My Brother, My Best Friend, My Dude
My brother Godwin is only two years older than me, but for as long as I can remember, he has been much more than just my brother. He has been my protector, my guide, my storyteller, my biggest supporter, and above all, my best friend. To this day, I simply call him "Dude."
Long before I understood many of life's lessons, he taught me the most important one of all—faith. He introduced me to the love of Jesus and helped me understand what it means to trust God, especially during difficult times. Through his words, his example, and the way he lived his life, he showed me that faith was not just something for Sundays but something that could carry us through every day of our lives.
Even today, he continues to teach me. Our conversations may now include children, retirement, sports, and travel, but they also include faith. In many ways, he is still the older brother guiding me, encouraging me, and reminding me to keep my eyes fixed on the things that matter most.
We grew up without our father. I was too young to remember him, but my brother wasn't. Over the years, he became the keeper of those precious memories. Through his stories, I came to know the father I never had the chance to remember. Every time he spoke about Dad, he painted a picture of a kind, loving, and gentle man. In many ways, my brother gave me a relationship with my father that I would otherwise never have had.
Our childhood was not always easy. We spent much of it in hostels, learning to navigate life away from home. Looking back, what I remember most is that we always had each other. We were teammates before we knew what teamwork meant. We were protectors of one another. When one stumbled, the other was there. When one struggled, the other stepped up. Together, we found our way.
During those lonely school days, sport kept us going.
We would run miles just to watch our school football team play. The morning newspaper was treated like treasure because we couldn't wait to see the previous day's results. Every score mattered. Every match mattered.
And then there was the BBC Sports Roundup. The broadcasts at 5:15 and 11:15 simply could not be missed. We would wake up at 5 AM to listen to Australia playing England and stay up until 4 AM to follow the West Indies playing Pakistan. Sleep could wait. Sport could not.
What amazed me most was that my brother seemed to know every sport under the sun. Long before most people in India had heard of them, he could talk endlessly about golf and Formula One. He knew the players, the drivers, the rivalries, the courses, and the circuits. Listening to him was like having our own personal sports channel. He opened a window to a world far beyond our hostel walls and taught me that sport was much bigger than the games we played at school.
Tennis Grand Slams were treated as if they were tournaments happening in our own backyard. Wimbledon, the US Open, Roland Garros, and the Australian Open became part of our world. We debated, predicted, celebrated, and suffered through every result together.
Looking back, sport gave us more than entertainment. It gave us hope, conversation, dreams, and a reason to smile during difficult times. Most importantly, it gave us another way to be together.
And then there was music.
Just as he introduced me to the world of sport, my brother also introduced me to the magic of Ilaiyaraaja. His songs became the soundtrack of our college years. Whether it was a quiet evening in the hostel, a long bus ride, or simply a gathering of friends, Ilaiyaraaja's music seemed to be playing somewhere in the background.
Those melodies filled our days with joy, comfort, and energy. They gave us moments to dream, to laugh, and sometimes simply to forget our worries. Even today, when I hear one of those timeless songs, I am transported back to those carefree college days and reminded of the person who first shared that music with me.
One of my favorite memories takes me back to sixth grade, when I nervously stepped onto a stage to sing for the very first time. Standing beside me was my brother, playing the harmonium. I don't remember every note I sang, but I remember the confidence I felt knowing he was there.
Life has carried us through many chapters since then. The harmonium has long since given way to keyboards and guitars, but one thing has never changed. He is still there beside me. As I get closer to retirement, he continues to play for me, just as he did all those years ago.
Today, we are both older and, in many ways, wiser. One of life's greatest blessings is that we now live close to each other. We have our own families, children, responsibilities, and priorities. Life is busier than it has ever been, yet somehow we still find time for the things that first brought us together.
Sport remains one of those things.
Our sporting passions may have taken different paths over the years. My brother plans his year around travelling to the four Grand Slam tennis tournaments—Melbourne, Paris, London, and New York. He follows the tennis calendar with the same enthusiasm that we once followed cricket scores on the BBC Sports Roundup.
As for me, I have found a second sporting home in America. While he is walking the grounds of Wimbledon or watching a match under the lights at Flushing Meadows, I am cheering on my beloved Los Angeles Rams and living every touchdown, triumph, and heartbreak of American football.
The sports may have changed, and our lives may have become more complicated, but the conversations remain the same. We still talk about games, players, results, and dreams. We still celebrate victories and debate decisions. And every time we do, I am reminded of two boys in a hostel, sharing a newspaper, listening to a radio, and discovering the world together.
And then came one of those moments that felt almost too good to be true.
The FIFA World Cup came to the United States, and the United States' first match was played in Los Angeles. By God's grace, my brother and I were there together in the stadium. Two boys who had once shared hostel rooms, chased newspapers for scores, listened to cricket on the radio at impossible hours, and dreamed about sporting events happening on the other side of the world were now sitting side by side at one of the world's greatest sporting spectacles.
As we watched the game unfold, we found ourselves doing what we have always done—talking about sport, family, faith, memories, and life itself. For a few hours, the years seemed to disappear. We were no longer soon to be retirees, fathers, or grandfathers. We were simply two brothers sharing another unforgettable sporting moment together.
In that stadium, I couldn't help but think about how blessed we have been. Through every season of life, God has been faithful. He gave us strength when we needed it, hope when life was uncertain, and opportunities we could never have imagined as young boys growing up in hostels somewhere in the remote part of South India.
It reminded me of a verse that has guided me throughout life:
"Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." — Psalm 37:4
Looking around that stadium, sitting beside my brother, my best friend, and my lifelong companion, I realized that God had done exactly that. Not always in the ways we expected, but in ways far greater than we could have imagined.
People often talk about friendship, loyalty, and family. I have been fortunate enough to find all three in one person.
So here's to my brother. My best friend. My dude.
Thank you for the memories of Dad. Thank you for introducing me to faith. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the sports. Thank you for the protection, the laughter, the stories, and the love.
Thank you for being there from the very beginning and for still being here today.
Some people are lucky enough to have a brother.
I was lucky enough to have a brother who became my best friend.
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