I don’t have the faintest recollection of ‘meeting’ the twins; just like I don’t remember ‘meeting’ my sister or cousins. They were always there, an integral part of my growing up years.
They were my first friends, I suspect my sister’s too. We lived in two separate countries, in a time, where video calling and whatsapp might pass off as a science fiction movie. They came each year, when the fat bellied dark monsoon clouds gathered in the skies and the land was covered in a lush shade of green that is at once startling and calming, a shade of green that is unique to Kerala.
|The twins and us|
We have spent countless happy hours talking, playing or watching movies together. My favorite game was the one we played with their amazing collection of dolls. I always chose Jane, who in my eyes was the most beautiful doll, ever made. Her long silky ebony black hair combined with her emerald green eyes gave her a mysterious, exotic beauty that left me mesmerized. The dolls came with a wardrobe collection, which looked straight out of a high end Parisian boutique.
Then came the miniature furniture; the little kitchenette, with its brightly colored cooking range, crockery unit with an inbuilt plate rack with tiny yellow plates, the color of egg yolks. I loved setting the table which was shaped like four pizza wedges, which could be put together to form a circle with inbuilt grooves for plates and cutlery.
In my mind the twins have always been a singular entity, like a coin with two sides. It was always, “Let’s go to Susan-Sandra’s house” or “Did Susan-Sandra call? It was in conceivable to think of one without the other. Their beautiful family was generous to a fault, letting us into their lives so that we felt like one of the family. We loved the sleep over sessions, where we would stay up late into the night, snug under a warm comforter gossiping and giggling. Then there would be make over sessions, where we would smuggle cosmetics from their sisters' room (they have two beautiful sisters, who we were in awe of) and preen at ourselves in the mirror, our faces slathered generously with all available items of makeup.
We would then sleep late into the day and tumble out into the kitchen, where the twins would make us breakfast. My sister and I watched in wonder, as they deftly cracked up eggs and mixed it with milk and sugar and dipped thick slices of bread into this mixture, which looked like liquid sunshine.
I can still picture Susan by the stove, flipping over the French toast sizzling in a glob of butter, filling the kitchen with its mouth watering aroma and Sandra laughing at something we said, pouring out chilled orange juice into tall glasses.
Now although we are scattered all over the globe, the memory of those beautiful monsoon days filled with laughter and the innocence of youth, scented with fragrance of friendship, binds us together.
We are twinned* for life.