I am Prabhu. I am eighteen year old. I am in college doing a course in business management. I live in Chennai, India with my mother, sister Banu, and her husband Sampath. My father passed away three years ago. My sister and I are the only children of my parents. We are a happy family, but of late my sister not having a baby after two years of marriage has become a cause for some uneasiness. My mother is concerned, but does not express it openly. Not so my sister's mother-in-law, who in the Indian family is the one who has to be pleased and placated. This lady makes no secret of her disappointment. To her credit I must say that she does not single out my sister for the lapse. Most mothers-in-law put the entire blame on the daughters-in-law even in these modern days.
I love my Akka (elder sister in the Tamil language) who is four years my senior. As a younger brother I have to show her respect by calling her Akka and not by name. Like all elder sisters she is very affectionate to me. She is almost like a second mother to me, a super mother in fact for unlike my mother she never finds fault with me even when I am in the wrong. But I must confess that I am unworthy of her. The love that I have for my sister is mixed with sexual feelings. I have heard it said that man cannot avoid such feelings, and those who pretend to be shocked when others confess to sexual feelings towards their near and dear ones with whom such relationships are improper are humbugs. May be it is so, but I feel that I should not be harbouring such feelings towards my sister.
When I jerk off I think only of her. I make a supreme effort to concentrate on other women, but at the climax my mind's eye sees only Akka in very immodest dress and postures. After I have climaxed I brood on my wickedness, but next time the same thing happens. This is not all. When her sari pallav falls off her shoulders, as it often happens, my eyes dart to the generous valley of her large breasts. I think women have some sort of telepathy that tells them that men's eyes are focusing on their body. Even when there is no possibility of her knowing that my eyes are on her breasts she would rearrange her pallav. But not always. Does her senses fail her at times, or is she allowing her brother to have some fun, or (and this thought sets by body tingling) does she love to show her body to me? Incidentally I have never seen her bare breasts or any other intimate parts of the body.
There is one other time when I have an exciting view of Akka. It is during her weekly oil bath. I do my best not to be at home on Friday midmornings; but sometimes when I happen to be about I admit with shame that I take advantage of her. She would come out of the bath with her hair wound up in a towel, wearing blouse and skirt. She would remove the towel and give her long hair a twitch or two. Then she would stand at the open door and show her hair to sunlight running a comb up and down to dry it. She never uses the blower. Against the dazzling whitewashed compound wall her body would stand in silhouette, and through the thin skirt I can see her splendid rear, her thighs, and from time to time even the bulge of her private parts. I would be hard and tense and sometimes even before the show is over I would rush to the toilet to jerk off.
One morning at breakfast I found Akka's eyes red and swollen with crying. I felt sad. I knew something had happened that morning. My sister and her husband were at the phone at daybreak, and they talked for quite a while. My sister's husband's people always called at that hour to benefit from the half rates. My Atthan (that is the Tamil term for brother-in-law; I of course cannot call him by name for he is my elder sister's husband) is not a person to make his wife cry so bitterly. I knew it had something to do with her barrenness. My Atthan left later for his tour. He was a medical representative who would be home only for weekends, and today was Monday.
When I asked mother why Akka was weeping she had lots to tell. It seems that the lady doctor who had examined and tested my sister has found her normal. My Atthan is the person at fault. His sperm counts were low, and what is more many of the sperms were not in good condition. The doctor has said that while it is possible for my sister to conceive the chances are not good. When my sister's mother-in-law got the news she seems to have consulted a doctor in Madhurai, three hundred miles South of Chennai, where they live. Their doctor has suggested a method that is sure to succeed. My mother explained in her own way. It was not something she could say without embarrassment for sex education was not something she would approve of.
"Banu's doctor will inject other men's juices into her using a syringe," she said. My mother did not seem shocked at 'other men's juices' being used to impregnate her daughter. I had not difficulty in recognising that it was therapeutic insemination that the doctor was proposing.
"What does Atthan say?"
"He is for it. He says it is better than adoption."
"Banu?"
"She loathes the very thought."
"Why should she weep her eyes out? Nothing can be done without her written consent."
"My darling son you should know the subtle and not so subtle pressures that the husband and his family can bring to bear on the wife. She has no chance at all. Banu knows that. That's why she is weeping." Yes, the Indian woman total subservience is no fable. It happens day in and day out in all parts of the country.
"What do you propose to do?"
"Nothing. Banu belongs to their family. That's how it is."
"Next you will say that is how it should be."
"Yes, that is how it should be for the happiness of all," said mother vehemently. When women are for unquestioned obedience what chance have the reformers?
"I'll talk to her."
"Better do. She needs sensible advice."
I reviewed my feelings towards therapeutic insemination. Was I for my sister undergoing it or not? I wavered, but finally I took a stand—to support my sister. I could not possibly leave her to fight this battle with no one by her side.
*
I am Banurekha. Every one calls me Banu, but when my mother-in-law is annoyed or angry she calls me 'Banu-rekhaa,' with accent on the last syllable. She does that with my husband too. He is normally Sambu, but when she is not pleased with him he becomes 'Sampatt', with two and at times three Ts. Of course in our culture she cannot call her husband by name even when she is annoyed, which is often. She calls him Sampath's father when talking to others, or when talking to me he is 'your father-in-law'. As for my mother-in-law's name, I dare not name her even in print. It is a euphonious name of a goddess. That is as far as I can go. I call her Athai, the Tamil word for aunty.
My mother-in-law is a stickler for tidiness in the house unlike the home where I come from. The arrangements are more lax there. Within minutes of the top servant woman bringing in the sun-dried clothes I have to fold and put them away or else my mother-in-law will get annoyed. 'Every thing must get back to its place,' is something she repeats umpteen times every day. Sadly she has not inculcated this habit in her son. Every Monday morning when he is to go on his tour the entire human power in the household is mobilised to search for his spectacles!
My husband and I are now posing a problem to my mother-in-law. Two years after marriage I have not conceived. I can understand her anxiety for my husband is her only child. In our parts the ideal daughter-in-law is one who has her periods only after her first child is born! Usually the woman has to shoulder the entire blame if she cannot bear children. But my mother-in-law is kind to me; she holds my husband equally lacking in responsibility to the family. The Tamil word for barrenness is a derogatory word maladi. My mother-in-law has never used it with reference to me. I am thankful to her for that consideration.
In India every married woman keeps her ears flapping for news of missing periods from newly married woman from their lists of friends and relatives. If the news is not forthcoming within a reasonable time they raise questions, and if after a year there is still no news the young bride's physiology becomes a topic for gossip. To the mother-in-law a barren daughter-in-law is a calamity. Steps are soon taken to set matters right. Pujas (prayers) on specified days, tying toy sized replicas of cradles on trees set apart for this purpose in many temples, visit to the temple at Rameswaram at the very tip of India, and so on and so forth, and finally as a last resort help is sought from modern medicine. I went through all that and finally got an appointment with a doctor who was an expert in curing barrenness. The lady doctor who examined me was a stern type.
"How many times a week do you have coitus?" she asked. I turned to my husband.
"I am asking you?"
"Three."
"Only three?"
"He goes away on tour for five days in a week."
"If he is back on Friday night and leaves on Monday morning that is ample time for more than three," she said. "Do you have orgasms?" I nodded.
"Yes or no?"
"Yes."
