Didi,

Being the eldest always sounded cool; the responsible one, the “in charge” one, the "mature" one, the decision-maker, the one who’s supposed to have all the answers the role model everyone apparently looks up to, but no one talks about how heavy it feels sometimes. But truth be told? It gets lonely sometimes. No one to scold me when I mess up, no one to say “stop acting smart,” no one to tell me what’s right when I’m too lost figuring it out myself, no one to say, “You’re overthinking,” or “It’ll be fine.”

I always wished there was someone elder, someone who’d take care of me for a change. And then you walked in. Not as a blood sister, but as something even rarer, someone who feels like family without needing a label.

We haven’t even spent much time together, just a few hours, one chaotic day filled with puris and selfies, yet somehow, I felt safe around you. Like I could be stupid, sarcastic, loud, and still be understood. That’s rare.

I’ve cracked enough jokes on you to deserve at least three slaps; called you fat, short, said you can’t cook (which is true) but you never took it to heart. You laughed, rolled your eyes, and replied with that calm, savage confidence that only you have. You’ve got this energy 'soft but fierce' the kind that makes people feel warm and slightly terrified at the same time.

And that day on Snapchat… yeah, that dark joke. Everyone saw it, but no one reacted, "except you." “Zyada hoshiyari mat maar” Simple line. No lecture. No drama. Just that. But that was enough to stop me in my tracks. You said it like an elder sister would; sarcastic, but scared. I’ll never forget that.

Since then, I’ve noticed it how you show care in the smallest ways. When I told you I had the entire fest responsibility, you didn’t just say “Good luck.” You said, ‘Tum kar loge, They saw something in you.’ That line hit different. Because you said it like you meant it.

You want to be an animator too, but life didn’t exactly play fair. Still, you create art anyway, with your hands, with your words, with your patience. Whether it’s your Lippan art, your tuitions, or the way you listen to songs while working, everything about you screams creator.

And I swear, if nothing ever works for animation, I’ll steal an entire studio for you. Laptop, tablet, setup, everything. I don’t care if I have to run away with the CPU under my arm. Art like yours deserves the tools to shine.

You once promised me a Hot Wheels car? that small thing I never got in 17 years. I never said it, but that meant a lot. It wasn’t about the toy. It was about someone finally wanting to give me what I’d been quietly wishing for all along. And don’t worry, I’m giving your Raksha Bandhan gift this time (before I die; specially from a fan and parda). Pakka. No fake promises.

Sometimes I really wish we weren’t cousins. I wish we were actual siblings so I could say “Didi” without explaining the whole story every time. So I could just show up at your place, annoy you, eat your food, and then pretend I didn’t.

Even though we’ve barely met, you’ve managed to leave this mark on me, a mix of affection, sarcasm, and something I can’t even name properly. But I know it’s real. I know you are.

So, on your birthday —

Stop teaching kids. Stop multitasking. Stop pretending you’re not tired. Just play your music, smile like you always do, and let the world wait a bit.

Because you deserve peace. You deserve rest. You deserve everything you dream of. And I’m proud to know you: the kind, stubborn, dramatic, music-obsessed soul that you are.

You might not be my real sister (i wish you were), but you’re my right sister. And that’s all that matters.