Baba = Father in Marathi

Raksha Bandhan = A celebration of sibling love and bond, where sisters tie a sacred thread, Rakhi, around their brothers' wrists, symbolizing protection and eternal love.

-*-*-

The white LED mercury tube cast a harsh glare, illuminating every corner of the living room. The pale yellow walls reflected the light back with an almost sterile sharpness. The TV's blinking red and white lights flickered, showcasing the newsroom's frantic energy. A lady anchor, her face twisted with exaggerated outrage, shouted the breaking news at the top of her lungs:

"The wife who killed her husband with her boyfriend has been arrested by the state police!" she screamed. "Before this, another case surfaced where a wife, along with her boyfriend, murdered her husband and then chopped his body into pieces! Where is our society heading?! Is this the feminism we are promoting?! Is this the women empowerment we talk about?!"

Nakul lounged in a brown plastic chair, one leg crossed over the other, and chuckled. "Feminism is in the air," he quipped, eyes flicking toward Ira.

Ira sat at the edge of the bed, dressed in a full-sleeved white woollen T-shirt and trousers. Her expression remained unreadable, her eyes fixed on the portrait she was sketching on the A4 sheet. Her pencil moved steadily, unbothered, as though the noise from the TV and the jab from her brother didn't reach her.

As the anchor continued her rant, Nakul's grin widened. He leaned back, the chair creaking under him, eyes refusing to leave Ira's face. "Guess some women are taking feminism a bit too literally."

Ira set her pencil aside and lifted her head, pinning him with a cold stare. "Why are you saying this while looking at me?"

Nakul shrugged lazily. "Equality."

Ira held his gaze for a second before returning to her drawing. Her fingers blended the shades with soft, practiced strokes, the motion calm in contrast to the rising tension.

"I didn't talk about this kind of equality." She traced the outline of Lord Buddha's face, the scent of graphite thick in the air. Her jaw was tight, though her voice stayed flat. "And anyway, men have been harassing women for ages. So take it as nature's call. The tables have turned. Now, enjoy."

Nakul raised his eyebrows, adjusting himself in the chair. "So, you're supporting this?"

Ira's gaze snapped back to him. "No. Not supporting, just surprised."

The anchor's voice droned on in the background, but Nakul's focus stayed on Ira. She could feel the heat of his stare even without looking up.

"Meaning?" he pressed.

Ira exhaled long and slow, blinking as if weighing her words carefully. A small crease formed between her eyebrows.

"Okay," she said. "I'll say it. But let me finish before you start arguing. And don't you dare scream or curse if you can't find a decent point to counter." She pointed a finger at him, nose scrunching up.

Nakul scoffed, lips twisting into a wicked grin. "So, are we debating men versus women again?"

"Kind of," Ira said with a subtle pout.

His smirk stretched wider. "Alright. What do you have to say this time?"

"My point is simple. For a very, very long time, wives have been killed by their husbands and in-laws. Burned alive, poisoned, beaten, tortured. And those cases barely make headlines. I'm not saying it's right," she added quickly, raising her palm. "But these few cases where men are being killed by wives suddenly have the entire male community trembling. They're reconsidering marriage. But not once have these men or their precious patriarchal system thought about how women have been suffering with sealed lips for centuries."

A sarcastic half-smile crept onto Nakul's face. He scratched the back of his head, looked down, then met her gaze again. Something defensive flickered in his eyes, too quick to catch unless someone knew him well.

"So, little sister," he said, leaning forward, "Here's a harsh truth: when something has been happening for a long time, it becomes a norm."

Ira's eyebrows pulled together. "What do you mean?"

Nakul leaned back. "I mean women being killed isn't 'news'. But men being in their place? That gets attention."

A sharp crease appeared between Ira's eyebrows. "So nobody is going to do anything now because it's a norm? What the hell?"

Nakul chuckled sarcastically. "Do you even research before debating with me? Because you seriously lack facts."

Ira's lips curled in restrained irritation. She clasped her pencil a little tighter.

"The law books are stuffed in your women's favour," Nakul continued. "But there's not a single law that protects a man's life from your 'toxic' feminism." His jaw tightened, veins rising on his neck.

