Diary - 1977

The beginning of the end of childhood

Finish Yr 11 at JB Petit; grateful to be moving on; made some good friends but overall an alienating 2 years.  Not used to girls only schools, always been in co-ed and this is my tenth school.  Still miss Zambia - I long for my colour-blind heterochromatic surroundings and school, my friends, my dog who is dead but so alive to me; miss riding along everywhere on my bicycle; stealing guavas; the unbelievable sunsets.....I realise that I have not found my roots, them that I returned to India for.  I feel a stranger here and so very lonely.  I don't quite understand this society although I have picked up the local languages with ease and changed my accent to fit in and put a stop to the teasing.  "Miss Yankee" some had called me. Ignoramuses  (or is it ignorami?), couldn't differentiate between an English sounding and a north American accent.  Still, Bombay is the city of my birth. I am hopeful that I will eventually feel I belong. 

The Duke of Edinburgh

There is some Duke of Edinburgh social service thing on at a local boys school.  My friends S and V are going to "help out" and think it's a good idea for me to join them.  I am unsure, the last time we interacted with this school (ISCE exams), I ended up being a Cupidoid Hermes - taking lovelorn messages back and forth between smitten JBPites and Campion dwellers, being everyone's "sister" or confidante (what is it with these boys and this stupid rakhi brother business?  can't we just be friends? I have two brothers, I don't need more and I can climb a tree and use a catapult better than most boys).  I also think that my friends are less interested in the social service angle and more interested in getting to know the boys.  If I go along, I'll be the opposite (since all boys are inevitably boring and can't string an intelligent sentence together) and in any case my crippling shyness will take over as it usually does and I'll run away from strangers. 

In the end, I go.  I know the Blind School that this camp is for, so I may know some people.  I'm nervous but I go.  I am not worried about falling in love or someone falling in love with me - confidantes are exempt from this process, my job is to facilitate not participate. 

I enjoy being at the camp.  It's a lot of fun and I have discovered that I have empathy with disabled people.  I do not see them as less fortunate, just different. And brave. On the second day I feel a little awkward, there's a boy who's been staring at me a lot and I don't know why but he unsettles me.  We went to the planetarium with the blind boys and I was reading "to kill a mocking bird" while we waited on the steps and I turned to find him reading over my shoulder. I got up and walked away and he looked sad but I was frightened by my being unawere of his proximity. 

The last day of the camp.  We are all packing up. One of the blind boys hands me a letter he has written me, as he does so he tells me he will never forget me.  I am moved, I will never forget his courage and fortitude.  I open the letter, he has written just this: "रही गुलशन तो फूल खिलेंगे, रही ज़िन्दगी तो फिर मिलेंगे. मैं तुम्हे हमेशा प्यार करूंगा  और कभी नहीं भूलूंगा "

S & V tell me there is a Social that evening and they are excited and hope someone will "ask" them.  They hang around twittering and giggling, I find it demeaning and am thankful I not only have no expectations but no interest.  That boy is still staring at me and a part of me wants to confront him.  I do not.  V is very keen on someone who she tells me is quite a catch - he sings, he dances, he acts, oh he is so charming and so many girls are in love with him. She says one of the other boys Cyrus or Sirus, who is a friend of ours is "on to it".  This I am told means that he will talk to the 'catch' and get him to ask V to the Social.  I am not interested in these machinations and decide to go home.  As I start walking away, a stranger walks up to me and asks if I'll go to the Social with him.  I am puzzled and he tells me his name is Kiran Narkar and reminds me that we met at the traffic park session the day before.  He smiles very sweetly but what I notice is that he has warm brown eyes. Then with a jolt realise he is the 'catch'.  My immediate instinct is to politely refuse, but my friends are standing a little way behind him and signalling madly to me.  I tell him I'm not sure and I'll think about it; and walk towards my friends.  They grab me and ask for details - there is not much to tell but I tell them.  They shriek and say I must accept.  I say I cannot because a) V is interested in him b) he has not asked her c) my loyalty is to her so d) I must refuse so she can accept once Cyrus does his bit.  Cyrus joins us and tells us it's no use, Kiran is quite set on taking me. We all agree that we cannot see why. I am upset and confused because this sudden attention, this sudden unaccustomed attention is frightening to the facilitator who never saw herself participating. I want to flee, but some small courageous part of me wants to accept, not in order to acquire a boyfriend, but to have a pleasant time and in the hope that perhaps I can overcome my shyness and satisfy my love of dancing.  Cyrus, V & S come up with a plan - I am to accept Kiran's invitation; Cyrus will partner V; there will be some skilfull partner swapping on the dance floor so that V & Kiran end up together. And we can all live happily ever after.  I agree, and tell Kiran I will go with him.  But already there is a disquiet in my mind - I don't know what or why - and as I leave the school building I notice the staring boy looking at me. 

At the Social.

