I always felt that my younger brother, by five years, got away with a lot of things. “He is not you”, my parents would say. And that sentence would be used to justify his not reading the newspaper, not reading news magazines, not reading books other than his text books, not writing his speeches, making a brutal rendition of speeches that I wrote for him, not showing any interest in computers other than for playing games and watching films, watching WWE (I couldn’t stand this. I created a big hue and cry and obtained the rights to authorize his TV time. He would just drop in at his friend’s.), not using his musical talents (The keyboard did not manage to sustain his interest beyond “Happy Birthday to You”. However, he went on to master the guitar all by himself and is now a decent musician.), playing cricket (of all games!) till curfew, getting involved in pursuits like trump (trading) cards (I remember introducing a motion to get rid of his WWE and cricket cards. That was one time when emotion won over reason), marbles and other absolutely useless stuff… I guess you get the picture.
“Why does he get away with all of this?”, I often pondered back then. Maybe it was the misdiagnosis. Some time during childhood, my brother, lost his ability to walk during a bout of illness. His legs would give away if he tried to stand up. A doctor misdiagnosed it as polio which sent my parents into a shock. It was later correctly diagnosed and cured (It was just a case of weakness in the knee caused by fever.) but I think that shock stayed with my parents. Or was it the acts that he put up? His ability to stay absolutely silent when disciplined (I would launch into a philosophical debate and argue till my parents were forced to use their veto.) might have played a role too. “Why does he…?”
Though my parents never compared, I latter came to realise that he had lived all his life in the shadow of his older brother. I was wiser when the realisation happened. Friends, school (we both studied in the same place), relatives and church and maybe even me were to blame. Irony of ironies, it was me who had to talk to him. It was not easy but I think he finally stepped out. I hope.
Mani was in my class in seventh standard while the other was a junior. The latter was infamous for his answer papers. Irrespective of the subject, his answer sheet would contain a list of fifteen words in the first page and nothing else. Each word was a new invention never seen before. And he did this over and over again for each exam and test. I never knew what happened to the guy. He would have probably been released from school. And depending on the social strata his family belonged to, he would have found a job. Once, I asked my cable guy, a boy who should have been in middle school, on why he was not in school. “Studies don’t come”, he replied. After flunking continuously for a couple of years, his parents had decided that it would have been better off for him to work and bring home some cash. Son of a business man who was in the restaurant business, Mani looked like someone who had just walked out from a concentration camp. He struggled to clear his papers and it was a gargantuan effort from him to learn. He left the school too since he was not able to make clear his papers.
Would it have made any difference back then, if I had known about dyslexia? Would the teachers have taken heed? Would the parents have done anything? Probably, it would be a comfort to those people to know that they are not alone in this world. Would it have helped them with coping up? Now that I know about dyslexia, does it make any difference?
Ishaan.
I just thought that “Three Things that Taare Zameen Par reminded me of” would not be a good title.