Ira's scowl melted into disturbing calm. "You say it like every rape victim and domestic violence survivor gets justice just because laws exist on paper."

Nakul's face flushed red. "And more than half of those cases are fake!" His fists clenched. "First they get into relationships, then when the men stop fulfilling their nonsense demands-boom!" He threw a fist upward, fingers splayed wide. "They play the women's card!"

Ira clicked her tongue. "Okay. I agree some women misuse the privileges they get." She met his fire with quiet steadiness. "But you cannot deny that reported rape cases are far less than what actually happens." She continued quickly, "Families silence victims. Victims silence themselves. They're terrified of judgment."

Nakul cut in harshly, "Then that's the girl's fault!"

Ira stared at him. "How the hell is it the girl's fault?"

He shrugged, almost mockingly. "If she knows she's right, why fear reporting it?"

Ira blinked slowly. "Do you live under a rock?"

She continued, voice calm but sharp, "Our society still blames the girl. Because apparently she must have been 'inviting'. Boys are saints. It's always the girl flashing her 'beauties'."

Nakul shook his head. "I don't believe this. If she tells her family, they'll help."

Ira's voice dropped. "Really?"

Nakul hesitated before doubling down. "Okay fine, if not parents, she can tell her brother," he said flatly.

"What if she doesn't have a brother?"

"Then another family member."

"What if that family member takes advantage of her misery?"

Nakul's face twisted. "Now you're taking it too far."

"I'm telling the damn truth," Ira replied. "Most of the time, it's relatives."

"I don't believe this," he muttered, shaking his head harder, as if rejecting the entire possibility.

"Why do you assume all men are saints?" Ira shot back.

"I'm not!" Nakul snapped. "But you make it sound like all men are dogs and all women are angels!"

Ira's lips curled. "No. I'm saying if all men aren't dogs, then all women aren't bitches either. So stop measuring everyone with one stick."

Nakul clenched his jaw. "Let me tell you, Ira - households break because women interfere unnecessarily. They want control. Too many opinions. This matriarchy inside homes ruins things."

Ira replied evenly, "That so-called matriarchy exists only in the kitchen. Outside that door, patriarchy rules everything."

"Patriarchy, patriarchy-stop chanting it like a mantra," he scoffed. "Today women have all the rights, all the sympathy. Even the smallest discomfort becomes a campaign. Men are scared to talk."

Ira shook her head. "If men are scared, it's because for the first time They're being held accountable. That's not toxicity, it's balance."

"It's not balance," he shot back. "A man raises his voice-abusive. A woman raises hers-empowered. That's double standards."

"Double standards started with men," Ira replied. "And women are still paying for old wounds."

Nakul leaned forward. "And you think men don't pay? You think being expected to provide, protect, succeed is easy? Men break too. They just can't show it."

"Then show it," Ira said softly. "But don't make women responsible for men's emotional starvation."

He exhaled sharply. "False accusations ruin men's lives."

"And real crimes ruin women's lives," Ira countered. "At a much larger scale."

The room tightened with tension. Even the TV anchor's dramatic monologue felt distant now.

Nakul suddenly burst out, "Women scream equality everywhere, but when it comes to doing the kind of work men do-where does that equality go?!"

Ira stiffened but let him continue. Her shoulders rose and fell in a slow, controlled breath.

"Tell me honestly," he said, voice rising, "will those so-called feminist women stand ten hours in the sun selling moongfali? Hang from trains shouting prices? Carry sacks on their backs? Push carts?" His eyes pierced hers. "They won't. They want equality without struggle."

Ira inhaled deeply. "Bhai... poverty doesn't see gender. There are women doing such jobs - selling vegetables, breaking stones, working at construction sites in the hot summer. Yes, the number is less. But that's because society makes those spaces dangerous, plus your patriarchy has shaped women into that mould of a shiny golden cage."

"No," he snapped. "Women choose comfort. Desk jobs! AC offices! Men don't get privileges! They do whatever keeps the house running."

"You're right," Ira said quietly. "Men carry enormous pressure. But it's not a competition of suffering."