I am not able to relax.  A strange conflict assails me - I want Cyrus to hurry up with the swap but at the same time I find I enjoy being with Kiran.  I want to tell him the truth about why I accepted his invitation.  It feels like it's time to end the charade, but V's face keeps bobbing into view and I stay silent. Cyrus is not successful in his swapping attempts, so at some point I tell Kiran I am tired and need to rest.  V says she'd love a dance so Kiran obliges.  The goal having been achieved, I am left with a throbbing headache.  I walk out of the dance hall to some tables outside.  There is a cool breeze and I choose a table furthest away from the hall.  The staring boy is at the next table (yes, still staring, has been all evening) and on an impulse I ask him his name.  "Andrew Braganza" he says.  "Well Andrew Braganza" I say, "stop staring at me, I am not a freak and I do not have a wart on my face".  "No" he says, "you're not ugly.  You're very beautiful".  He gets up and walks away and I am stunned.  It is the first time a boy has ever told me this. I have heard it many times before - from adult lecherous men.  This is different, but I am nevertheless very uncomfortable.

Cyrus gets me a coke and joins me at the outside table.  We make small polite conversation, till he confesses he has a crush on someone and wants to talk it over with me. I am immediately at ease, this is a role I understand and perform well.  Sometime during the next ten minutes, we are joined by V and Kiran. Neither looks happy.  Kiran asks me back onto the dance floor; I agree and he takes me by my hand.  No electric shock passes, there is no thunder and lightning, but I am inexplicably happy.  As we enter the hall, he whispers in my ear, "don't try and get rid of me".  I am thrilled at this, and guilty for feeling so.  I don't recall the rest of the evening, except that periodically I see Andrew standing in the doorway.  S, V and I leave at 11 pm; Kiran tries to dissuade me but I am worried that my family will be upset at my stretching the curfew.  As I get into the car, Kiran suddenly grabs my hand and writes something on it.  He says something in my ear but I cannot catch it - a combination of the surrounding noise and my pounding heart and racing mind.  He smiles and says "something something something Kim".  I smile back and nod but have no idea who Kim is.  In the car, everyone chatters excitedly - the post-mortem is in full flight.  I am silent, drowning in a mixture of powerful and opposite emotions - anxious at being late getting home, a still heightened awareness of something momentous having happened, and a churning I don't recognise but it is connected to Kiran. I haven't read what he's written on my hand, it is private and I don't want my friends to be part of this - I need to keep this to myself. However I am exhausted when I get home and I forget about the message.  I wash my face and hands, brush my teeth and go to bed.  As I drift off to sleep I realise I have washed away the message - there are some inky remnants on my hand, but I cannot make sense of it.  Perhaps he was telling me about Kim; I assume she is his girlfriend.

 

Oliver Twist

The next day, Saturday.  I get a phone call in the afternoon.  It is Kiran.  He asks me why I did not call him the night before.  I tell him I did not know I was supposed to, he says he had written his number on my hand.  And he says he had told me this and asked if he could call me Kim and I had nodded.  I tell him I had washed my hand and had no idea I was to call. He tells me he had stayed up till the early hours of the morning waiting for my call and had felt shattered when I did not.  I apologise and he laughs and says he is relieved that it was not due to my not wanting to call.  All through this conversation, I feel only partly there. I am consumed by confusion, churning and the stirrings of some strange kind of longing and an overwhelming sense that I have no control over what is happening.  He asks me if I will go to a film with him.  I tell him I won't be able to go alone with him and that I was going to take my 8 year old cousin to see Oliver.  He says he can bring his younger brother along.  It is our first date although I don't realise it.  S calls me and I tell her the news.  She is excited and tells me it's a good opportunity to promote V to Kiran.  I agree and come back to earth with a reluctance that is most unbecoming.  

I don't remember much about the film.  My cousin and his brother sit between us. On the surface, I know I am making the right noises.  The greater part of me remains in a distracted state - everything is simultaneously very loud and very distant.  Kiran hands me a letter during the interval and asks me to read it only after the film.  We go our respective ways with our respective siblings. Back home I read the letter in the bathroom and feel faint and flushed.  It is my first love letter and through the mistiness that fills my eyes I think with a sudden and sharp clarity, that this must be love.  It is mid 1977 and another 16 year old goes through this ancient rite of passage - this irreversible and deliciously sweet sacred moment.

 

Post Oliver

I don't see Kiran for a month or so.  The day after the film, he leaves on a cruise to Singapore.  It is a terrible time for me.  I have informed S about K and myself and she has told V.  Who refuses to speak to me, who feels betrayed.  I know I have done nothing wrong but she makes me feel otherwise. 

I am busy with college admissions and am grateful for the distraction.  I sing Please Mr Postman everyday, full of teenage lovesickness but the postman brings no news from Kiran. I get into St Xaviers, along with S, V and other JBPites.

Kiran returns from Singapore, a letter from him arrives on the same day. He calls me and we meet in secret at the Metro cinema - watch a film called Mrigayaa. He gives me a gift - a bottle of Topaz perfume.  We are officially an item.  I ask him why he wants to call me Kim, he promises to tell me one day. He never does and I am still waiting. 

 

Kim's rise and fall

My parents move to Delhi and I move to a ladies hostel near Chowpatty. Everyone there knows me as Kim.

