My revered elder brother had the
privilege of being five years ahead by birth, but the same did not extend when
it came to the standard hierarchy of grades in our school, as he was only three
grades ahead. Not that he had begun his illustrious career any later than me; I
was told that in matters of such grievous importance as primary education, he was a firm believer in
consolidation, not reckless haste. He never moved forward in the system unless
the ever-so-important base was satisfactorily consolidated, even if it meant
two or three years in the same grade: a small price to pay for a rigid
foundation.
I was the younger one, which
naturally meant that the word of the elder brother was law and the essential
regulation of my interests fell under his purview. It was also implicit that I
was to follow his habits and actions that were the unquestionable path to
glory. For me, his enormous will to study for extended periods of time was part
scary and part intriguing. Following my curiosity, I had more than once poured
into his notebooks that were his principal companions during his unending study
hours. In the blank recesses of the notebooks I had often noticed peculiar
drawings of birds, animals, humans and what not. It also had its fair share of
gibberish along the drawings that my naïve fifth grade brain could hardly
comprehend.
Contrary to following my elder’s
footsteps, I was the proverbial negligent when it came to academics. Sensing
the smallest window of opportunity I always managed to sneak out of the hostel
premises and engage in all sorts of inconsequential activities like flying
paper butterflies, gauging our rock throwing strengths. The terror and neglect
of studies was such that any stupid act that did not involve the annoying
flutter of book pages was aesthetic in its appeal. This was perhaps the only
explanation I can think of when I vaguely remember riding on hinged gates
swinging in quarter circles, jumping off not so high boundary walls and endless
gazing of the passing vehicles. The inevitable return to the hostel from the
wonderland always resulted in an equally inevitable and dreaded confrontation
with the elder brother. His question, as I vividly remember, was concise and
always the same: “Where have you been the whole day?” My reaction, again the
same always, was to freeze in silence. Now that I think of it, a short reply
that I had just been playing outside with my friends would have been true and
with minimum self-implication. But, either in the dilemma of the answer
diplomacy or just pure fear, all I did was just freeze. My hung head avoiding
his questioning yet all-knowing eyes was the most comfortably acquired
admission of guilt for him and in the celebration of his mature triumph, I was
dosed with a well-structured discourse on wide range of topics, both relevant
and irrelevant to academics.
“Is this the way you will be
learning English? We in the higher grades have to burn our eyes in lamp oil,
only to be just vaguely familiar with the language. Even the towering scholars
of this language have not still been able to grasp its perplexity. Do you know
that many of the British, who are supposed to converse normally in this
language, are still not versed in speaking grammatically flawless English? You
seem to be taking this study business all too easy. Do you learn nothing from me?
I study virtually all day, avoiding any distractions like sports, fun fairs and
all sorts of appealing time wasters. There are hockey and cricket matches
nearly every day. Do you think I don’t want to enjoy all these? But still I
have to remain in the same grade for two to three years every time: that’s how
hard it is. And you candidly believe that you can pass with this attitude? You
might probably end up in the same grade for the whole life. Better than ruining
your own life and father’s hard earned money here, you should go back home and
enjoy gully-danda.”
The effect being twice more
stingy when directed at you in close proximity, my eyes instantly let go of the
tear dam, as I had no plausible answers to such scathing verbal castigation. I
was a defaulter, no doubt but a nine year old hardly has the skin for such
calculated attacks. Now that I think of it, he was uncannily skilled in the art
of “the talks”. His words laced with
naturally occurring acids were quite effective in their desired outcome. The
first stage of my healing process was always dark despair, where I used to
think: why not go back, why waste my life in a task that is clearly beyond me.
I was satisfied to remain a rural ignorant but to suffer with such diligent
studies was unfathomable. But in an
hour or so, the black clouds of hopelessness gave way for strong willed
determination of studies from the moment itself. But a task so significant also
required adequate planning, thus a detailed timetable was carefully prepared.
The whole evening after the talk was
dedicated to the timetable in which the only timings that did not involve study
were sleep, a healthy walk and realistic times allotted for the non-significant
chores like eating, bathing, etc. But the formulation of a knee-jerk timetable
and scrupulous adherence are not very similar things. The deviations would
start on a small scale, with everything that was not mentioned in the timetable
appearing so aesthetic. The greenery and breeze of the open playing grounds,
the appeal of completely losing yourself to the build-up play of football were
too charming for someone like me to resist. And to compound this desire, taking
the higher road meant a painstaking process of studying mathematics from eight
to nine in the morning, followed by the endless abyss of history, geography and
most importantly English throughout the day. However, this pleasure of defiance
by avoidance was accompanied by the knowledge of its short life span, as the elder
brother’s trigger happy attitude towards defaulters was always lurking back
somewhere in the mind. Nevertheless, as a human clings on to the worldly
attachments even in the face of death or difficulty, it gradually became
impossible to let go of fun despite the inevitability of the talk.
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