Distant Relative

My grandfather loved his sister. Every weekend, he took us to visit her home. I enjoyed playing with his sister’s grandsons, but did not like their father, my uncle. He always made fun of my sisters and me, and stretched it to such an extent that the joke became ugly.  Strangely, he never made fun of my younger brother. He took him more seriously and respectfully. I wondered why?  

As I grew older, I often thought, “I haven’t done anything wrong, so why is he treating me this way? How can he live with such an attitude?” Over time, I began to understand that my uncle favored boys over girls. When I was 22, my grandfather passed away. With his death, the bond between our families faded, and we lost touch. A part of me felt relieved – I no longer had to see or meet my uncle again.

Years passed. I learned that both of my uncles’ sons were married, and each had two daughters. Life had moved on, but I hadn’t forgotten the unease I’d felt around him.

One day, I was unexpectedly flooded with thoughts of my aunt. She never differentiated between her sons and me. Feeling overwhelmed with gratitude, I called her. We had a sweet conversation, reconnecting after 25 years.

Then, in the midst of our conversation, she asked, “Would you like to speak to your uncle?”

My heart skipped a beat. How could I say no? I hesitated for a moment before agreeing. As I waited for him to come to the phone, a thought crossed my mind- I had disliked this man my entire life, and now I was about to speak to him. What would I say? 

When he came on the line, I was surprised by the warmth in his voice. He open-heartedly shared his daily routine —living with his wife near the mountains without television or social media, and his children were settled abroad. He enjoyed helping people in small, quiet ways, spending time at the spiritual center. As he spoke, I could hear the honesty in his words.

The bitterness I had carried for years faded, and now I could respect him. Then, in that moment of quiet realisation, something else struck me. His past behaviour towards me and my sisters wasn’t entirely his fault. My grandmother had always treated me and my sisters as inferior; my brother was the apple of her eye. Perhaps that had shaped how others behaved towards us, including him. 

As the conversation ended, I felt something unexpected – lightness. 

Poem

What we are
is shaped by how we were held as a child.
Not a blame game,
though blame can feel right.
The past cannot be changed.
But now—
It is time to ripen.
As we decide
to care for this body,
to watch the mind,
We walk toward freedom.