still pretty true, isn’t it?). And naturally, it made his friends more or less hate me. But, they couldn’t jump on that coveted trampoline unless I was there. Because we had these unspoken rules about playing in other people’s backyards, you had to have at least one person who had a once-removed relationship with the person whose yard it was. I know, it’s confusing, but the laws governing childhood play were rigid and comprehensive.
Anyway, that trampoline was a hot commodity and it was my “in“ to being able to play with my brother’s friends. There was this one time, though, I was playing with them and we were jumping around and they’re all four years older than me, giant dudes who carried a lot of weight while jumping. If one of them decided to bounce me, I would very easily flip off. Which is exactly what happened. I flipped backward and landed on my butt and it honestly wasn’t even that bad, but my brother being my brother, he rushed over to take care of me. And then he yelled at his friends. Full on yelled at them. He fought with them, called them names, and then took me home. I don’t really know what happened - they were and are still friends, so I don’t think I broke his friendships with them. But it was like a real big brother moment.
In Indian/Hindu culture, we have this ritual called Raksha Bhandhan, where brothers and sisters celebrate their sibling-ness. The sister ties a decorated band on her brother’s wrist and prays for his long life and success and the brother promises to protect her from harm and always help her be happy in life. The tradition and meanings are a bit antiquated, but for my brother and I, it’s a mutual promise to each other to protect and look after each other. Those days, when he would fight his friends for me, those were real big brother days.
I think those stories go to show that my neighborhood, while actually was huge and full of people, for me, it really revolved around my brother. For as long as I was developing this concept of a neighborhood, my neighborhood was my brother. It’s heartwarming to think about. I guess this is more to say that, Bhaiya, I love you.