Why did Gouri's family move to the city
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Taniya sohani. yes adii . I grew up to the family leitmotif of my older brother's grand fall from ... Gouri Dange is a novelist and family ...
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Answer:
I grew up to the family leitmotif of my older brother’s grand fall from grace. But, no doubt, there had been better times
For over 40 years of my older brother’s 60-year-long life, the overarching family narrative was the fact that he dropped out of the hallowed halls of IIT, half-way through. And this, in the 1970s — when ‘dropping out’ was a phrase newly heard in these parts; voices were dropped and faces turned red in shock or sympathy at the scandal of it all. This was the time when batches upon freshly baked or newly minted batches of engineers from here emerged to be wooed by employers and potential in-laws with equal fervour. Many simply flew off to the U.S., and blazed trails that are still visible.
There was not a whole lot of swotting, sweating or family tension over ‘IIT entrance’ back then. Just my brother and his books, and parents who did not need to hound, push or track. I was nine then, and when he emerged from his study for a break, cracking his knuckles, he would allow me to look through a small microscope he had been gifted on his 16th birthday. We would examine dog fleas, onion membranes, parts of plants.
Movie march
On some days, he and a couple of his friends would take themselves off to the theatre to watch a film. My parents would mildly wonder if it was okay for him to toddle off to watch a movie in the middle of studying for an entrance exam, but it was a mild wonder, never a worry. If it was an English film, like The Guns of Navarone, he would come home whistling the theme song. If he went to see Teesri Manzil, or Jewel Thief, he would come home air-drumming RD’s bongo, and carrying those slim lyrics booklets sold outside the theatre. At one point, he must have owned easily 70 to 80 of these. (Today they would have been collector’s items, but nobody thought to keep them.)
And just like that, one day there was a letter in the mail, informing him that he had secured entrance into IIT, with even a 40-something rank. The import of this dawned on us and the people around us only slowly. There was no high-jinks jubilation. Just a busying to prepare for this new stage.
I have a recollection of all of us dropping him to his hostel room in Powai, of a ‘racer’ cycle in parrot green bought for him to negotiate the campus.
Over the next year, he would come home for the weekend and we would make the longish excursion to drop him back on Sunday afternoon. He would bring with him bits of his widened world: names of musicians, books, movies, Mood-I and LPs and the newly-coined jokes, the PJs.
For me, as a 10-year-old, all of this nice stuff seemed to happen within the blink of an eyelid in time. What became a very long, well-trodden path, an often-repeated refrain, was what came after and remained till the very end: his dropping out and the downward spiral from then on for the next 40 years of his life, till the end of his days.
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