Let me share with you the relationship I had with my brother at that time. Like all kids, we expanded and contracted in dimension like human bellows. That always seemed to give my mother a big headache when she wanted to buy some clothes for us. None of them would fit us properly. Either the shirt would look like a gown or we ended up looking like storks. We just weren’t ready for “readymade” yet. We were not “Complan” boys. Neither were we “Horlicks” kids. And neither did we need anything to Boost us. We had oodles of energy even though we hated anything that was a bit nutritious. No milk. No fruits. And it showed. We looked like proper middle class kids. Born healthy.. on our way to acquiring a disoriented figure. A little bit of tanned skin. Birth marks. Pox marks. Injury marks. Everything was there. And add to that oiled hair, combed once in the morning by mom.
There were stories I heard about him from my mother.
I was two days old then. My parents had made a makeshift bed on the floor so that it’s easy for my mom to move. And the main bed was just beside the makeshift bed. I was all wrapped up in a quilt and looked like a giant fur ball. I was sleeping on the makeshift bed. My brother was looking for some toy. It was on the main bed. And it was kind of high for him to reach there.
I became his launch pad.
I heard he once tried to shoot a doctor with his toy gun ‘cause the doctor was giving me a shot.
But those were stories I heard. He was not one of those heroic brothers you see on TV. He didn’t shield me when it rained or got into fight because someone smacked me. He was not the kind who would leave his studies and work in the fields so that his brother could go to college and then become something big in life. He lived his life in his own terms. It’s not that he excluded us from his happiness. But we knew that his happiness never laid with us. It was somewhere within himself.
To be honest, I was also partly responsible for this indifference that he showed us. His friends had the stomach of a broken roadside telephone booth. One press of the switch-hook and all the secrets came tumbling out like loose change. I was even worse. Always armed with a self destruct button, I would press it at every perceived notion of threat. Panic was my middle name. I never blew stuff out of proportion. I blew them into a parallel universe.
There was this time, when my brother and I were so inspired by “Main Azaad Hoon” ( “Meet John Doe” if you wanna watch the original version), that we decided to run away from home. Not that we hated our parents or our neighbours or our school. It’s just that the concept of “Freedom” shown in the movie had left an indelible mark on us. We just had to venture out like the lead characters, travel aloft a goods train hiding from guards, eating whatever you get and then getting off at an unknown destination. We were essentially heroes (and we didn’t need A.R. Rahman to strain his vocal chords for us). For us, it was the right time to display to the world our macho bravado. A call to all the females in the society that the Alpha Males have arrived. For a week we had late night discussions on that topic. We used to whisper at length in bed, planning out the minutest of requirements. Our parents used to watch late night shows in the other room. The light from the tv screen used to seep inside our room from underneath the door. Enough light to see our outlines so that we atleast knew in which direction we needed to whisper. After a weeks discussion we decided that we will travel light. Only three items finally made to our “sine qua non” list:
(i) A pair of tee shirts and trousers;
(ii) Money (in whichever form it was available.. this includes stuff that could be sold and included my precious wrist watch); and
(iii) A picture of the girl we loved (not the same girl but 2 different females who had managed to dangle a carrot infront of our respective hearts).
Now the last item in the list was my brother’s brainchild. But though he was the one who suggested it, I gravitated towards the idea at a speed faster than light. Yes... it was essential. No two ways about it. I even remember the girl’s name - Pooja.
But then it all fell apart. Keep in mind, I was 6 then and he was 9.
[Part 3 - When I feel like.]
P.S. For all those who want to watch Meet John Doe.
P.S. For all those who want to watch Meet John Doe.