"It becomes one when women act like men's pain is irrelevant!" he shouted. "And women don't raise their voice at home because they want comfort," he added with loathe. "A stable, peaceful life. That's why they stay silent."

"Not comfort," Ira replied. "Conditioning. Fear. Survival."

Nakul finally asked, voice raw, "But what about men's conditioning, Ira? We're raised like soldiers. Don't cry, don't break, don't be weak."

"And girls are raised like caregivers, not individuals," Ira whispered.

"So we're both prisoners," he said with a snarl. "But you only blame men for the cage."

"I blame the system," Ira replied.

"And women uphold that system too," Nakul argued. "Mothers teach boys to be emotionless and girls to adjust."

"Because they're repeating the wounds inflicted on them," Ira said softly.

Nakul hissed through gritted teeth. "Men suffer silently too. But no one sees it as suffering."

"I do," Ira said.

"You don't," he scoffed, bitterness seeping beneath his words. "You see anger. Not the loneliness behind it." He continued, "A man breaks once, and he becomes a burden."

Nakul's suffocating words hung in the air, impossible to breathe through.

Ira's fingers tightened around the pencil, the wood digging into her skin. A familiar ache spread in her chest - not anger, not even disappointment... just the old, tired sting of recognition.

She had heard this tone before. She had seen this spiral before. She had lived inside this fight too many times.

Nakul sat back, chest rising and falling, eyes blazing with that stubborn ego that refused to bend, refused to listen, refused to see.

Ira let out a slow, invisible exhale. She looked at him, and the years flickered behind her eyes. Years of him shouting, twisting her words, cursing when he lost the argument, slamming doors, throwing things... sometimes even hitting her when he couldn't stand being wrong.

He called it "anger".

She knew it was "ego".

A muscle in her jaw twitched, but her face stayed blank. She lowered her eyes to her drawing, sliding the pencil across Buddha's cheek with a steadiness she didn't feel.

"Ira," Nakul said, still riding the high of his own righteousness, "say something."

She didn't. She simply shook her head and returned her attention to the paper.

Nakul frowned, confused, irritated. "What? Nothing to say now?"

Still, she didn't look up. Inside her, something small folded in on itself - a quiet acceptance, heavy as stone:

What's the point? You can't break a rock by throwing truth at it.

This was her brother. Her protector. Her tormentor. The first man who taught her what male ego looked like... and how much it could hurt.

Her eyes blurred for a second, but she blinked it away before it could betray her.

Every Raksha Bandhan, she tied a Rakhi around his wrist with hands that hesitated. Her heart never fully cooperated. The ritual felt like stitching a wound that refused to heal.

She hated him sometimes. Loved him only out of habit. Feared him more than she ever admitted.

And right now, all she felt was tired.

He scoffed dramatically. "See? Typical. Start a debate and back off when you lose."

Ira didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Didn't rise to it.

She simply placed the pencil on the table, folded her hands in her lap, and stared quietly at Buddha's half-finished face - the calm expression mocking the storm inside the room.

For once, the TV was the only thing making noise.

Nakul huffed, muttered something under his breath, and turned his gaze away, irritation simmering.

Ira just sat there, shoulders small, eyes dim, breath steady. Not because he was right, but because he would never be able to hear otherwise.

Tonight's argument ended like all the others:

With Ira hurting. With Nakul victorious in his own head. And with a truth she carried alone:

Some battles aren't meant to be fought. Some walls aren't meant to be climbed. And some brothers... aren't meant to be believed in.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Kanak sat on the steps of the entrance gate, her slender frame wrapped in a black set of night pyjamas, her knees drawn up to her chest. She clutched a photo frame tightly between her chest and crossed arms, her face hidden behind the veil of her elbow-length hair.

The porch light cast a warm glow on her puffy face, occasionally illuminating her flushed cheeks as the winter air lazily whipped her hair across her skin.

The sound of gentle footsteps broke the silence, making her ears perk up, but her gaze stayed fixed on the dusty ground ahead. A pair of legs stopped beside her, and a black jacket settled around her shoulders, enveloping her in its warmth.

