On Being the Second Best

I love coffee! The bitter, the better – should get that printed on a t-shirt. For me, the first sip has to be a perfect mix of dark caffeine and a hint of milk, absolutely no place for sugar in my mug, only a blissful, bitter, bitter aftertaste. Well, smoothen that crease between your eyebrows, of course, I never claimed to be a food connoisseur anyway. No one else in my household takes coffee that way, better yet, they are all in love with tea, especially my mom – her love for crushed cardamom, mixed with two spoons full of sugar and tea powder with thick full-fat milk, is the stuff of legends. Yes, the apple fell right outside of the orchard, well I am nothing if not the black sheep of the family. But that’s not the point of this story. The point is no one drinks coffee, but me.

Yet, somehow over the 26-odd years, I’ve stayed in my family home, never once did the pantry run out of coffee powder. Can you believe that? I mean, my mother didn’t just buy coffee, without having to taste it she ensured that she found the right brand of instant coffee and made it the way I liked it, every, single, time. No, it’s not because I am her firstborn child for sure, or is it? Makes me wonder always, because I, for one, never ever thought of myself as first. Do you know the whole side-character scene? That has always been me. I’d much rather let someone else be the protagonist, even if it’s my movie. Don’t get me wrong, this is not a pity party, but I’ve always been okay with being the second best, always.

I mean, take a look at me here (a picture that one of my dearest friends clicked with finesse), and tell me what’s the first descriptive word that comes to your mind? Don’t you be cheating in your mind though!

Okay, yes wearing those boots under that dress? A bad idea. But, what is the word now, it’s three letters and you know it. I know it, well it is true as well, isn’t it?

I’ve lived all my life in the shadow of those three, big letters. I have tried to do everything I could to ensure I cultivate interests, learn skills and develop ideas to ensure that I am never ever limited to just that one word – fat. Maybe I could have embraced the whole body positivity bit, mainly because it did become a fad once upon a time. But, self-critique is the hood I’d love to hang out in any day. I know, it is a bad place, full of negativity. Such bad places and dark feelings full of hurt are a lot more comfortable to befriend when compared to positivity – now that’s one scary rollercoaster to get on.

One day, as I settled comfortably in the cushiony silence that negative chaos brings; before I could begin agreeing with my devil half about being the second best – something shifted. A memory of a dear friend’s family sprung loose. It was a festive day and she had invited all of us for dinner. Her extended family was serving dinner and as I took my place, fried papads rounds started. Coming to my plate, her aunt said – ‘here’s three just for you, I’ve kept more aside because I know how much you love them, but don’t tell anyone’. This lady didn’t even know me and yet she did it, she made me the main character in that storyline.

August is my birth month and I share it with one more close friend. He and I are nothing alike. He is the calm, blue sea to my ever-troubled choppy waters. Yet, in all the Diwalis I’ve known him for, his mom packs a whole tiffin of besan laddoos (the only sweet I like) and sends it with him. Every single Diwali since the one day I mentioned that I love them. I think you, the reader are also beginning to notice this pattern that I foolishly ignored for way too long. My cousin sister once decided to write in one of the old slam books that she likes me because I’m her sister. That was enough of a reason to like me? When here I had a million reasons to not even be able to stand my own damn self.

No, this isn’t a boastful read, I am not showing off the crown jewels that I’ve been blessed with in terms of relations, friends and family. Even London, the place that was a dream, gift-wrapped a beyond unconditionally lovely soul tribe of people and dropped it into my lap. Now, isn't that some real main-character treatment? Of course, I am grateful, not for always misunderstanding myself as the second best, while the universe chose to fight me tooth and nail to disagree. But, for being blessed with so much respect, care, love and kindness. I guess I wanted to put it into words so that it gets etched on my heart.

Being second best is not wrong at all, but when the best roommate on this little blue planet decides to ensure that she gets your best shot in your lovely backyard, here’s the result –

That smile is for her, and a truckload of hims and hers who’ve been kind, unconditional and extremely generous with their laughter, love and presence. All of them have always put me first - given me the protagonist treatment! No matter what I thought. I think this is thanks to them and you dear reader, it is a twisted, a bit complicated way of me saying – you will always be the first best for someone – so go, on give them a hug, a bit tighter from my side!