Kiran is too late for admission to St X and he goes to Wilson College. I feel distraught, he tells me he'll come to St X the following year and we can be together then. 

We meet as often as we can, which is not often at all.  Even though I want to, I cannot be open about him to my family, this is not a done thing.  I remember the following: walks along Marine Drive, meeting Pierre, and going to a small restaurant near the flyover.  I remember listening to him, to his pain, reading his letters.  He tells me his parents are divorced, how lonely he is, he talks about his sister being his mother's favourite and how this hurts him.  I feel a fierce protectiveness towards him, I don't tell him that my parents don't get along, that I dread their arguments; that I've dealt with it by the strategy of an external denial and internal sublimation being the better part of valour.  He takes a couple of my baby photographs, keeps them in his wallet. I love him so.

We do not last long as a couple, two months.  Some time in early August, there is an incident.  We are waiting for Pierre on the stairs in his building; discussing songs and music. There is a song we both like and I tell him I often sing it in the shower. He asks me to sing to him and I say I cannot, I am too shy to do so and I can't sing as well as he does.  He is annoyed at this and the evening does not end well.  There is no contact from him for over a week, then he rings and asks to meet me.  I am excited and optimistic, I chide myself for my fears about losing him.  It is a drizzly, windy day.  I wear a pale blue saree, my hostel friends tell me I look very nice in it and am sure to dazzle K.  We meet at the bus stop and his face looks closed off.  He tells me it's over, he is very sorry but he doesn't care for me anymore.  Once again, my mind is churning and I feel I have been tipped into extreme chaos and have no control.   I ask for my photographs, he hands them back painfully and I know it is over. 

For the next two months I grieve deeply - another rite of passage - the broken heart.  V starts talking to me again, she sees K regularly as he and her brother have become friends through a common interest in music.  When I visit her once, he turns up and my heart tumbles over.  We are polite to each other; there is no turning back and I decide I will be dignified in death.  V plays a song to me - Jolene, she says it's in sympathy.  I have a sense that it is revenge and she means to hurt me.  She is successful but I do not show it.  

I continue my walks on Marine Drive and discover there is something to be said for solitude, and there is joy and resurrection in getting drenched in the monsoon rain. 

 

The final act

I speak to Pearl Padamsee about Kiran and my grief.  She tells me I have considerable talents and humanity; and shyness is not a crime.  Her words are soothing.

Some of my hostel friends decide to play the ouija board in my room due to a warped logic -  I am the most sceptical of the lot.  One person instructs us on seance procedure and we start.  Once we believe a spirit has joined us, we each ask three questions of the spirit - in our minds.  I ask the following: my overall mark in the HSC exam, whether I will get into medicine, and whether K will ever come back to me.  The small cup moves between the alphabet and the numbers.  I get a number, I get yes I will get into medicine, and yes K will return.  I keep this to myself.  All three answers turn out to be absolutely correct.  Except that by the time K writes to me, it is August 1979, I am a medical student, I am no longer 16 and two years is an unbridgeable interval.

No one is allowed to call me Kim ever again.

I keep the bottle of Topaz till 1986

 

The rest of 1977 

Several boys declare undying love for me. I slowly get used to it, though I don't really believe them nor do I reciprocate.  It is the start of the realisation that I am different from most girls my age, that my head is busy wondering about things other than love and my appearance.

Andrew and I become good friends.  He is in St X too, a year below.  We become part of a gang who hang out together.  I do tell him firmly that I cannot love him and he should not expect this from me.  Our friendship grows. We have a lot in common or we learn new things from each other.  There is an abundance of respect, of laughter, of singing Beatles songs loudly and badly, of sick jokes, of eating पाव भाजी and drinking गन्ने का रस, of walking barefoot by the sea in Navy Nagar/TIFR, of silently sitting together watching the sunset. Occasionally I think of K and wish him well.  I am told he has a girl-friend and I feel no pain. He has and always will have, a special place in my life.  But it ends there.

On a holiday to Delhi, my family attends a huge Expo where the drink Double Seven is launched. My brothers and I toast India's answer to Coke and I feel proud of being Indian.

My hostel mates and I become firm friends. There is something binding and bonding about hostel life - you discover intimate details about people from living in their midst, and they about you.  They join me on my walks and we have regular bhel puri and kulfi outings.   We win (incredulously) the Floor Entertainment competition - a bunch of 12 Std girls.  We become famous in the hostel.  Then amazingly, we win on Sports Day.  I am one of the favourites of the Warden, she gets worried if I don’t turn up to dinner.  We are soon at our puerile worst;  we break every hostel rule and get away with it. We learn to pick the lock to the Warden’s office at night, in order to use her phone to make free phone calls.  We tease an unfortunate soul, a lady who answers the phone when we ring a Gaitonde household.  We ask for Mrs Gaitonde in Marathi - “मिस्सिस गैतोंदे आहे का ?” She says it is her.  We then ask  "मिस्टर बैल तोंडे कुठे"?  She hangs up angrily, but falls for it innumerable times.  

We watch old Hindi films and sing a lot.  I discover I can sing Geeta Dutt’s songs pretty well and think Shammi Kapoor was pretty cool.