Kanak dipped her chin into her chest and clutched the jacket closer.

Karan sat beside her, his lips pressed into a thin line. He held both his ears, elbows resting on his thighs, and tilted his head forward. "Sorry," he whispered. "I promise I'll never scold you again."

"You always say that." Her voice trembled, her eyes brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill. She didn't look at her brother; her gaze stayed fixed somewhere ahead, but her chest heaved with suppressed sobs.

"If today," her voice cracked as she tried to continue, "Baba were with us, he would've taught you a good lesson." The tears finally broke free, rolling down her cheek in a slow, glistening trail. Her grip around the photo frame tightened as she hiccuped, the sound catching in her throat.

Karan's eyes dropped to the ground, his fingers tracing the rough edge of the step. The distant chirping of grasshoppers and the occasional honk from the street only made the stillness between the siblings feel heavier.

He lifted his gaze. The night sky above was a deep shade of indigo, the stars shining like scattered diamonds. "If Baba were with us today... many things would've been different," he murmured, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

His eyes returned to Kanak, softening into a sad smile. He gently placed a hand on her head, his fingers combing through her hair in soothing motions.

Her sobs slowed, her breathing steadied. She wiped her nose with the sleeves of her t-shirt.

"Did you eat?" Karan asked quietly.

"I threw the makeup kit," she said, her voice punctuated with sniffles.

Karan's fingers paused in her hair. He nodded. "Good for you," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Kanak narrowed her eyes, her puffed cheeks making her look comically offended as she shot him a sideways glance.

Karan raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, good for you. You're just fourteen. Your skin is too delicate for these chemical products." His voice held firm conviction. "Also, they can affect your neural system." His head bobbed once as he shared the fact, eyes locked on hers. "You can research it. I'm not lying."

"You're exaggerating. Not all products are harmful," Kanak muttered, wrinkling her nose.

Karan inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, pulling her into a side hug. "Even if I am," he said, his tone stern but filled with the love and care of a parent, "your only focus should be on studies, not looks or boys." His arm stayed wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

Kanak's body relaxed into him, her tension easing.

His voice grew softer. "Learn to be confident through your knowledge, not behind a shield of something artificial." He pressed his cheek lightly against her hair. "And if someday, when you're an adult, you want to try makeup... even then, treat it as an option, not a necessity."

Kanak wrapped her arms around his waist, settling her head on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his blue hoodie brushed her cheek, and his warmth enveloped her.

Karan smiled gently, his eyes crinkling as he looked down at her. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yeah..." she whispered. After a small pause, she added, "No makeup, no boy till I'm an adult." She rubbed her head against his shoulder.

Karan pulled back slightly, his hands sliding off her shoulders as he leaned away. "I only allowed makeup, not boys."

His eyes narrowed at her confused expression, and a wide smile broke across his face. "You'll become a monk and live here with me."

Kanak blinked at him, her mouth falling open before a wide smile overtook her face. "Stop being an over-possessive brother, dada," she huffed affectionately. "Maan is a good boy." Her eyes sparkled at the mention of Vardhaman.

Karan arched an eyebrow and swiftly snatched the photo frame from her hands. "No boy is good," he declared. "Focus on your studies."

Kanak scrunched her nose and got up, stomping her foot before marching toward the house. "Heartless," she muttered under her breath.

Karan watched her retreating figure until she disappeared into the hallways darkness. A deep sigh escaped him as he looked down at the photo frame in his hand.

The photo showed a man in his late thirties, dressed in an army uniform - clean-shaven, fair-skinned, a warm smile on his lips. A neat row of medals adorned the left side of his chest. His cap rested proudly on his head.

Karan's eyes lingered on those familiar features, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I miss you, baba," he whispered, his voice trembling. His eyes misted over as he clutched the photo frame to his chest. The scent of the wooden border rose faintly, pulling him back into memories he hadn't visited in a long time.

"I miss you so much," he repeated, his voice breaking.

A/N: A chapter full of siblings' love and hate relationships.

Fun fact: The news is real.

1. What is your opinion about Nakul-Ira debate?

2. What do you think about Karan's approach towards his younger sister's upbringing?