The ringmaster

                Family reunions are a big deal in my dad’s side of the family. I rarely meet up with my entire family since we live all around the world – United States, England, India and Australia. My grandparents are in their sixties and seventies, therefore we typically visit my grandparents, in India, once every two or three years. Although we keep in close contact via awkward phone calls, which my relatives use to interrogate me about my post-graduation plans, these visits are a great way to reconnect with my family. A few years ago my family- my dad, mom, brother and I- went to one of these family reunions. After 20 hours of flying, 6 hours of lay-overs, and 2.5 hours of driving, we finally had reached our destination, Mysore, India. As we approached the gate to my grandparents’ house, I lugged our luggage and wondered if we had accidently thrown a couple of bricks in the bags. Meanwhile, my grandparents waited by the gate and gazed at us as we walked towards the gate. The hugs and kisses commenced only after we got inside the compound. But two weeks later, when my aunt Vani, aka the ringmaster, arrived, their reactions were different.

                Despite the ringmaster’s small stature, with a height of 5’4”, her piercing black eyes could make her appear intimidating to almost any creature. Even the typically stubborn vendor, at the Sydney flee market, found himself intimidated by her after she had haggled with him for 30 minutes straight. She still carries her trophy around, her cheap knock-off coach purse. In all types of weather she wears those same black “sunnies”(as the ringmaster’s country would say). These are her favorite accessory, which leads me to believe that she wants to appear intimidating to people.  Once she uncovers her beautiful but sleep-deprived eyes, it is clear that her “sunnies” are required.

                For her dramatic entrance to our family reunion, she decided to spare her family members and wear her beloved “sunnies”.   Unlike us, she did not pull up to curb in a taxi. Heck no. My grandparents would never allow their precious little daughter to travel via taxi to their house. Instead, they made one of her cousins drive to the airport- a three hour drive one way- and then bring her back home.  And when she swung that familiar door open, my grandparents rushed onto the street and showered her with hugs and kisses.  Although it was a sweet sight, it did highlight the power that the ringmaster holds in her family.

                Even though she smells like a harmless mixture of Pantene anti-frizz conditioner and flowers, she is made of iron. Once she reached home, I realized this. When she did not like the food that was being served, she would reluctantly eat it while making grotesque faces. In order to appease the ringmaster, my grandmother would prepare delicacies for her, such as tindora. When she had an urge to shop, her posse (my older aunt, my grandmother, my great-aunt, mother and me) followed her every beckoning on these sprees. When she wanted to enjoy city life, the family paraded behind her, despite our fatigued state.  

                I noticed that my family was accustomed to this treatment. Maybe it is because she was the youngest child my grandparents had (My dad and aunt have an age difference of 15 years).  Maybe it is because everyone is sympathetic to her, since she lives in Australia without any family around. Maybe it is because they have an earnest urge to please her. Or maybe it is because she can truly be lovable and adorable. Despite her whims, intimidation tactics, and her immature behavior at times, she is my aunt. And she has done many remarkable things in her short 31 years. She put herself through college, moved to Australia, met her husband, became a project manager, got her first home, and bought the best car ever. So Vani, I guess I do love you-even though you probably already assumed that.